I Hate Walmart – Patrick Kilgore

I was leaving Walmart today only to be accosted on my way out by a geriatric old man asking to check my receipt with the bags in my cart. There used to be kind, gentle old ladies greeting me on my entrance now there’s this decrepit shitbag standing in their place wanting to give me a very thorough pat-down. I kindly told him in a manner which communicated to him my unwillingness to cooperate as well as my desire to leave the store without provocation that I would let him check my receipt with my bags if he emptied out his pockets and let me root through his car beforehand. He declined and I immediately took up a defensive position, crumbling up my receipt and hiding it in my hand so as not to leave a single sliver of the paper visible to the grey geezer. “It’s our policy. I’m only doing my job.” Whatever excuse you need to wield in front of you to convince yourself the power process you’ve participated in all your life hasn’t been simulated.
“I don’t care. This is my shit, I don’t want your liver spotted hands rummaging through it.” Honestly, I’d rather cause a big scene in the store than let some stranger poke and prod around my property. It was my property now, I had just paid for all of it.
“I just want to see the receipt.” His voice sounded like a cry from a wounded predator. ‘How dare you deny the authority granted to me by my long years on this earth and my yellow vest! Can you not see how high above you I sit! Obey or there shall be consequence! I am your elder! And because of this I am far superior! Lick my orthopedic sneakers, boy!’
“Call the cops.” I told him. “I don’t mind waiting around for them to get here. Cause you’re not going to be looking at shit.”
“Have a nice day.” He said sounding his defeat. And I strutted off through the doors in my victory.
“Blow it out your ass, bud.”
Smiling, I loaded up my car and drove home feeling satisfaction through my righteous indignation.