Many people spend years of their lives looking for a place of contentment. For some it is their garden or a quiet respite, for others it is a sense of excitement or exhilaration. I have found a rather unconventional safe haven: Wal Mart. I feel at home at Wal Mart because it is familiar, wardrobe does not matter, and I feel unknown. There is also always something to do there. I am never bored because numerous people that I can observe surround me. I also like to touch and smell everything. Going into the candle-or even the household cleaner-section provides of variety of smells and colors that appeal to me. Wal Mart provides more than just goods and services, more than just low prices and smiling faces; it is a place to re-center myself.
Wal Mart is so familiar to my family and me that we affectionately call it “Walmy’s.” Even as a child of but nine years, I was often taken along on my mother’s numerous trips, and this habit that began before my age of majority has since continued and evolved. My mother sends me to Wal Mart with a large list. The list will have a range of everything from a gallon of milk to six inch white augers. I get everything on the list and then come home. She then tells me she needs something else and I must go back that day to get it. Once, my dad had a honey emergency. I had to go to Wal Mart immediately to pick some up. At this time, the store was being re-modeled so I was a little out of sorts. I could not find the honey. I walked up and down every food aisle multiple times. I finally broke down and asked an employee.
“Excuse me, do you know where the honey is?” I humbly inquired of a female associate.
“Yes, I think it’s right here,” she confidently replied while turning around to show me where she believed it to be.
She did the exact same thing as me. She walked up and down, up and down, searching. As it turned out, she could not find it either. There was no honey in the store. I thanked her and went on my way. I had walked about 30 feet when I heard someone saying “ma’am!” I turned around and the same woman that helped me was running toward me. She found the honey. She looked for it even after I walked away. She went above and beyond her call of duty. Only my mother in her own home would do that for me. I am intimately acquainted with Wal Mart because of the frequency of my visits. I feel so comfortable in Wal Mart that being there evokes a sense of familiarity unequaled by anywhere but my own home.
If I am in my pajamas I do not need to change my outfit to something more formal. Once, my little sister and I went out to lunch in our pajamas and no shoes because it was a lazy day. My pajamas were four sizes too big and had a gingham print. They were also too short and had holes in them. My sister, Elizabeth, was wearing high-water sweats and an old ratty t-shirt. We looked like homeless people. We went to a drive-thru restaurant so as to not have to get out of the car. On our way home my mom called and told me I had to pick something up from Wal Mart, of course. We rushed home and my sister picked up the first shoes she could find, when she came out she was holding two pairs of shoes. The shoes she got me were high-heeled, pointy-toed, tweed, slip-on church shoes. The shoes she got herself were black, peep-toe, kitten heels. We walked into the store and I was laughing so hard; I could not control myself. I was not embarrassed in any way. It was the funniest thing I had ever seen, I could not keep a straight face. Every time I looked at Elizabeth I would go into hysterics. Luckily, we saw a couple people that we knew. The friends we saw didn’t think less of us, they just laughed along with us because it is acceptable to wear our attire in a place such as Wal Mart.
“Hi Rebekah,” one friend said with a cute smirk.
“Hey Erica, do you like my outfit?” I replied while laughing.
“Ha ha! I love it! That’s hilarious, only you could pull that off,” she commented.
“Thank you. I thought so as well.”
When I’m at home I can dress as casually as a please, so it is with Wal Mart; wardrobe does not matter.
Have you ever felt bad for someone shopping alone at Wal Mart? No, because shopping at a one-stop store alone is common. I don’t often have someone to run errands with me. I have grown accustomed to being alone when shopping. Not only have I gotten used to it; I actually prefer it. The great thing is, I am not judged for being a loner. I am anonymous and I feel like a tiny insect blending into a swarm of chaos. I can lose myself in the bliss of useless merchandise. I love to walk around and look at everything. I feel free to touch anything in reach. Wal Mart may seem dirty to others, but I grew up with six siblings, five of which are boys. I don’t mind when things are a little out of place. The toys all over the floor and every single one turned on and singing an annoying song is a remembrance of my early childhood years. That’s what makes Walmy’s homey. Hearing the chaotic mess of various children and adults is a common sound to me. My home is not a quiet place. I don’t judge people according to their shopping-cart choices. I once saw a woman with a cart filled to capacity with cartons of gallons of milk. My mind was literally blown. If she were to judge me, she would be extremely hypocritical.
Though it may not be seen as orthodox, Wal Mart brings feeling of comfort and peace. Being there helps to calm me and relax my nerves. My grandparents refuse to set foot in that facility. They feel as though it is white trash and low quality. If my grandma was given a choice between two of the exact same products, and one was more expensive, she would purchase the more expensive one. She believes price dictates quality. I do not share this belief with her. My friends will not buy clothes there because it is not name-brand enough. If a sweater is not at least 30 dollars and it doesn’t have some kind of logo on the front, my teenage friends will not buy it. One of my high school teachers felt like it was a social hub. They believed that they would always see a close friend, which in a way is the truth. Everyone goes to Wal Mart sometime or another. Contrasted to that, I view it as my home away from home, my solace in the summer storm, the eye of the hurricane, the life-saver in the flashflood. When I see it figuratively cresting over the hill I feel like a baby resting in his mother’s arms in which I will soon be ensconced. There is no feeling like it other than when you are away on a long trip and you come home to be embraced by your loving family.
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