Mano-a-mano with Mighty Walmart*

Constant-readers of this blog already know I hate shopping Walmart*.
My siblings know. They loudly excoriate me as rebellious and sinful because I don’t shop Walmart*.
Online I do. If Walmart* is suggested as a “purchase” hit, I open it first. My breakfast cereals are online Walmart*, and soon my “Vitamin-Water” will be, since I’m running my local supermarkets out of “Vitamin-Water.”
But I don’t shop brick-and-mortar Walmart*. Years ago Canandaigua’s Walmart* was depressing, plus you were hugged by a urine-smelling geezer on entering.
Finding anything at Walmart* is always a staff-question, and I had the awful temerity, unmitigated gall and horrific audacity (cue Sharpton) to interrupt the day-long donut-break of two store associates.
Online Walmart* doesn’t bless me with urine-smelling geezers, or nasty store associates.
Amazon I avoid; it always lobs insanity at me.
The Otter-case for my iPhone-6 was disintegrating. I online ordered a replacement from Walmart*, but it was for i6-Plus. When it came I didn’t open it because I could see it was too big.
My cleaning-lady noted anything online Walmart* could be returned to a brick-and-mortar Walmart*.
So off I drove to Canandaigua’s Walmart*. That Walmart* is new, but no less intimidating. At least the geezer-greeters were gone. But they were replaced by “Beep-Boop-Beep” of 89 bazilyun checkouts, plus a gigantic “self checkout.”
I was greeted by a heavy-set woman, shabbily-dressed except for her uniform-vest with Walmart*’s asterisk printed gigantic yellow on her back.
All Walmart* “store associates” have that vest, plus a large “May I help you” name-badge pinned in front.
“‘Customer-Service,’ right down there to the left,” she pointed.
I got in line at “Customer-Service;” at least 10-15 minutes standing with nothing to hang on to. I am 75; standing is not easy with wonky balance.
Finally I was hailed by an angry store associate wearing a “Nurse Ratched” name-tag. She was festooned with “breast-cancer sucks” and “fight like a girl” buttons, among others. Those are the only two I remember — she had at least 15, plus facial steel.
“This is a ‘marketplace’ purchase; I can’t give you money.”
“So what’s ‘marketplace’?” I asked.
Awful temerity, unmitigated gall and horrific audacity = Nurse Ratched became enraged.
“Stupid me!” I said. “I need to know what ‘marketplace’ is. To me, that’s a large shopping-mall outside Rochester. Are you saying ‘marketplace’ means ordered online?”
How come every visit to a brick-and-mortar Walmart* is fraught with insanity?
Nurse Ratched thereafter boxed my errant Otter case to return for credit. Who knows what gets credited; I paid PayPal, but wouldn’t be surprised by a Walmart* store-credit.
“All I wanted was to swap this i6-Plus case for an i6 case.”
“Can’t do it!” Nurse Ratched snapped. “Has to be returned for credit.”
She printed a mailing-label, then put my i6-Plus case in the box.
“Now I need to know where I can buy an i6 case.”
“Over in Electronics,” she snapped. No sign of “Electronics,” but “Entertainment” had gigantic wall-mount TVs.
I ambled across the huge store; at least 100 yards. I encountered another overweight helper-lady. “I need a case for this iPhone-6,” I said.
She pointed me toward a counter manned by a shabbily-dressed, stringy-haired hippie, except for his asterisk emblazoned vest.
“I hate to be a pest, but I can’t walk out of here with a case I find doesn’t fit.”
“The cases are sealed,” he said. “But can be returned if opened.”
I forked over 22 buckaroos, then headed for the restroom to see if the case fit. “Shoplifters will be prosecuted,” a sign blared.
If it didn’t fit, “Customer-Service” again, where Nurse Ratched awaits.
Back to “Entertainment.” “What’s the trick?” I asked. “I can’t even get this thing apart. It shoulda been labeled ‘not for senior-citizens’.”
“I’m a senior-citizen,” a clerk bragged, but he couldn’t get it apart either. Finally a pimply teenager pried the case open.
Amazingly it fit. I was able to leave Mighty Walmart* with a useable Smartphone case.
At least an hour was blown.
Online is okay, but brick-and-mortar isn’t. Next time I’m more online precise. I shoulda returned it myself. No brick-and-mortar Walmart* for this kid!

• The Customer-Service Associate was not actually named “Nurse Ratched.” “Nurse Ratched” is the overly authoritarian and nasty “Big Nurse” (“Nurse Ratched”) from One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, who ruled her psychiatric-ward with an iron fist. That Customer-Service lady was a dead ringer. “One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest” is my favorite movie.
• South of Rochester is “Marketplace Mall.”