Values vs. Value Shopping: The Well-Lit Battle for My Soul

I have never made a secret over the fact that I hate Wal-Mart. Absolutely hate it. I'm not a fan of their business practices and their stores, with that weird flickery-gray ambiance, feel like an assault on my sense of aesthetics. As a result, I stay away. Actually, I do more than stay away: I even signed a petition to stop them from building in my community. I dislike them that much.

This makes what happened all the more embarrassing. I, Alix North, hater of all things Wal-Mart, had a Wal-Mart shopping adventure. Not a shopping trip, but an adventure. Sigh.

It started when I needed to get a certain essential item of apparel that is required for polite living: namely, underpants. Target mysteriously stopped carrying the kind I buy, as did every other store I visited. Embarrassing as it is to confess, I'm a very sensitive girl; I really can't wear just any kind of panties. All underpants have to do is look at me wrong and I chafe. I know what works and what won't, and suddenly no one is selling the right style.

I tried to order the undies online but got confused about which styles were which and who had what, not to mention that shipping would double the cost of the order. I gave up. Then a little birdie told me that Wal-Mart, of all places, carried said underwear. Just ten miles from my house. Do I compromise my values and go get them? Or do I buy an available brand and walk funny while saying, "ow, ow, ow!" under my breath?

Two months of "ow, ow, ow!" and I was ready to sell my soul to the devil. Kathy and I drove to Wal-Mart in the far-flung land of Martinez. She was feeling miserable with a cold, so I told her to stay in the car while I ran in. She suggested I could pick up a couple of other things we needed. "No!" I shouted, a bit more abruptly than I had intended. "Just underwear!"

I made a quick sign of the cross before walking in.

Once inside, I made a beeline for the intimate apparel. As quickly as I could, I found what I needed and grabbed a bunch of packages. After all, I did not want to come back for a long time.

On my way to the cash registers, I walked through the handbag section and spotted one that I rather liked. While it's rare that I see handbags I like, I'd be damned if I'd pick this one up. I knew what would happen. First day I took it out, someone would say, "Oh, wow, I saw that bag at Wal-Mart; it really is as cute as I thought!" Right then and there, I'd have to shoot myself in the head, because everyone would know I sold out. Thank goodness no one can see my panties.

While waiting in line, a woman at another register was threatening to beat her child, telling her that she wasn't afraid to do it in front of 'all these people.' I closed my eyes and tried to go to my happy place, when a voice behind me asked, "Are those on sale, or do you just really, really like them?"

I looked down at my many packages of underwear with a wry grin. Turning around, I said, "Actually, I just really hate to wash underwear."

She nodded. "I live with someone who throws out socks every night. They're too muddy to bother washing."

I frowned as though I was considering that. "I must say, my underwear doesn't get muddy, though."

"But you never know," she said.

"You never do," I nodded.

Once outside, I raced back to the car, hopped in, and peeled out of the parking lot. I had made it unscathed. Yay, me! Kathy just rolled her eyes at the drama. And coughed. And sniffled.

An hour after I arrived home, the phone rang. I looked at the caller ID to see that it was...my cell phone. Which was apparently NOT in my handbag where I thought I left it.

Ever the quick thinker, I answered with, "Oh! You found my phone!" The woman at the other end identified herself as a Wal-Mart employee. Omigod, I didn't just drop my phone, but I dropped it IN WAL-MART of all places. Saints preserve us!

(I do not know why I suddenly become Catholic in proximity to Wal-Mart. I have never been Catholic.)

She told me to see Miss So-and-So at the fitting rooms and be prepared to describe my phone to identify it as mine. I would need to drive back right away.

Wal-Mart. Twice in one day. Wee!

On the drive over, I tried to remember what my phone looked like. It was...silver, right? Or black. Or maybe, silver-and-black. I suppose other people would know what their own phone looks like, but I am not a cell phone person. I do not live with it strapped to my body, as I think other people must. Mine is just a way to call for directions and help when I'm out; when I am in, it is tucked away in my handbag where I can't even hear it. Maybe five people have my cell phone number. Heck if I remember what it looks like!

Back in Martinez, I walked into Wal-Mart with a "don't you dare greet me" look on my face, striding over to the fitting rooms as fast as my long legs could take me. I smiled as best I could and asked for Miss So-and-So. She started reaching for the phone under the counter while casting me a questioning look. Luckily, I realized I didn't have to describe the phone itself. "When you open it," I said, "you see a slide show of my kitty-cats."

Miss So-and-So's face lit up as she pulled the phone out and demonstrated by opening it. "They are SO CUTE! How did you do that? I can only put one photo on mine. I put my cat on there and my daughter got mad, so I had to change it, but I'd really like to have my cat on there, too..."

I softened and started talking cell phone features with her. After all, it's not like the regular folks working at Wal-Mart are evil. Just the people making decisions for the corporation. Margie and Norm probably wanted me to take a chill pill and let my phone fall out of the handbag pocket on purpose. I reminded myself that a few people I know couldn't afford any groceries if it weren't for Wal-Mart. My feelings about them are definitely mixed. Even though I still hate them.

Before I left I thought, well, we still need the martini glasses that Target was out of, so I guess I should look. I suppose. I walked over to glassware and sure enough, they had the basic Libbey glasses that I needed. Because I'd be damned if I would carry a basket or push a cart (I'm not shopping, remember?) I carried the two boxes in my hands.

Then I looked left and saw a display of bamboo kitchen/home accessories, the kind that echo our bamboo floors so nicely but cost $$$ when purchased at The Container Store. Of course, they cost three cents each at Wal-Mart, or something like that. Kathy would sure like that banana hanger. And the key holder would solve a problem for us. What to do...what to do....

I grabbed the two items and juggled them, along with the martini glasses, in my arms. Tottering awkwardly under the load, I made my way to the cash register. I did not stop to look at anything else or this could not qualify as a shopping accident. It's one thing to get a bit of the dark side on the bottom of your shoe; it's quite another to strip down naked and dive in. I was hopeful that this still qualified as bottom-of-the-shoe shopping.

Back at home, I put a fresh bunch of bananas on the banana hook and demoed the key holder for Kathy. She was delighted, and soon I was drilling holes in the wall and putting up the key holder.

Late that night, as I lay in bed without chafing, I felt about the edges of my soul for signs of erosion. With a sigh, I reached over to the notepad on the nightstand and made a note to find a good mail order source for the underwear. Just to be safe - after all, you never know when you're going to need your soul 100% intact.

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