Jul 22, 2010

Following Directions, Part One: The Wal-mart Saga

 Perhaps, if one did not know better, one might assume that a teacher might be good at all sorts of stuff like reading books, using hand sanitizer, and following directions.  We have many wonderful nuggets of wisdom to impart, such as: "Timmy, stop picking your nose," or "Mikey, stop eating your binder. You don't want to ruin your lunch, do you?"  A lot of times, we say things like, "Follow directions, Susie," and we want the kid to do that, really we do.

So you would think that, as a teacher, I'd know to read and follow directions carefully.  The truth is, though, that many times I feel that directions do not apply to me because I'm a Teacher, so I know better and clearly do not need silly rules.

At one point in my late 20s, I was in the market for a new make-up case. What better place to go than the sparkly mecca of plastic facial-type goods that is Wal-mart!?  Yay!  Wal-mart!

Wal-mart, unfortunately, likes to put things high on the top shelves.  Short people don't do so well with top shelves.  And it appears that Wal-mart stores their whole entire make-up-case-inventory on the top shelf.  And the case I wanted, red, wooden, and with pretty metal corner thingies, was right up there, mere inches from the ends of my fingertips.

I'm resourceful.  I could totally get to those cases if it weren't for the stupid Wal-mart rules...

Wal-mart posts rules to inhibit my shopping pleasure.

Clearly, the solution was clear.  As the make-up aisle was empty, I figure I'd get the case myself.  You know how long it takes to get an associate to help you out here...  I reasoned that if I stepped on the bottom shelf and reached up to clasp the bottom make-up case and shake it gently, the top one would tumble down, and I would catch it quickly and safely.

The laws of physics demanded it. 

Please note: I teach grade school.  Not physics.

I can't remember exactly what came next because blood was coming out of my head and lipstick crashed all over the floor.  I vaguely remember not one, but two, make-up cases crashing into my skull and then leaping for glory into the lipstick display.

I felt dizzy, with all that metal and wood and stuff hitting my head, and what with the blood coming out.  But...I am a good citizen.  A brave little trooper.  I went to clean up the lipstick display.  It was a little bit tricky with the store swaying back and forth and my vision partially obscured by forehead blood.

A nice lady came by.  She suggested that I go get an ice pack at the front desk, and she would take over the lipstick-cleaning duties for me.  This seemed like a good idea, so I went.  This lady was a good citizen, too.

It took me a long time to walk to the front desk.  I remember blood and dizzy.  I met another nice lady at the front desk.

(Please note: In case you forgot, I had just walked across the store from cosmetics.  It was Far Away.

Come to think of it, this woman was a heartless shrew.

I happened to mention to her that Something Heavy fell on my head.  I think she was afraid of lawsuits after that. 

She quickly insisted I sit on one of those go-carts for people who can't really walk around the store so well, mostly because I don't think they wanted me behind the counter in their clean, comfortable chairs.

I always imagined sitting on those go-carts would be fun, with me cruising around with the wind in my hair.

They made me an ice pack, too, so that they didn't have to use an expensive one from the health care department.  My ice pack was made from a Wal-mart bag with a hole in it, and a lot of ice cubes from the Wal-mart Subway Restaurant.

Sitting on a scooter was not as fun as I had imagined.

And the seat was kinda of sticky.

No one was around to drive me home.  Not even my mom.  So I had to sit (till I felt better) on this scooter for 45 minutes with ice cubes melting on my head and well-meaning elderly people leaning over looking all concerned and asking if I was all-right-honey when clearly I had a bleeding head wound and a leaky Wal-mart bag of ice and I was riding on a sticky-seated injury-scooter.  

I was not all-right-honey.

This is a true story.

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