SSA Ep.#58: Shoepping

I’m not really a huge fan of shopping.  I mean, I like to buy stuff…especially food.  …especially chocolate.  But I usually restrict my shopping to a few places that make me feel comfortable—like Target, Walmart, and thrift stores.  And because I’m cheap I don’t make a lot of money, I tend not to buy stuff like clothes or shoes unless I really need them…or unless I find a really good deal.  …or if they're really cute.  I kind of think that I have a guy mentality when it comes to my stuff—if it still works and doesn’t have too many holes in it, I might as well just keep what I have.

But recently I had noticed that my casual/work shoes were looking kind of scruffy.  And by scruffy, I mean there were holes in the soles.  (Do not think for one second that it has escaped my notice that “holes in the soles” rhymes.  Also do not think for one second that I have not stored that rhyming phrase in my memory to use in the future.)  All the way through the soles.  There was a hole on top of one of them, too, which came from one of my many failed attempts to play soccer with the girls I watch.  I just figured that hole gave the shoes character.

The holes in the bottom of the shoes, however, did not give them character.  They gave me dirty/wet socks and zero arch support.  So, I had to face facts that it was time to purchase a new pair of shoes.

Also, I’ve been procrastinating waiting till the right time to go to one of those running stores to get some good running shoes.  The ones I had were from Walmart.  I got them for $12.  They were my third pair in the past 10 months because they were crappy shoes, and I kept wearing holes in the soles (it rhymes!) of them, too.   It’s amazing that my legs haven’t fallen off at the knee. (Insert "good running shoes cost and arm and a leg joke here).

Here’s what I’m saying about shoe shopping, or shoepping, as I like to call it.  There have been entire years where I have gone without purchasing a single pair of shoes.  This week, in a bizarre turn of events, I’ve bought not one, but two pairs of shoes. 

I looked in all the usual places for my casual/work shoes.  Neither Walmart nor Target had anything that was both cute and cheap frugal enough for my tastes.  With used clothing, I kind of draw the line at wearing things with other people's foot sweat in them, so the thrift store was out of the question.  So I had to branch out a little….

Since someone had given me a gift card for Macy’s, I decided to head up there and see what they had.  Let me just say that, for me, entering a department store at the mall is kind of like entering the wild unknown.  When I buy something like clothes or shoes, I kind of like the “help myself” mentality.  I like to go up to the rack or shelf, try on things, and figure things out for myself.  Upon approaching the shoe department at Macy’s, it took me about 0.3 seconds to realize that this wasn’t that sort of place.

As soon as I showed the slightest bit of interest in the shoe department in general, at least four shoe department employees popped their little heads up like little store meerkats.  Yes, yes.  They were the meerkats, and I was the juicy grub worm.  I tried to act nonchalant, glancing at the too high price tags on shoes that were way too fancy for my tastes, but I couldn’t keep up the act for long.  The meerkats were closing in.  I knew they wouldn’t let me out without buying a pair of those high priced, too fancy shoes.

I’m ashamed to say that I ran away retreated. 

A couple days later, I went to Payless and bought a pair of shoes in an almost completely non-awkward transaction. 

The only awkwardness?  The bazgillion questions the sales person asked me when I was trying to purchase the shoes.  What’s your phone number?  What’s your email address?  What’s your favorite color? Who is your next of kin? What is the air speed velocity of an unladen swallow?  Seriously, this is why I like Target and Walmart.  They scan my merchandise and tell me how much it is.  I pay for it.  That’s all.  No 20 questions.  Just a normal, happy sales transaction. 

I tried something different this time.  Instead of being compliant, I challenged the system.  I politely told the lady, “I don’t want to tell you my email address and phone number.”  She kind of looked taken aback, but she let me buy the shoes without this vital information, and we were both able to go on with our lives.

The adventure involving the purchase of my running shoes is not really all that impressive.  I went into it knowing that I was going to need help, so I spent far more time imagining all the different ways that could go than the actual process of getting the shoes.  I imagined some ogre of a salesperson who would try to sell me some kind of horribly expensive shoes, socks, and other accessories that I really didn’t need.  I imagined going into the store and meeting some dashing runner man/store clerk, who, after fitting me in a pair of stylish, attractive, and cheap inexpensive trainers, would ask me to literally run away with him.  I also imagined a nice lady who would analyze my running gait and fit me into a pair of shoes.

Turns out, it was the nice lady.  She did analyze my gait (that sounds wrong somehow, but it just meant she watched me walk and run), determining that I needed stability shoes (just as I suspected).  She helped me try on several pairs of shoes.  The only awkwardness involved was the fact that I forgot to shave my legs (I had to roll up my pants leg so the lady could analyze my gait)…so all in all, I’m glad the dashing runner man/sales clerk of my dreams didn’t help me.

I kind of went into the whole thing hoping to find a cute pair of blue shoes that would also feel amazing on my feet, but I also understood that I’d most likely end up with ugly shoes.  And I did…at least in my opinion.  Several people have argued with me on this point, but radioactive yellow just isn’t my thing…at least they can be seen at night.  …if I ever ran at night.  …which I don’t.

How many innocent glow sticks gave their lives to make these shoes?

Oh good.  As if they weren't bright enough, they're also reflective.  So I can run at night and blind other runners and operators of motor vehicles.

The thing is, the moment I put my feet into these shoes, a choir started singing the Hallelujah Chorus.  These shoes surrounded my feet in cushiony delight.  They are like pillows for my feet. 

And when I ran this afternoon, it was like treading upon baby angels.

So I bought them, this ugly pair of shoes, spending more money than I’ve ever spent on a single pair of shoes in my life. 

Running is an expensive habit, but I figure I'll need to keep it up and stay in shape.  You never know the next time I'll need to run away from store meerkats.

SSA Ep. # 28: I Don't Work At Wal-mart, but I Play One On TV

I live in a small (but quickly growing) town that is extremely close to a much larger town.  Because I'm originally from a town that's about as small as the town in which I am currently living, large towns are too big for me.  Most people would consider the much larger town near my small town to be...well, still kind of smallish.  I think of it as a big city...a metropolis, if you will.  I've only been downtown a couple of times, and even then, someone else was driving.  It's because I'm scared of the metropolis...even if the metropolis is really just a large town.

Now, I was either in middle school or high school when something remarkable happened in my small hometown.  It was an event that changed that small town forever.  What was this remarkable event? 

We got a Super Wal-mart.

Never again would we have to make trips to multiple stores.  Wal-mart now had Wal-marty things AND grocieries.  It changed my life, I tell you.  And I knew it was because I was from a small town.  Only in small towns would people get excited about the opening of a Super Wal-mart, right?

Only...a few months ago, in this large town/metropolis that is near the small town where I currently reside, a new Super Wal-mart opened.  And people went crazy.  Apparently, Wal-mart is a big deal whether you live in a small town or a big town. 

I like Wal-mart.  I like it a lot.  I like it because I can get a week's worth of groceries, a birthday present for my niece, a hair dryer, a pair of jeans, and a turkey baster--all in the same place.   If I can find a short check-out lane, I can get in and out in about half an hour.  I like it because it's comfortable.  I know the layout of the store so well that I don't even have to plan my shopping route.  (Other people do that, too, right?  You plot out the best path from the shampoo aisle to the produce aisle, taking account the possible traffic you might find in women's clothing and jewelry as compared to the open aisle next to electronics...right?)  I like it also because I know I'm going to spend less money on all my random purchases, because let's face it--nothing says "CHEAP" like Wal-mart.  The thing I have to be careful about is getting distracted by shiny objects and buying things I don't really need.  But if I'm careful and stick to my list, I'm safe. 

Wal-mart and I are good buddies.  BFFs.  We get along just great.  The only problem I really have with Wal-mart is that I've heard they don't treat their employees very well.  I've had a lot of friends who have worked at Wal-mart who have confirmed this.  The way they spoke, Wal-mart was like the darkest, deepest, most depressing pit of evil imaginable ever.

Shrug.

I've never worked at Wal-mart.  Never.

I've been mistaken for a Wal-mart worker more times than I can count.

The first time it happened, I was standing in the deodorant aisle, looking for...well, deodorant.  This older middle aged woman came up to me and asked me where the tampons were.  My first thought was to say, "Are you sure someone your age still needs them?" but instead I just smiled and said I wasn't sure.  She got a all moody and huffed away, which only confirmed my original suspicion that this woman was long past her need for tampons.  Then I realized what had just occurred.  She was asking me where something was because she thought I worked there.

This was the first of many incidents.  There was the lady who asked me if I had any more shirts in her size.  There was the gentleman who asked me to do a price check for him.  There was the other gentleman who wanted me to help him find something.  When I told him I didn't work there, he asked to speak with my manager. 

...?

Yeah.  I'm not sure what it is about me that screams "I WORK AT WAL-MART"...because I don't.  I mean, I can understand how some people might assume I work at Target since I accidently wear red almost every time I go there, but seriously.  I do not have one of those "How can I help you today?" blue vests.  I don't have a name tag with a smiley face on it. 

Maybe I just look like someone who's desperately trying to claw her way out of the deepest, darkest, most depressing pit of evil imaginable ever.

...only I don't get an employee discount.