Unsolicited Advice

Background: I go to WalMart as infrequently as I possibly can. I don't like WalMart. It's not because of the tempting "Puppies For Sale" sign perpetually held in the far North end of the parking lot. Nor is it the parade of women over the age of 60 in short shorts and belly shirts. I can even tolerate the unattended children riding bikes around the store and running a tire up my leg. The toothless man with the large tattoo covering his entire upper torso in a wife beater shirt who likes to come on to me is at least flattering. He gives me options if my husband ever walks out on me. No, the real problem at my closest WalMart is the checkers who take F.O.R.E.V.E.R. to scan my purchases.

On Saturday I got in "Jeff's" lane. He was animately friendly. However, this significantly slowed his job performance. By the time I got to the front of the line, I discovered why he was so slow. You see, he mistook me for someone who wanted to bond and form a close, personal relationship.

First of all, he took a personal interest in every single item in my cart and made a comment. "Aren't you a little old for crayons?" laughing too hard at his own joke. When I pretended to be intensely interested in the contents of my purse, he repeated in a louder voice, "I said, aren't you a little old for crayons?" I gave him the obligatory smile but said nothing. The problem of course, was that for everything he scanned, he had a comment. For every comment, he held my purchase hostage in midair until I acknowledged his "jokes."

"I see you're not too old for menopause, though," he mentioned, as he scanned my feminine hygiene products. He then stopped scanning to share with me the story of his mother's menopause. Awesome.

After 28 minutes from the time I first stood in line to check out (I was the third) and my purchases were, at long last, safely bagged and discussed, I ran my credit card through the machine. Naturally, he asked to see my driver's license. I handed it to him.

"I see you live on Daisy Lane. Do you know Joe Wizowski?" I shook my head. He then gave me the whole story about how he and Joe went deer hunting last October, drank too much beer, got lost in the woods and woke up the next morning laying in deer poop and vomit. Now I was even more glad I didn't know Joe Wizowski.

I quickly took my new purchases for which I had paid my soul and hurried away. "Have a nice day, Nancy!" He said.

Unsolicited Advice Column on Jeff's Social Faux Pas:

1. If you can't scan and talk at the same time - always choose to scan. My goal is to get in and out as quickly as possible.

2. Commenting on a person's purchases is like looking into a home medicine cabinet or in a woman's purse. It's off limits.

3. The purpose of looking at my driver's license is to simply verify that I am who I purport to be. When commenting on other aspects like an address, weight, hair color, and whether or not I am an organ donor, you look like a stalker.

4. The story about your mom. . . way too Freudian for me to even comment.

5. Really don't want to hear stories about you drunk with a rifle. The vomit was over the top but not the most disturbing part of my experience with you. That fact, in and of itself, is disturbing.

6. Did you really call me by my first name? I don't remember being formerly introduced. Call me old fashioned but I want to keep professional distance from you. In fact, I want to keep as much distance from you as possible.

7. Please pass this advice onto Krystal, Jenny, and Kyle. I've had similar experiences with them, as well. Except for the menopause story. That one was novel.

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What unsolicited advice would you like to give and to whom?