Here's a brief summary of a recent shopping trip in Glendora, CA.
I needed a scanner to scan some cherished family photographs. Since time was of the essence, I started by driving over to Wal-mart to see if they had any flat-bed scanners in stock. (Spoiler alert: They don't.)
Wal-mart is organized in such a way that you wander the aisles like a child lost in a hedgerow maze, and eventually you forget what you're looking for and instead you find yourself debating whether to buy a miracle remote control that controls absolutely everything in your house. That, and a 2-gallon superjug of hormone-enhanced 2% milk.
Finally, after 30 minutes, you decide you don't need the remote and you don't want to carry the superjug of supermilk. And then suddenly you feel like crying.
So you stand there in the "food" section of Wal-mart, trying not to cry. Why do they have food in Wal-mart anyway? It's depressing. People should only come to Wal-mart for flammable pyjamas and disposable CD-players. Not food!!!
So then your sadness is overtaken by a white-hot, all-consuming consumer-advocate rage that snaps you out of your uber-depression and makes you realize, "I'M IN FUCKING WAL-MART!!!" and you put down the $5.99 DVD of Speed II (because you have standards, after all, and at very least, you must have wide-screen format, even for a Sandra Bullock shit-fest) and walk straight for the door.
On the way out you put your hands in your front pockets in a conspicuous way, hoping the under-paid greeter will suspect you of shop-lifting and stop you, thereby justifying his shitty job for a few more days during this difficult time, poor bastard.
Once outside, you turn your face up into the sunlight and breathe in the fresh air before driving over to Staples to buy yourself a nice HP flat-bed scanner.