Is there anything I could have done today that would have made me feel more like a redneck than having a fight with someone in a Wal-Mart parking lot? Maybe if I'd been swigging from a 40, or wearing a Nascar t-shirt with Little Debbie snack cake stains on it, or maybe if Sean had been my cousin and his name had been Bubba and I'd been kissing him, but otherwise I'm guessing yelling at someone in a Wal-Mart parking lot is probably pretty high on the list of Redneck Activities, wouldn't you think?
Let me preface this by saying that I do not normally like to shop in The Wal-Mart. In fact I sort of abhor The Wal-Mart. It kind of depresses the hell out of me, and when they tell me to have a nice day at the cash register, I'm convinced they're being sarcastic. I have no bones with The Target (ahhhh, the Target! I love the Target!) and once I went to The K-Mart in Santa Barbara---but I think it was kind of an upscale K-Mart, and also I only went because I was trying to find some sort of automotive product that would get rid of the scratch I had somehow mysteriously put in my rental car, and also I was lost---but The Wal-Mart? No thanks. Please keep your long lines and your bad labor practices, and your sad-seeming greeters, Wal-Mart. And also your strange smell and your horrendous bathrooms.
So I had just popped into The Wal-Mart because Sean and I were in desperate need of a coffee maker---ours having broken that morning, which, you know, THANKS COFFEE MAKER, BAD TIMING---and The Target was a little too far for me to venture to on my lunchbreak. Plus, I didn't feel like parting with $200 because I suddenly saw, like, eighteen things I really, desperately needed. And I knew I wouldn't have that problem in The Wal-Mart, because do THEY have a cheap Isaac Mizrahi collection and a rather twee but delicious line of chocolate bars called Choxie? NO, THEY DO NOT. But it turned out The Wal-Mart did not actually have a particularly good selection of coffee makers, and so I left only with some gum and a new file folder. Although, to my credit, no chewing tobacco.
But as I was leaving The Wal-Mart, the man in front of me pushed open the glass door and THEN LET IT FALL STRAIGHT BACK INTO MY FACE. I want to know: who does this? Who doesn't hold doors behind them for strangers? I do! Don't you? I called out "thank you!" to him---partly to kill him with kindess, but also to be just a little bit obnoxious---but then he did it AGAIN with the next door. So I called out "thank you again!" and this time, he turned around and yelled obscenities at me. Across the parking lot. So I yelled back, "it's just nice to hold doors for people!' which, you know, HOW WITTY of me, HOW CUTTING. I certainly put HIM in his place, that's for sure!
But you know how I said that there was probably nothing more redneck I could have done than having a fight with a man in a Wal-Mart parking lot? Well, I think there might be. Because yesterday, Sean and I picked up a sofa from the side of the road. But it was a very nice sofa, a big, wicker, outdoorsy-type sofa with green and white striped cushions, and there was nothing wrong with it other than the fact that its owners had obviously received the Pottery Barn Spring 2006 catalogue in the mail that day, and realized that this one was waaaaay too Summer 2005, and all the neighbors would probably point and laugh and say, "But James! Green and white stripes! They're so passé!"
Besides, it's not like we took the matching ottoman and the two armchairs.
Oh, alright then, we did. But they look fabulous in our garden. A little scratched on the arms, but still free! And if you've got something to say about my second-hand sofas from the Curbside Store, I'll fight you. Meet you in the Wal-Mart parking lot. You name the time.