7th Portal to Hell: Walmart on a Saturday … while I’m bleeding

Not just any Saturday. No, the Saturday before Easter! What was I thinking?  I wasn’t.

walmart sucks  | The Fairly Good Mother

I had a prescription to pick-up from there.  One that I have been meaning to transfer because EVERY.SINGLE.EFFING.TIME I go in there, I lament my decision to do so.

But I did it.  Again.  Because I apparently never learn.  So, I dart and weave through the drones pushing baskets full of kids and laundry detergent.  I get to the pharmacy & wait for my turn.  I tell her my name & she is perplexed by my request.  She asks me when I called my prescription in, “is it new, or did the doctor call it in?”

Me: “No, I called to renew it 2 days ago, the automated recording said it would be ready yesterday.”
Her: “Hmm … well, it’s not.”
Me:  “How come?”
Her:  “I don’t know.”
Me (getting agitated):  “Welllll, can you please find out?”  JHC, is it too much to ask for someone to do their damn job?  

She shuffles off to the back of the pharmacy for about 7 minutes, then returns.

Her:  “Seems like we are out of this medication and have ordered it, but it won’t be in until Tuesday.”
Me:  “And no one called me to tell me that because …???  You just want me to waste my time coming down to the 7th portal of hell on a Saturday.  Before Easter.  I hate Walmart, do you realize that?”
Her:  “Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am.  But, well, they usually do call.”
Me:  “Ma’am?  Ok.  Yeah.  Well, no one called me.”
Her:  “Are you sure?  (off my death-stare) Maybe we don’t have your number.”
Me:  “Oooo Kaaaaay.  Can you please double check, then, to make sure you have my correct number?”
She passes me a slip of paper and a pen.  I push it back.
Me: “No. I want to know what number you have on file.”
She looks shocked and waddles back to the computer in another area.  She returns with a slip of paper that has my number on it … I tell her that’s the correct number and she promises they will call me when it’s ready.

Not wanting to waste a trip to the 7th portal of hell, I dart and weave some more up and down aisles, retrieving items like pull-ups, wipes, “It’s The Easter Beagle Charlie Brown” dvd for The Boy’s Easter basket, and make my way to the check-out.

Holy Lines, Batman!  It’s crazier than Costco up in this mug!

I sneak into what I think is the shortest line and am practicing deep breathing as the people behind me have ZERO concept of personal space.  Why is that?  Every time I’m in that $hithole, every customer is always up on my heels, with absolutely no concept of personal space.  I’m texting The Husband, telling him that I hate this place and they’re lucky no one has lost an eye yet.  Yet.

back the f^k Up 'fore U git scratched the f^k up!
back the f^k Up ‘fore U git scratched the f^k up!

It’s my turn, finally.  BUUUUUUUUT, before the checker can even pick up my pack of pull-ups to scan, the lady behind me thrusts her hand full of ice cream at the checker’s face.  “How much is this ice cream!?!”  She grunts.

Deep breath by me.

“I don’t know?  Doesn’t it say?”  Says the checker.

“No.” Says the lady who, in my opinion, does not need to be eating ice cream.

“Hmm.” The checker muses while steam starts to puff out of my ears.  “Val?!!”  She screeches to the checker in the aisle next to ours, “How much is this ice cream, do ya know?”

Big sigh by me.  And I’m running my tongue across the top of my lip in an effort to temper my growing frustration with the situation. I bite my lip.

Val yells back that she doesn’t know.  My checker offers to the lady, “I can scan it to find out if ya want ….”

“Yeah, you can scan it AFTER you’re done checking me out!!!!”  I finally erupt, smacking my hand down on the register area.

Everyone is taken aback by my outburst.  Checker apologizes and calls me ma’am, (which only further pisses me off.  That’s 2 ma’am’s in one Walmart trip!)  Ice cream lady stares at me, and I stare back, daggers in my pupils, daring her to confront me.  I’m bleeding and I hate Walmart.  I dare you to say something to me and see how fast I can lodge that ice cream where the sun don’t shine, sweetheart.

She didn’t say a word.  Smart move.

Moral of the story:  Do NOT go to Walmart EVER.  And if you need to go there, make sure it’s not on a Saturday.  And NEVER on a Saturday before Easter Sunday.

Some Days, Being A Mom Is Hard …

There are lots of times I don’t think I’m cut out for this gig.  I think that it takes a special person to be a mother, and an even special-er person to be a mother with a child who has Aspergers, (or any spectrum disorder, really.)  And I don’t know why in the hell the Universe thought that I was a good candidate.  I have trouble controlling my temper, and patience isn’t my strong suit … especially during a certain time of the month.

I loathe losing my temper – it makes me feel like an awful mother & a terrible role model.  And you’d never know by looking at him that The Boy has special needs & requires extra attention and patience, but he does.  And sometimes I forget that.

I can’t understand why when I explain to him that our cat just got home from surgery and we need to be extra nice & gentle with him, and not to stomp near him, or chase him, that The Boy can’t just listen to me & understand this. I explained it 3 times in the car and reiterated it twice when we got home.  But, it’s like it goes in one ear and out the other … well, either that he just doesn’t care.  I don’t know.  I mean, he’s three years old, he can’t be that diabolical.

But he seems that way sometimes … especially after he chases and stomps by our poor cat who is totally disoriented from being sedated all damn day.  And The Boy just laughs when I flip out and send him to his room, and then he refuses to stay put.  That’s when the things escalate: I start yelling & The Boy starts laughing manically.  And let me just explain to you in case you’ve never been so upset at not being understood that you’re seeing stars, being laughed at is NOT cool.  It only makes you more incensed.  And you forget that you’re dealing with a 3 year old with Aspergers … or maybe that’s just me.

Sigh.

I’m sure the neighbors were one digit away from dialing child services.  I am not proud of these moments.  And yes, I’m admitting that it’s happened more than once, and that brings tears to my eyes.  I wish I had the patience that I see other moms exhibit.  I don’t know why I’m this way, but I hate it, and I feel like every day I’m telling myself that ‘tomorrow’s another day’ and another chance to ‘start over’ and be more patient with him.

And then, there’s the dark moments like the one I’m having now, where I think … This Boy deserves a better mom.  One who never yells, never loses her temper, and always exhibits understanding and patience & never ever loses her cool.  Do they exist?  They must, right?  Because I don’t hear any moms readily admitting they, too, have a less-than-stellar parenting moment.  Or maybe I’m just this over-achieving perfectionist who doesn’t realize that all moms lose their cool every now and then.

I feel like I’m the worst mom in the world right now.  Or maybe it’s just my PMDD gripping my heart & I’m being too hard on myself … Is it time for wine yet?  🙂