O'Leary's field trip (aka the depths of my prick-dom)

Sometimes university life becomes monotonous, and you have to step outside of the campus world and its surrounding area. The break in monotony can be refreshing. It's always good to keep the big picture in mind, to remember that there's more to this city, more to life, than two LRT stops, some places to get drunk, and Foosh (my new favourite sneaker spot).

And sometimes, you have to go to Wal-Mart.

On Friday, my aunt and cousin from Grande Prairie came into the city for the day to straighten out some passport stuff. My aunt has never driven in the city, so she asked me to meet up with her on the outskirts of town so that I could drive them to the government building downtown to do their passport-paper-filling-out-stuff. I didn't mind; I thought it would take a few hours in the morning and I'd have the rest of the afternoon to catch up on some schoolwork. My aunt asked me to meet her in the parking lot of the Wal-Mart on Stony Plain Road, so on Friday morning at 10:30, there I was. This is where my day (and hopefully, this post) gets interesting.

By 1pm, there was no sign of my aunt. I had been sitting in my car, listening to CJSR's replaying of Ralph Nader's speech on the U of A campus from 2001 (pre-Sept. 11th, I'm assuming) for over two hours, through a massive rainstorm, with two check-in calls unreturned. My patience wore thin and my appetite grew by the minute. I couldn't take it anymore. I abandoned Nader's warnings on growing up corporate and did something I absolutely hate doing: I made my way into Wal-Mart, in search of a cheap snack.



Wal-Mart's always an infuriating, if not interesting experience for me. The parking lot is an organized chaos, with expensive trucks, SUV's and Mustangs parked far away from the entrance of the store, so that these vehicle owners don't have to worry about the wreckless parking techniques of those who are jealous of the sheer awesomeness of these vehicles. Just to make sure no one parks next to them, they cover up at least two stalls when they park. I call this a classic prick-job. In the more populated area of the parking lot lies a delicate arrangement of sedans and minivans: the official transporters of Alberta's whitest white trash. Inside, past the naivete of a genuine greeting that can only come from a borderline handicapped person, I found a museum in the making; a tribute to working-class pop culture. Here's a pictorial tour of what I found:

First up on the list was what every man wants/needs in his life: beer-related products for the home.



Nothing says, "I've made it in life" like a beer can lamp and a matching beer cap lamp. When people walk into your home and see these things, they'll know that you have a phenomenal understanding and appreciation of Miller Lite and all that it stands for. Along with the velvet portrait you've got of Cheech and Chong smoking a joint, or any pornography that may hang on your walls next to these lamps, people will come away from their visit to your home knowing what matters to you the most: good beer, adequate lighting and drugs (or naked chicks, if that's what's being lit up by the lamps).

Believe it or not, there may be some people out there who don't share the same set of values in your life. If you voted, you'd call them people that don't vote conservative. Since most Wal-Mart shoppers don't vote (fact? Sure...) you can call them idiots that bother voting...fucking government. Naturally, these people live far away from the average Wal-Mart consumer, so where can you find them? What can you do about them when you do find them? Thanks to Wal-Mart, you can do a lot. When you use this trusty scope for your rifle, you can get your enemies, or just some 18-point bucks in sight, and let them fucking have it. 80 bucks for a problem solver is a good deal. No wonder Wal-Mart writes "SATISFACTION GUARANTEED" on the front of their store.



Now, when you're sitting around the house with the Stones' Paint it Black blaring out of your open windows for your neighbours to hear, cigarette hanging out of your mouth, reading porn under the light of your beer lamps and admiring the awesomeness of your truck that you park 300 feet away from the front entrance of Wal-Mart, what should you be wearing while you're polishing your guns and trying to decide which scope to put on it so that you can kill stuff better? Why not this pair of Rolling Stones boxer shorts?



These things are cool for two reasons: One, The Stones are the fucking best band, like, ever, and two, there's a tongue (presumably a woman's) on your crotch. You know what that implies, right? Oral sex, brother!

Finally, what's a trip to Wal-Mart without picking up something for the rugrats? For the young shit-disturber in your life, why not get them something to let their little asses get fatter on while they're playing GTA: San Andreas instead of learning how to read better...or at all?



Could there be anything more appropriate for the young bad-ass to play vids in than a beanbag chair that has the devil on it? Fuckin' A boys, fuckin' A.

This concludes the tour. If you'd like to buy any of these products, be prepared to stand in line for 30-45 minutes, then be ready to wait another 5 minutes for the managerial staff to figure out what it is that keeps setting the alarm off at the door as you're leaving.

"We're sorry, but even though you just spent your money on our crap, we think you may have stolen from us. Please find a Wal-Mart associate who will go through your purchases to make sure you paid for them all."

Post-tour entertainment will be provided by those who parked far away finding out that their doors were keyed by someone while they were inside the store.