Where Dreams Go to Die

Shuffling my feet and watching my toes pound the edge of the sticky, brown concrete floor, I try to avoid the assault on my eyes; Mountain dew attached to an infant’s mouth while the mom browses the lingerie section, men in pajama pants and chewed up slides buying cigarettes, and old women in matching tracksuits power walking down the Charmin aisle. 

Walmart, “Save money, live better,” is where dreams go to die. 

Call me squeamish, but I have never been a fan of buying deodorant that some old man named Jerry decided to “sample” before he placed it back on the shelf. Telling my grandmother this, she peered through the other side of the peephole and informed me that, “You ain’t no ninny and you should be grateful.” She had a point. I felt like I had proven I “ain’t” no ninny by walking into the store at 9 PM to begin with. The sacrifices I make for quality time. 

Walmart had brewed a cold, dark beast inside of me when I was four. I wanted to buy a fish and had talked my parents into taking me to Walmart to look at the selection. What I had dreamed about the miniature, light up tetra fish drowned the instant I pressed my tiny hands to the aquarium glass. Five of the ten fish were decaying at the bottom of the tank. One of the few remaining was diving down and biting off chunks of the soft, squishy distended flesh floating in the water from the dead green guppy. The Granola Head inside of me roared at a place that could let innocent animals die. So, after taking my bow out of my hair and crying, my parents took me to Target instead to buy me a barbie doll. Needless to say, I quickly forgave the fact I wasn’t getting a fish, but what remained in my consciousness were the shallow breaths of hatred towards the company that culled my childhood dreams away. 

You may be reading this and saying, “But Lucy, that is a ridiculous feeling to have. It’s just a dead fish. You should think about bargains and accessibility.” I do think of bargains. I think about the fact that my grandmother thinks pre-loved deodorant is ok because it was marked down fifteen cents. Maybe my hatred of Walmart is superficial at best, but all I know is that I would rather die in the freezer section of Target than walk into a Walmart at night.