Tag Archives: Subway

Walmart-ing

14 Sep

Walmart is a wonderful mecca of deals, steals (sometimes literally) and wonder, but also a hellhole. Going there on a Sunday afternoon is probably the worst decision you could ever make, because come 12pm, it turns into the official local church after-party no matter where you live. Seriously, sometimes I think that if a Walmart threw an I-Hop inside of one of its locations instead of a Subway sandwich franchise, there would literally never need to be anything else open on a Sunday–Joel Osteen would probably invest. Better yet, a church should probably just open a Walmart in the back, because move over, Taco Bell/Pizza Hut/KFC combo, a new mega trio is coming your way and it’s called The Walmart I-Hop Mega Church Center.

Anyway, Walmart. Yes, Walmart–the place once infamously confused as a store that sells walls by Paris Hilton, doesn’t actually sell walls, but they do sell legitimately everything else. This is why when it came time for me to re-organize my sneaker closet, the Walmart website was my first stop because let’s be honest–the safest way to shop at Walmart is by not physically being at Walmart. So how did I end up at Walmart then? Good question. I wanted to save the $7 shipping cost on the shoe cubby I ordered, so I opted for the in-store pickup option. A week later, I strolled through the doors of my local Walmart and wandered through aisles of camouflage hats, camouflage televisions and camouflage children until I finally found the online order center nested neatly by the Subway sandwich franchise. I worked my way around the line at the registers that seemed like it was Black Friday in the middle of September and wondered if I was missing out on something, but instead I just got in line behind several people in the online order area.

The area was small, and for some reason had its own Sunny Delight display tower, just in case you felt the need to hydrate with some sugar-water while waiting to pick up your microwave. There were 4 registers and about 10 employees, but only 2 registers were actually open. After waiting for 5 minutes and realizing the line hadn’t moved at all, I asked a sales associate if people were also in this line for general purchases, not just order pickups–“no, it’s also layaway.” Ah–layaway. Alright, no big deal. I stood there, waiting, eavesdropping on conversations about pregnancies and refrigerators, wondering if I would ever get to pick up my shoe cubby. I took a moment to take in my surroundings–there were still several associates standing behind the counter, but still only 2 stations were open. There were two Walmart employees sitting on a bench in the area, one of them was eating chicken–I am hoping she was on her break. It didn’t smell like chicken at first, but then it did…and as my hunger grew in correlation with my impatience, the smell was more apparent to me and I just wanted to know where I could get that chicken but I couldn’t get out of the line because then the vicious cycle would begin once more and I HAD SOMEWHERE TO BE, DAMMIT. And that place was a diner, because I was hungry.

FINALLY, after several texts from my mother and what seemed like the longest 20 minutes of my life, it was my turn. Once I got up to the register, it was quick and painless, but of course the box for my product was bent and damaged. I just wanted to get out of there, though, before the spell of chicken came over me and forced me to wait in yet another line. Also, I had seen a camouflage Mets hat that was quietly calling my name, so I legit had to bounce before I dropped anymore money there that day.

When I got home, after the diner, I assembled my shoe cubby, noticed one of the metal poles was damaged, took a moment to think of what a hassle it would be to try and return or exchange the item, and decided to just take the chance of it collapsing because somehow that would be more convenient to me than having to go to Walmart again.

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Subway Etiquette 101

19 Jul

If you aren’t grateful for this blog yet, you should be, because nearly everyday I head out into the battlefields of the earth, the scum of the city and a rat’s paradise with an all-you-can-eat buffet of scraps and used Metro cards. Yes, I am a daily Subway rider and I’ve got the sweat and water-stained shoes to show for it.

I also have pictures.

You see, I have decided that there is no better way to spice up my morning commute than to take some risky photographs of my fellow train-goers. Let’s just get one thing straight, when I say “risky” I don’t mean nude, I just mean the people I take photographs of, with my trusty Blackberry Bold 9700, don’t know I am taking photos of them. Therefore, if they realize just what I’m doing while I “search for service” beneath or above ground, I very well may get shot (with a gun, not camera) 0r beaten up considering many of the people I snap photos of appear to be the weapon-carrying type…or at least a pocket knife or two.

Every morning or evening that I hop on the Subway or rail road I keep my eyes peeled for the oddly dressed and possibly just opressed commuters who truly need a “What Not To Wear” intervention, or at least a shopping spree somewhere other than a 1920’s vortex they stumbled upon in a dream. Very often I don’t have to search to hard because there people seem to just find me. I guess it’s a gift, or perhaps a sign, that I should keep doing what I’m doing, and when the time to stop comes I will know it…or it’ll just hit me, like a ton of people hitting me.

I watch for all sorts of people: the lonely kind, sitting alone on the railroad downing their third mini bottle of wine from a four pack in under 30 minutes; or the homeless kind, making their way from car to car on the Subway claiming they’re a WWII veteran looking for some change or food…even though they don’t look at day over 35, and every kind in between.

So brace yourselves, AdDITKs, because you are about to embark on a journey so risky, so shameful and SO shocking that you very well may call your relative who is a big-time book publisher and tell them that A Ditk’s Subway Etiquette Series is the next great coffee table book.****

****Note: I encourage you to do just this. Movie producers are also acceptable.

So swipe your metro card and grip that metal hand rail tightly because my own little “Subway Series” starts…now.

 

This man did me the justice of giving me a preview before I even got onto the Subway this morning. As the train made it’s stop, I peered into the window right before my eyes and the last thing I EVER expected to see was a barely-there tank top and a set of nipple rings. I feel sorry for that girl directly in front of him with the stylish bun, ear buds and blue top. I’d hate to see what she’s seeing, oh but wait, let’s do it anyway:

There we go. Now that’s more like it. The man decided to give that poor girl a break and face me instead. Oh, happy day! I now had the pleasure of realizing that he had a scissor malfunction, or simply mowed over his shirt, leaving is t-shirt to rot in tank-top hell. Honestly, at this point why even put anything on? Just to say you’re wearing a shirt should you stop into a 711 and be questioned on their “no shirt, no shoes, no service” policy? C’mon man, I know you’re at least wearing pants but those nipple rings violate state code in just about every state, and providence,  known to man…including Puerto Rico. Also, regarding the cross around your neck, I know I’m Jewish but even I can speak for the good man JC when I say he is DEFINITELY not happy about your choice of outfit this morning.

Here’s hoping we never cross paths again, barely-there-tank-top-man. Unless of course you’re wearing leather chaps or a fur vest, because that is something I can write A LOT of material on.

Next up, ELTON JOHN?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!!??!?!

No. Not even close. Though I think Elton does fancy that shape of sunglasses, just not the camo and plaid duo with the bucket hat to match. Honestly, I don’t know how I managed to capture such a picture-perfect photograph. Not only was this guy looking right at me, but he had absolutely no clue that I was taking his picture, and everyone knows that a clueless man = the perfect candidate for a creeper Subway photo.

That’s all for now, but TRUST me, as long as there are trains pulsing above and beneath this earth, there will be funky, poorly (or barely) dressed people gracing my presence to capture in timeless, priceless photographs.

Let’s just hope I’m still alive to post the next few photos I snap.

-A Ditk

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