2. This is the job to which I learned how disgusting "functioning" members of society really are. I've found urine-soaked nylons hidden in the Infant Department. Blood-stained bathing suits in the woman's change room. And shit-tarnished jeans that were returned... because, of course, you can return ANYTHING at Walmart - even if you do decide to include a little bonus brown package of your own. Where's the shame?
3. I mainly worked the switchboard - which doubled as the fitting room attendant. There was also a men's fitting room, but it was not supervised. They would have to 'ding' the service bell and I would have to run over to let them in - in between answering 10 calls per minute and tending to impatient ladies in the women's fitting room. Easy there, ladies. This ain't Nordstroms! FUN.
Nine times out of 10, the DING was produced by someone's snotty kid, just "testing it out." Emmm - yeah. The parent would usually greet me with a shrugged smile, "Hee, hee. Sorry. You know kids!" I'd be scream-thinking, "No, I don't, as a matter of fact. I'm 18 and successfully use birth control, asshole." I actually had nightmares about that bell; I began hearing it even when I wasn't working.
4. I used to hide at the back of the store when they would do the annoyingly lame Walmart cheer before the store opened in the morning. If it was one particular Assistant Manager in charge, he'd bust my ass. He would tauntingly whisper over the PA, "Steeeeephanie. We know you're back there! We won't start without you... and you'll have to lead the cheer now." Dammit! Mutha fukka!
Gimmie a W. Gimme an A. Gimmie an L. Gimme a squiggly.
(Yes, that's right. The star somehow translated to the word "squiggly")
and... well... you get the idea.