Last night, Ray and I went to our local SprawlMart.

I may have gone on at some length before about my loathing of SprawlMart, both on a “they’re the epitome of corporate evil” level and the fact that I always seem to find myself in there with a particularly interesting (on an anthropological level) cross section of humanity. Does this make me a snob? You betcha. Doesn’t change the fact that it’s true.

It’s sort of like going to the DMV. I know that rich people have to renew their driver’s licenses — you can’t send your assistant to do it for you (although, interestingly enough, in Texas you can do it online at least once). So why is it that whenever I’m there, I find myself in line with people who are drunk at 9 am, or who clearly were just released from prison (possibly having come directly from the release gate)?

The reason that we had to go to SprawlMart (here goes my gay green politically correct motivated need to justify the trip) was that we had to make a return on an item. While there, we needed to pick up a new battery for Mocha’s RF/ID collar. Because I find the environment at SprawlMart so unpleasant, I decided that division of labor would be the best way to deal with getting in and out in a short amount of time.

“You go to customer service, I’ll get the battery,” I told Ray as we walked in.

And thus began my hegira through the SprawlMart.

Where does SprawlMart keep batteries? (Keep in mind that I needed one of those special batteries about the size of quarter (or a 20 Euro cent piece)).

I know! Let’s go to electronics.

Where the hell is electronics? Let’s see … housewares … auto parts … sewing patterns … fabric … oh, dear god, tell me she’s not going to make something with that! It looks like the fabric used to make the sweater that Jason wore to that ugly sweater party … aha! Electronics. Video games … music … Christian music … more Christian music … even more Christian music …. good lord, how much Christian music is there? … ink cartridges … no batteries. Crap.

If I were a battery, where would I be? Hardware? Let’s go to hardware. Which direction is hardware? There are no signs. Let’s try this way … nope, now I’m in shoes. Let’s go the other way. Back in ugly fabric … oh, lord, she IS buying that … toys … hunting supplies … is it a good idea to put hunting supplies next to toys? … auto parts … hardware! Paint … lightbulbs … are they next to lightbulbs? No. And … now I’m done with hardware. No batteries.

Hmm. I need to ask someone. Ray’s probably wondering what’s taking so long. What IS taking so long? Why can’t I find the batteries? They’re probably someplace really obvious. But I thought I was thinking in the obvious places. OK, let me think about this. I’m overthinking it. Pretend you’re a stupid person. Where would you look for batteries if you were Randy? Near the front door. OK, heading for the front door. I’m at the front door. All I see is candy. Shit.

OK. Let me try this aisle. Walking … walking … walking … seriously, who the hell would want that? … walking … walking … and now I’m back in electronics. Maybe I didn’t see the batteries the first time. Let’s see. Ink cartridges … paper … film … cheap printers … music … video games … Christian music … no batteries.

Did I miss them in hardware? Why can’t I find a single person to ask?? Does she work here? No. Shoot. Is there someone working at the register in electronics? No, it’s empty. Frak-a-doodle. Seriously. How hard is it to find batteries??

OK, maybe I’ll head back to the front door and ask that old person that always works there. Hopefully he’ll actually know. I wonder … they wouldn’t keep the only batteries they have at the cash register? Surely a store this big would have a real battery selection … wouldn’t they? Hey, look! “Battery station.” I see coin batteries! And … they’re all the wrong size.

Lamentably, this whole process took about ten minutes, and I never did find anyone to actually ask for assistance. Fortunately, because this is SprawlMart, Ray was still seventh in line by the time I managed to peruse the microscopic “battery station” and determine that they did not have the correct size of batteries for Mocha’s collar.

We’ll have to hit the hardware store, where I still can’t ever find anything — and, because I don’t speak Yoruba, am frequently unable to ask questions of the floor staff, all of whom appear to have been appointed by the Nigerian hardware store mafia, which was clearly formed in response to the Ethiopian parking lot mafia that runs all of the pay lots in downtown Austin.

But at least I know where the batteries are.

Tags: frustration, humanity, Ray, shopping, sprawlmart