You get what you pay for.
That obviously rings the most true when you patronize your friendly neighborhood Wal-Mart.
I personally try to avoid Wal-Mart stores, for two reasons (neither having to do with the fact that they are exploitive and give Americans low prices because of sweat shops in other countries):
1. Whenever I go to a place such as Wal-Mart (or Target) for a single item, I end up inevitably leaving with at least $50 worth of merchandise that I “need.”
2. This particular Wal-Mart on Des Plaines Avenue in Forest Park tends to be panic-attack central complete with unruly children, fat booty-do people taking up entire aisles, lines that stretch into the women’s fitting rooms, and shopping carts that have only two functioning wheels (three if you’re lucky and happen to empty out an abandoned overstock cart).
p.s: a “booty-do” is defined a person with a huge shelf ass, but their stomach sticks out further than their booty do.
Monday afternoon, I pulled into Wal-Mart’s Tire and Lube Express station to get an oil change. I couldn’t help but think how it could be the setting and storyline of a bad porno movie. You know, with the shitty acting and phony scenarios. The title would be, “Tie Her and Lube Express,” and the bitch would get gangbanged by the dirty shop guys on a mattress covered with car oil. Yick.
Tom, the tall black man signing in cars reminded me of the character from The Green Mile. He wasn’t nearly as big and tall, but his demeanor and personality was similar. He wasn’t slow, per se, but something about him was a little dopey. He smiled as I rolled my window down (likely releasing the wonderful scent of puff puff green) and asked for an oil change.
“Do we have the filter for that car?” He asked.
“Yes, I’ve gotten my oil changed here before.”
Two different guys from the shop were having trouble unhinging the hood of my Jetta, so I had to show ‘em how it’s done.
Upon realizing that my car’s dipstick was dry and I had no oil in my engine (I knew that was the case before they even told me), a hispanic mechanic (I’ll call him Juan) explained to me that I would have to buy my own oil, put it in myself, and THEN they could work on my car. It didn’t make much sense to me, but Juan said he would show me which stuff to buy.
Inside, he told me to get a 5-quart bottle of the cheapest oil.
“Why can’t I just get a small bottle?”
“Well, you need at least three or four quarts, so it’s cheaper to buy it in bulk,” he explained. “I’ll help you.” Fair enough.
I got in the line and there were three people ahead of me. This older blonde lady was having some problem with her transaction, and the cashier was just taking her sweet time figuring out the problem.
Behind her was a guy with two kids–a three-year-old girl with beads in her hair who was dancing around, and a two-year-old boy who was squirming and squealing in his dad’s arms, wanting to play with his sister. The only reason why I thought their antics were cute was because they weren’t my kids.
“Why can’t you just stay right there?” The dad asked his daughter. “You’re getting him all riled up!” He probably picked the babies up and put them down eight times.
Behind the little family, a chick with short dredlocks and the same uniform as the shop guys was in line with two car batteries. By the time it was her turn to check out, she and the cashier were joking around, laughing, and holding up the line even further. “I better get an even trade-in on this, damn it!”
“Shut up and give me your ID,” the cashier, Tania, said. Her name was tattoed across her stretch-marked arm. Ick.
Five minutes later, the dred chick fished her ID from somewhere on her person. The cashier looked at the photo and busted out laughing, showing everyone in line. “That ain’t no ID picture,” she said. “That’s a mugshot! Look at her hair!”
I was so irritated.
I updated my Twitter:
mizchartreuse Omg you people are so crazy! Please, take your time. I have all day to spend 40 minutes in line while you fuck around and laugh.
Outside, as I opened my hood and unscrewed the oil cap, Tom calls over, “You know what you’re doing?” I told him I did, as pouring oil through a funnel is not that difficult, but he could come supervise if he wanted. Juan was nowhere to be found. Thanks, Juan!
Tom started pouring the oil into my car. “You don’t need an oil change now,” he said. “This your oil change!”
“What do you mean, I don’t need an oil change?” I asked. “Juan just told me to buy this cheap oil, put some in, and then you guys would give me a real oil change!”
“No, you ain’t had no oil in your car. What are we gonna change? This your oil change!” He kept pouring.
“What about the filter? You have to change the filter.”
“Well, you ain’t got no oil, so it’s okay. You don’t have to change the filter every time.” Still pouring…
“But I haven’t gotten an oil change in half a year. I’m sure it needs to be changed.”
A third man (I’ll call him Greg) walks over and asks, “Do you have a leak?”
“No, no leaks,” I said. “I never see anything when I pull out of parking spots.”
“So why did you not have any oil? Did you look under the car? Stop pouring that oil in there, Tom. Whatchu doing?”
“She don’t need no oil change,” Tom chimed in again.
“I just didn’t have any oil because I haven’t gotten an oil change in a long time,” I explained.
“Ohhh, oh I see,” Greg said.
Another man, John, walked up to where my car was parked to the side of the parking lot. “You need an oil change, right?” He was the only sane-seeming person I had interacted with thus far.
“Yes, I do,” I said. “But everyone’s telling me different things! Juan said to buy cheap oil and put it in. Tom’s telling me I don’t need an oil change, which is obviously not true. And now Greg’s asking me if I have a leak!”
“How many miles do you have on your car?” Greg asked.
“Over 100,” I said.
“Yeah, Volkswagen makes good cars. You should get the high-mileage oil change for $38.”
“Do I really need that? Or is this just something that you guys sell people who don’t know anything?” I asked.
“She don’t need that expensive oil change,” John said. “Just get the regular, Pennzoil change.”
“No, she should get the high-mileage one,” said Greg.
“Which one do I need?!” I asked. Seriously, guys…?
“The regular one will be fine,” John assured me. He looked under my hood and at the almost-empty bottle of cheap oil. “What is this?”
I explained to him the events of the past half hour.
“Um, Tom put way too much oil in there,” he said, seeing that there was about a quart of oil left in the bottle. “Why didn’t you get the little bottle?”
“Juan told me to buy that one! He said I needed at least three quarts!”
“Well, Tom put in more than four, and we don’t need any overflow into your engine,” he explained. “Normally, when a car comes in without oil, I’ll have them put in a little bit, drive the car for a day, and come back the next day for a change. But since Tom put way too much in there, just pull it in and I’ll take care of it.”
“Can we give her the oil change for free?” Greg asked. Finally, someone was speaking some sense! 
“We can use the oil she bought since she only needs a quart and say it’s ‘customer-purchased oil.’”
“We can use the oil she bought since she only needs a quart and say it’s ‘customer-purchased oil.’”“Um, let’s not complicate things further,” I told him. “I’m sure I need more than a quart.”
“Yeah, we can’t do it for free, but you do only need to standard oil change for $23,” said John. “Pull your car into the garage.”
Instead of sitting in the customer waiting area inside where I’m sure more chaos was ensuing, I sat outside in the sun on the curb and read and Twittered. Jaley humored me.
mizchartreuse Adventures At Walmart! The events of the past 20 minutes definitely comprise a chapter in my memoir. Srsly.
MoreInteresting @mizchartreuse you need to convert to traget-ism
mizchartreuse Apparently has to convert to Traget-ism. I wish i knew what that was!
MoreInteresting Ahem… Target-ism
mizchartreuse But target doesn’t have a tire and lube express! Ahem.. ‘tie her and lube.’ oh, oil changes..
MoreInteresting @mizchartreuse you just made me very horny. Ahem… Whore knee
So finally, after all the madness and “advice” from about five different shop guys, I got the oil change I had originally come in for 45 minutes prior. Literally 15 minutes later, John told me my car was ready. 15 minutes!
I went back inside to pay for the service, wondering how these hilarious situations always happen to me. I mean, how many women can say they had five different guys assist them in different ridiculous ways at the Tire and Lube Express? Um..
The cashier was talking it up and other Wal-Mart employees were screwing around and throwing stuff. Good Lord. When it was finally my turn, Tania started making conversation with me, asking why I had just bought a bottle of oil and was now paying for an oil change.
I didn’t have the heart to be a bitch to her slow ass, so I just said, “This Wal-Mart is crazy.”
Indeed.
I would say that I’m going to Jiffy Lube next time, but I know I’ll be back.
And then when I was walking to my car, a man asked for my autograph.
I laughed and said, “Sorry, no photos today, please.”
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