admin
22 December 2023
You know the old saying, "You can never go home again." Well, it should be, "You should never go home again."
When I was a kid, there was a Kmart a block from my house. It was the only place to go when you're ten and have no one to drive you any place better. It was truly magnificent. On any given Saturday I could spend at least three hours browsing. I would purchase Cherry Icees, waste a dollar on arcade games (usually Tron) and movie trading cards, and ogle at all the toys I could never afford. Yes, it sure was my special place. So when I went home for Christmas to visit my family this year, I decided to visit the old girl.
Wow. I was one dumb kid. Either that, or Satan bought the deed to Kmart and decided to make it the Annex to Hell. It was truly horrific. The place was dank, decrepit, and totally devoid of the charm that once captured my heart. To top it off, the place was overloaded with useless junk. So much so that someone decided to shrink the aisle space to five feet wide. An obese couple went down aisle ten for milk. A half-hour later, they had to be removed by the fire department with the Jaws of Life. The employees of Hell's Annex didn't help either. I haven't seen so many drooling, brainless twits since the wake for Dale Earnhardt. I even recognized a few of them from my childhood; poor, sorry bastards. Could you imagine being born just to spend your whole life working at Kmart? It took every ounce of strength I had not to unlock the gun cabinet in the Sport Section and declare, "It's either five seconds with Smith & Wesson, or 25 more years working at Kmart! You be the judge."
It was at this point that a feeling deep inside of me, a feeling I never knew I even had, began to grow. A feeling I couldn't even identify at first. A strong, powerful feeling. The feeling of,.. superiority. Yes, I was better than all of these people. Better than the deadbeat dads who were there, on Christmas Eve, shopping for trashy gifts for their begotten offspring. Better than the trailer trash shopping for "fancy" linens to adorn their slovenly bed, where even pigs wouldn't fornicate. And yes, better than Earl, who, for as long as I can remember, has always worked in the antiquated video section with a small square mustache. You would think after Hitler committed genocide, that sporty little number would be considered taboo by any rational human being. But not good ol’ Earl.
Yes, Kmart might not have been the Arcadia I once imagined it was. But it did give me something very important that day: the ability to feel superior over all the subhumans of planet Earth.
What more could anyone ask for?
When I was a kid, there was a Kmart a block from my house. It was the only place to go when you're ten and have no one to drive you any place better. It was truly magnificent. On any given Saturday I could spend at least three hours browsing. I would purchase Cherry Icees, waste a dollar on arcade games (usually Tron) and movie trading cards, and ogle at all the toys I could never afford. Yes, it sure was my special place. So when I went home for Christmas to visit my family this year, I decided to visit the old girl.
Wow. I was one dumb kid. Either that, or Satan bought the deed to Kmart and decided to make it the Annex to Hell. It was truly horrific. The place was dank, decrepit, and totally devoid of the charm that once captured my heart. To top it off, the place was overloaded with useless junk. So much so that someone decided to shrink the aisle space to five feet wide. An obese couple went down aisle ten for milk. A half-hour later, they had to be removed by the fire department with the Jaws of Life. The employees of Hell's Annex didn't help either. I haven't seen so many drooling, brainless twits since the wake for Dale Earnhardt. I even recognized a few of them from my childhood; poor, sorry bastards. Could you imagine being born just to spend your whole life working at Kmart? It took every ounce of strength I had not to unlock the gun cabinet in the Sport Section and declare, "It's either five seconds with Smith & Wesson, or 25 more years working at Kmart! You be the judge."
It was at this point that a feeling deep inside of me, a feeling I never knew I even had, began to grow. A feeling I couldn't even identify at first. A strong, powerful feeling. The feeling of,.. superiority. Yes, I was better than all of these people. Better than the deadbeat dads who were there, on Christmas Eve, shopping for trashy gifts for their begotten offspring. Better than the trailer trash shopping for "fancy" linens to adorn their slovenly bed, where even pigs wouldn't fornicate. And yes, better than Earl, who, for as long as I can remember, has always worked in the antiquated video section with a small square mustache. You would think after Hitler committed genocide, that sporty little number would be considered taboo by any rational human being. But not good ol’ Earl.
Yes, Kmart might not have been the Arcadia I once imagined it was. But it did give me something very important that day: the ability to feel superior over all the subhumans of planet Earth.
What more could anyone ask for?
artid
1135
Old Image
5_6_kmart.jpg
issue
vol 5 - issue 06 (feb 2003)
section
pen_think