The worst part of 2017 was when I realized that I had become a WalMart shopper.
I can’t explain how it happened, but it did.
Why confess it at all?
Because I’m a writer and it’s a story, but I don’t want to hide it in a poem or a fictional story. So this is me telling your how I started to do something that rubbed me the wrong way and what I did about it.
It all snapped into focus for me when found myself standing in line behind woman with tramp stamp showing above the waistband of her fleece pajama bottoms. On other occasions I noticed that people don’t say ” get ” they say ” git ‘er ” ( which I get if you’re from the South, but NOT South of Seattle ) and on the bad days the entire store reeks like aqua net and cigarettes and motor oil.
What I saw was that all of these things were beginning to look normal to me.
The babies in Camouflage onesies, the woman with big hair 1980’s hair, the pinched up angry faces barging down narrow aisles with giant shopping carts.
One day I asked myself, ” Really Anita, what the hell are you doing here? Mozart, Anita will never be played over the sound system here.”
So yes, that’s when I decided to shop elsewhere, because Mozart doesn’t live at Walmart.
I think that maybe Mozart kept me true to myself and the things that I would like to see in my life and the things I don’t need to see in my life.
Thank you W.A. Mozart