I sat in my room, frustrated by a physics problem I just did not get. Flaring with anger, I stopped myself from hurling my keychain – complete with a CVS ExtraCare Card and Foot Locker VIP card. You may be wondering why I keep a Foot Locker card on my keychain. To know the answer, you will have to view the exhibit of Nike Air Force Ones and Air Jordan’s crammed in my closet. Calming myself, I thought of happy times this summer. I don’t know what that means for you, but the first memory that comes to me is shopping. Where does America shop? Not at Marshall’s and RadioShack. America shops at Walmart. I can not begin to express my love of Walmart. As a resident of Hawaii, I would like to declare that my home state DOES have Walmart. In the heart of Honolulu, lies the flagship Walmart, home to great deals. Because I am a frequent shopper, I am always greeted by a friendly person who is way past the age of retirement. My beautiful green eyes, lightened by lovely lashes, catch sight of a strip of yellow happy face stickers. They would be perfect for my collection full of stickers from the doctor and dentist, which for some reason I have to request now. After convincing the 85 year old man that I was actually seven years old, he gives me a sticker. I am now prepared for the always low prices of Walmart. I lose my parents, distracted by the ‘Thing’ gloves from Fantastic Four. Wanting these gloves so badly and not having adequate funds, I do the obvious. No, not steal them. I take the Christmas list I have made for Santa and its special pencil from my pocket. Thankful that I take this list everywhere, I write the name and SKU down. Next thing I need is a goblet of the pimp variety. Not seeing an in the house wares aisle, I stalk a worker dressed in a stupid blue smock. Twenty minutes later, the lady turns around and asks me, “Do you need something sir?” Coming out from the center of circular rack of women’s dresses, I respond, “Why yes, I need a pimp cup.” “I don’t think we carry those, sir.” Furious I shoot back with, “WHAT DO YOU EVEN SELL HERE?” Instantly, Walmart’s secret ninjas fly down from the roof. They take off their black robes and I recognize them as Tinky Winky, Dipsy, La-La, and Po, my dear friends. I cheerfully forget my frustration. After spending four hours wandering through the video games, TV’s, and DVD’s, I make my way to the car audio systems. None of them compare to the one I installed in my mother’s pink Toyota Corolla. What a waste of walking energy. Since I am here, I might as well check out the gun section. I glance at all of the guns, none of which rival the two vintage guns attached to my shoulders. They do have a sweet Civil War general cap. I write it down on my list. I make my way outside worried that I wore out my welcome here after five hours. I spot my parents on a bench outside Mickey D’s. There they are, sleeping on the inviting shoulders of Ronald, a close family friend. Awakened by a homeless person cursing them for sleeping in his bed, we leave quickly for home. I grow impatient awaiting the return home to my summer lover, Harry Potter #6.
