I arrived at the Keene Wal-Mart at approximately 2:00 pm on a Saturday. Edging my way slowly into the parking lot, it was clear to me that finding a spot to park my vehicle was going to be a chore in and of itself. As far as the eye could see, autos threatened to smother the asphalt expanse. Swarms of desperate drivers nervously patrolled each tightly-packed aisle in search of that ever-elusive vacant parking slot.

After approximately five minutes of circling the lot I began to grow frustrated, not so much with the unavailability of parking spots, rather more with the general selfishness and aggressiveness of my fellow Wal-Mart frequenters. At one point I was preparing to park when a young man in a large sport utility vehicle came lurching around the corner, eyeing first the vacant spot and then yours truly. As the man accelerated into the spot—my spot—I could clearly see, albeit briefly, the look of shame on his face. Clearly I had been the first to lay claim to the spot; however out of concern for the numerous plastic-bag-laden shoppers fanning out over the parking lot, I deemed it safest to proceed up the aisle at a slow speed. Alas, nice guys finish last.

Surely, nothing like this would happen out front of the general store in Stoddard, just down the road from where I live. There seems to be a high degree of anonymity and thus an absence of accountability in large numbers. I ended up parking at the very back of the lot next to a suspect, heavily-dented El Camino.

Three hundred yards later I entered Wal-Mart, at once receiving a cheery greeting from a kindly looking white-haired woman. I must warn the reader that although I am not a regular Wal-Mart shopper, I had, at the request of my grandfather, entered a Super Wal-Mart in Fort Myers, Florida some two weeks earlier in order to procure some Pepperidge Farm Turnovers and a few other miscellaneous items.Therefore, Wal-Mart was not uncharted territory, as it were. Yet I had never consciously observed the environment inside Wal-Mart with the critical eye of an enthusiastic young graduate student. Before me stood a giant expanse of some two hundred thousand square feet of shining splendor—racks and racks of clothing, stacks and stacks of display items, bicycles, bras, shotguns, diamonds, camcorders, TV dinners, notepads, toothbrushes…and countless other useful items.

As I made my way through the store in search of the items on my shopping list, many of the prejudices I had held up to that point slowly dissolved. “$3.94 for a 20-piece socket set,” I thought to myself, “how can I afford to pass that up?” Down each aisle were hundreds of other wonderful deals to be had. Spellbound, I continued my search, time and time again deviating from my original path after being sucked in by a variety of incredibly low prices.

Suddenly I realized what was happening to me. I had gone into the store an informed, conscientious, and somewhat disciplined consumer only to be overtaken by an intense desire to buy! Buy! Buy! What had happened to me? I hadn’t come here to buy anything—I didn’t need these things!

Continuing on my shopping spree, I began to feel dizzy. Whether it was the excess of flourescent lighting, the poor air circulation, the pervasive bargain-hungry shoppers, or the sheer amount of stuff, I cannot be sure, but I knew that I needed to escape. Spying a sign for the restrooms on the eastern wall of the building, I made a run for it, dodging overwhelmed sales associates (earnestly trying to deal with the incessant barrage of demand-like questions posed by less-than-polite customers), and super-sized citizens pushing super-sized carts with screaming kids in tow.

Once in the quiet refuge of the men’s room I turned on the faucet and splashed some cold water on my face. “What is it about this place?” I asked myself. In years past trips to Wal-Mart meant a good time, yet now I was trapped in the men’s room, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead, terrified at the thought of emerging from this surprisingly-well-sanitized water closet. Knowing that I had some more investigative work to do, and (after a short pep-talk with myself) feeling somewhat fortified against the intoxicating marketing prowess of the Wal-Mart Corporation, I exited the lavatory and continued with my errands.

One of the first things that stood out to me after resuming my formal observation were the ubiquitous little (and not so little) signs advertising “everyday low prices” and “more for less.” Not only were these signs to be found up and down the aisles, but also in the middle of the wider lanes. Quite the assortment of goods was for sale on these centrally-placed racks and bins—something for everyone really.

As I came to the bottom of my shopping list I pondered all of the items written before me. This store truly carried everything! With clothing, hardware, home goods, office/school supply, electronics, toy, sporting goods, grocery, shoe, and jewelry departments, there really was not a little, but a lot of everything at Wal-Mart. Add the snack bar, bank and pharmacy and there’s not a lot that Wal-Mart doesn’t offer the consumer, aside from quality, non-mass-produced, locally made goods. Wal-Mart truly is the one-stop shopping center, and for many, there is no need to go elsewhere.

As I amassed a long list of product information I noticed an emerging trend: excluding the goods requiring minimal processing on my list, most everything originated in a far-off Asian country. “How is it,” I thought, “that anyone could make any money off of a pair of shoes that sold for $3.00, especially when they have traveled the 7,000 miles from China to New England?” This dilemma struck me with nearly every plastic item I observed.

I had checked off nearly all of the items on my list. The end was near; I could feel it. As I fastidiously studied the label on a large bottle of Tide laundry detergent I was suddenly disturbed by a droning voice blaring over the loudspeaker “Would a sales associate from Home Goods please dial 4-6-2.” And then “Security Check 1-1-4.” It was the latter of these two commands that put me on edge. I had, after all, heard some frightening stories about aggressive Wal-Mart security personnel. I looked skyward and spotted several black security bubbles eyeing me. Realizing that they had been watching me the whole time, all the while knowing that I was in the process of uncovering Wal-Mart’s insidious plan to take over small town America (and eventually the world), I began to feel uneasy once again. As I saw it, my only option was to cut my losses and avoid capture by casually making a break for the door before I could be intercepted by the security forces. I was nearly to the door when I was stopped in my tracks. However not by a security officer, but rather by an appallingly low price on a log of smokeless tobacco—not a bargain brand, the good stuff! Once again I weighed my options and deduced that I would forever look back upon this day with regret if I did not make the purchase. I hung my head in shame and joined the 12-shopper-long express line.

After about 15 minutes I made it to the front of the line. “Pretty busy today, isn’t it?” I remarked warmly to the cashier. “Yep,” she replied, uninterested. My second attempt at small talk didn’t even warrant a response.

I was five steps to freedom when the shrill cry of an alarm halted me in my tracks. “Son, step this way” commanded an older woman with a menacing look. “This is it,” I told myself, imagining the imminent electric shock torture that would no doubt take place in the “back room.” Much to my surprise I was cleared for takeoff after she looked at my receipt. She informed me that I had indeed paid for the goods in question after all. Thanks Betty.

I scurried out to my car, letting my guard down only when the door was locked. Mission Complete.

The thing about Wal-Mart is that it is a completely impersonal experience. All across the country, all across the world, these stores share the same layout, stock essentially the same goods, and follow the same business practices. The corporate executives obviously know nothing about where their goods come from, nor do they care; the price is right. Communities clearly mean nothing to Wal-Mart either, for what is to become of the many wonderful locally owned small business that cannot compete with the enormous purchasing power of the Wal-Mart Corporation? Low wages and no benefits to workers—how is this strengthening the community in any way?

If you go into the natural foods store in town you can easily learn where most all of the products originated and under what circumstances. At Wal-Mart this is not the case. In most cases consumers have very little to no idea of what these goods are made of and where they come from. This “big box” store mentality breeds this threatening kind of complacency and detachment from place. When I was in the Wal-Mart I did not feel as though I was in Keene, NH. I could have been anywhere in a number of different countries.

After this experience you can be sure that this consumer is no longer a “Wal-Mart Shopper.” Wal-Mart is more than a store—it’s a destroyer of community. With reprehensible corporate practices, impersonal service, and a shameless shopper-monitoring program, Wal-Mart is unworthy of anyone’s business.

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