Walmart and Hotels

That's right, you get a special combo post.
I'm back in Nebraska, Gretna specifically,  for the weekend, and am staying in the oh-so luxurious Holiday Inn. I think what really pushes this hotel over the top in terms of grandeur is it's incredibly close vicinity to Walmart. And everyone knows that Walmart is the epitome of class and taste. Also, there's a giant RV stationed in the parking lot of this hotel. I don't know why, but nothing quite says "I watch NASCAR and have 56 cousins" quite like a giant RV.
There's something about staying in a hotel that makes someone compartmentalize your life. Mini soap, mini shampoo, mini conditioner, mini lotion, mini closet, pint-size towels. What is it with the mini craze? So after struggling to get enough shampoo out of the tiny little bottle and spending ten minutes trying desperately to lather the tiny soap I'm expected to dry myself off with a towel the size of a kleenex(interestingly enough, hotel towels usually have about the same amount of absorbency as a kleenex). After you've completely soaked a few "towels" and turn on the TV, all you can manage to find is ABC family, which is, of course, playing yet another showing of a Lindsay Lohan movie. And even after going through all the channels several times and finding nothing but awful gameshows and the Home Shopping Network, you finally settle on the Lindsay Lohan movie you've seen 94 times before. The other thing about hotels is the continental breakfast. People go nuts for a "free" breakfast. This morning when I walked into the breakfast area and was confronted by the usual suspects. First, I was nearly tackled by some kids already on their first sugar rush of the day, having eaten all the cinnamon rolls and syrup they could get their hands on. Next there came the mothers trying to coral said kids, but to no avail. Then of course there are the complacent dads, who are trying to ignore the fact that they have children, and grandpa types who scowl endlessly at the loud kids while trying to watch the news. Really all a person can hope for is to survive the breakfast area and get out unscathed with a muffin.

On this trip I have found myself with quite a bit of free time, so naturally I have wondered over to Walmart to occupy myself. I honestly believe that Walmart is a detrimental organization, but in a pinch, it will provide some good entertainment. I suppose that's the reason why PeopleofWalmart.com came about. Anyway, while wondering around the place I noticed several things.
1. Do not buy fish from Walmart, for they look as though they have infected with the plague. They all look so sad and depressed. I kid you not, I saw a goldfish hanging out with its body at a 90 degree angle to the bottom of the tank, but it wasn't moving at all. I'm no fish expert, but I'm pretty sure that's not natural. The fish that were moving though, looked like they were trying to make a break for it. I wish them well.
2. The exercise equipment is very dusty. Judging by physiques of the majority of the other people at Walmart, this doesn't surprise me. Who goes to Walmart to buy a treadmill? Apparently no one. But really, could none of the many Walmart employees that seem to be standing around dust those poor treadmills?
3. Speaking of physiques, it seems that in order to be admitted into Walmart your shirt must either lack sleeves, be so short that it exposes quite a bit of stomach action. It is also encouraged that your shirt be camouflage, or embellished with the face of your favorite NASCAR driver, or maybe have a seemingly clever saying on it such as "I do all my own stunts" or something equally inane. As for pants, those are completely optional. Your shirt may even double as a sort of half-skirt if you wish. Really, let your inner stylist out.
I'm sure I've motivated you to rush over to the nearest Walmart and see these wonders for yourself.

It appears as though there is a Latin/Spanish music party going on outside my ground floor window(serial killer alert!), so I think I'll go hang out with them next to the giant RV,
Leah