Really, folks, it doesn’t get any classier than this.  Yours truly was in an honest to God yelling match with a big fat woman at Wal-Mart.

I defend my actions fully.  Tell me what you think.  I go to Wal-Mart on a Saturday afternoon, admittedly a dumb idea in the white trash vista of Chicago Ridge — but I needed some slim-fast and the better than sex cracked pepper and olive oil triscuits that are only available at said Wal-Mart.

Every single person that lives in the surrounding three burbs from me is there.  Now, I know.  I should have just turned around and walked right out.  Nope.  I want my f-in triscuits.

So I’m walking up and down the aisles, crammed with screaming children, old people with walkers, and big fat ladies, sometimes all in the same family doing their weekly grocery shopping.  Can’t find the triscuits.  I know that they have them there, because I’ve seen a lone box of regular triscuits in the bread aisle, but I keep thinking I must have missed them due to the unwashed masses perusing the aisles as well.

***Side note.  I finally asked for the fucking Triscuits after the fight — the clerk helpfully told me that they were in aisle eight.  So there was the bread aisle, an aisle of Easter candy, two aisles of greeting cards, and then the holy cracker aisle.  Excellent planning, dumbasses. ****

As I’m walking up and down the aisles, there is a big scary lady on the phone screaming at the

top of her lungs, “I’ll buy her $80 shoes if I f*in want to!  It’s my goddamn money and if that’s what I want to spend it on, I will.”

Judging by her Dale Earnhardt Budweiser leather jacket and pretty black roots, apparently that WAS how she chose to spend her money.

And she’s so mad that she’s pacing, not an easy feat with THREE THOUSAND other people in the aisle, effectively blocking the aisle.  Whatever.  This isn’t that surprising.  I continue my hunt for the triscuits.

Now I run into her again, she’s standing at the end of the aisle, now not only blocking the food aisle, but also the main aisle as she walks in anger induced circles about the shoes.

“It’s not about what they feel like — they’re nice fucking shoes and they look great and that’s what she wanted!  I’ll f*in buy em if I want to!”

Here’s where it gets fun.

“And she’s gonna tell ME to shut up?  She’s gonna tell ME to shut the fuck up?”

Me — trying to walk by, not even realizing until the words are out of my mouth — “somebody needs to.”

Whoops.  Now she’s PISSED.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY?  WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY?”

Me, “I said somebody needs to, you’re standing in middle of a store screaming like a maniac.”  THat’s what came out.  In my head, it was more like, “Please don’t hit me.  Please don’t hit me.  I fight like a girl.”

Here’s the kicker.  “I am standing here, having a PRIVATE CONVERSATION with my friend.  Who the hell are you?”

Snap!  My thin thread of patience for this godforsaken place is GONE.

“NO!  No, you are not.  You are standing in the middle of a public place, screaming profanities at the top of your lungs!  If you want to have a private conversation, I suggest you go outside!”

Can you believe it???  ME!!  I yelled at someone!!!  Luckily, she didn’t hit me and just called me a little bitch to her friend as she walked away.  That might have been due to the guy standing right next to us going, “DAMN girl!”  Other people gave me thumbs up.

Officially the coolest person in Wal-Mart, admittedly not a high distinction — but for me?  Awesome.

I was still so mad when I got home, I walked directly to the fridge and cracked a beer (it was about 2:00)

Tony — “Um.  How was Wal-Mart?”

Me — “I got in a FIGHT!!!  Stupid bitch!  And I WON!!”

Score one for the good people.