I guess I AM a snob, after all.
Ten years ago or so, back when I was in High School still and thought I knew everything, I hated the term "Woodlands Snob" that was so often applied to me simply because of where I lived. It irritated the ever living hell out of me that I was thought to have my nose in the air, have more money, etc because of the address of my mother's apartment.
I'm now well shut of High School, coming up on my six-year wedding anniversary and still living in The Woodlands. I hadn't really thought much about the old stereotype that used to be applied to my friends and me whenever we left the safety cocoon of our corporately owned and operated home town. Last year, my mother bought a house in Conroe - which, I might add, is the town that was most vicious about the "Woodlands Snob" stereotype. We had never done much shopping together up there as, over all, The Woodlands simply has a better selection of stores closer together.
That running trend, quite unfortunately, changed this past weekend. My dear, sweet, loving husband agreed to go with me to my mother's house to help her put up Christmas lights. This in and of itself is an ordeal that I will have to go into at a later date, but needless to say, we ran into a few snags (like my mother dropping the lights on the cement driveway and thusly breaking several large bulbs) that resulted in needing to make a trip to the store. My dear, sweet loving husband smartly remained at the house - the bastard - while my mother and I piled into her car and took off to the local Wal-mart.
Now, in the Woodlands, we have three Wal-marts. Each of them is kept clean, well stocked and, while it IS still a Wal-mart, they are quite enjoyable to shop at - even in the hell that is the holiday shopping season. I had not been in Conroe's Wal-mart since those long lost days of High School and College. I suppose, then, that I had been spoiled to what a Wal-mart has the potential to be. At our Wal-marts, someone "slumming it up" means that they aren't dressed to the nines. Their hair might not be curled, no make-up applied and, heaven forbid, they might even be wearing worn out, out of fashion name brand clothing that they saved for yard work or laundry days. None the less, people are still clean. The floors are clean there as well, and while you'll have to deal with the spoiled brats screaming that they aren't getting the latest and greatest $200-toy, everyone is relatively well behaved.
Not at the Conroe Wal-mart. While I know, logically, that there was not a layer of filth covering every surface - including food items - that I laid my eyes upon, the place simply felt dirty. Nothing that we needed was in stock, and when we dared to attempt to ask an employee about said items, they stared stupidly back at us with their buck teeth stick out over their lower lip, smacking their jaws as they attempted to use what little pea-sized brains God granted them to try and so much as understand us. Apparently, my mother and I do not speak the "local twang" well enough to be understood.
We quickly gave up on finding the replacements bulbs at said store, but unfortunately there were a few other items that we had need of. Quickly, and desperate to be away from the grim-encrusted, slack-jawed fellow working in the Christmas department, we fled deeper into the store. Along the way, I was astounded to see the stereotypes of "Wal-mart shoppers" brought to life before my eyes. Trailer trash young mothers with flabby bellies hanging out of too-tight, too-short t-shirts strolled by with baskets literally over flowing with screaming kids. Bubba and his uncle-brother grinned toothless grins at us, wiggling their eyebrows as if that somehow would make them more appealing, despite the dip bulging in their bottom lip. There was not a single Coach purse or fashionable accessory in sight. Nothing but grime, filth, John Deer tractor clothing and trailer trash as far as the eye could see.
By the time my mother and I finally managed to make our escape back to the safety of her car (which I think might have been the ONLY car in the parking lot that was completely rust-free), I felt as if I needed to scrub myself down with steel wool and bleach. Perhaps my years in The Woodlands have turned me into that old stereotype of the "Woodlands Snob". Frankly, though? I'm glad for it. Give me the higher quality of life over the filth that I witnessed in Conroe any day of the week - and I'll gladly take the "title" along with it.
I'm now well shut of High School, coming up on my six-year wedding anniversary and still living in The Woodlands. I hadn't really thought much about the old stereotype that used to be applied to my friends and me whenever we left the safety cocoon of our corporately owned and operated home town. Last year, my mother bought a house in Conroe - which, I might add, is the town that was most vicious about the "Woodlands Snob" stereotype. We had never done much shopping together up there as, over all, The Woodlands simply has a better selection of stores closer together.
That running trend, quite unfortunately, changed this past weekend. My dear, sweet, loving husband agreed to go with me to my mother's house to help her put up Christmas lights. This in and of itself is an ordeal that I will have to go into at a later date, but needless to say, we ran into a few snags (like my mother dropping the lights on the cement driveway and thusly breaking several large bulbs) that resulted in needing to make a trip to the store. My dear, sweet loving husband smartly remained at the house - the bastard - while my mother and I piled into her car and took off to the local Wal-mart.
Now, in the Woodlands, we have three Wal-marts. Each of them is kept clean, well stocked and, while it IS still a Wal-mart, they are quite enjoyable to shop at - even in the hell that is the holiday shopping season. I had not been in Conroe's Wal-mart since those long lost days of High School and College. I suppose, then, that I had been spoiled to what a Wal-mart has the potential to be. At our Wal-marts, someone "slumming it up" means that they aren't dressed to the nines. Their hair might not be curled, no make-up applied and, heaven forbid, they might even be wearing worn out, out of fashion name brand clothing that they saved for yard work or laundry days. None the less, people are still clean. The floors are clean there as well, and while you'll have to deal with the spoiled brats screaming that they aren't getting the latest and greatest $200-toy, everyone is relatively well behaved.
Not at the Conroe Wal-mart. While I know, logically, that there was not a layer of filth covering every surface - including food items - that I laid my eyes upon, the place simply felt dirty. Nothing that we needed was in stock, and when we dared to attempt to ask an employee about said items, they stared stupidly back at us with their buck teeth stick out over their lower lip, smacking their jaws as they attempted to use what little pea-sized brains God granted them to try and so much as understand us. Apparently, my mother and I do not speak the "local twang" well enough to be understood.
We quickly gave up on finding the replacements bulbs at said store, but unfortunately there were a few other items that we had need of. Quickly, and desperate to be away from the grim-encrusted, slack-jawed fellow working in the Christmas department, we fled deeper into the store. Along the way, I was astounded to see the stereotypes of "Wal-mart shoppers" brought to life before my eyes. Trailer trash young mothers with flabby bellies hanging out of too-tight, too-short t-shirts strolled by with baskets literally over flowing with screaming kids. Bubba and his uncle-brother grinned toothless grins at us, wiggling their eyebrows as if that somehow would make them more appealing, despite the dip bulging in their bottom lip. There was not a single Coach purse or fashionable accessory in sight. Nothing but grime, filth, John Deer tractor clothing and trailer trash as far as the eye could see.
By the time my mother and I finally managed to make our escape back to the safety of her car (which I think might have been the ONLY car in the parking lot that was completely rust-free), I felt as if I needed to scrub myself down with steel wool and bleach. Perhaps my years in The Woodlands have turned me into that old stereotype of the "Woodlands Snob". Frankly, though? I'm glad for it. Give me the higher quality of life over the filth that I witnessed in Conroe any day of the week - and I'll gladly take the "title" along with it.