My Personal Walmart Woes

Robert Terson

A few weeks ago, I did some shopping at the Walmart on Lake-Cook Road in Wheeling, Illinois—toothpaste, floss, deodorant, shaving cream, and…alas, razor-blade cartridges. It was those razor-blade cartridges that caused all the difficulty, sent me up the Wall of Frustration. So I thought I’d write a blog about the experience—to vent my spleen and to give the honchos at Walmart some needed constructive criticism.

The razor-blade cartridges in question are not inexpensive; they’re not as expensive as the leather jackets that high-end department stores keep locked up on their hangers, but expensive enough that Walmart keeps these cartridges locked up, too. When I saw this, I went searching for someone to unlock them for me, but there wasn’t an employee in sight. Have you ever gone looking for someone to help you at Walmart? It’s like panning for gold—a rare nugget is going to show up once in a chartreuse sunset.

Frustrated, I marched over to customer service, told them my difficulty, also told them that I was on a tight schedule and needed to get out of there and could they please find someone to come over to the razor-blade section and unlock the cartridges for me, so I could get out of there and be on with my day.

The young woman I spoke to made a call, said a few well chosen words to someone, then hung up and smiled, told me to go back to the razor-blade aisle, that someone would be there shortly to unlock the cartridges for me.

Back to the razor-blade aisle I went and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

And kept on waiting.

Until I finally figured out that no one was coming. So, irked, back I marched a second time to customer service. I tell the same woman that no one showed up, that I’m in a hurry, that this is getting ridiculous, that their locked up system for razor-blade cartridges is nuts, that I have to get out of there!

“I’m not sure what else to do, sir,” she tells me. “Supposedly she’s coming to unlock them for you. If you’ll go back to that aisle I’m sure she’ll be there soon.”

I’m not convinced of that, I tell her, but back I go to wait and hope.

And wait.

And wait.

And wait some more.

Until I’ve had enough of this b——t and march back to the customer service area. Only this time I seek out the two employees standing nearby and tell them my problem, that this has been going on for 15 minutes now, and insist they take the necessary action to get someone, anyone, over to unlock the damn razor-blade cartridges for me, so I can get the hell out of there!

One of them makes a call, speaks to someone, and walks back with me to the aisle in question. By now I could make the “trip” blindfolded. Sure enough, a woman show up with a key, unlocks the #$%&#$+ razor-blade cartridges, I make my selection, go to checkout still talking to myself, and get the hell out of there—twenty minutes of my precious day wasted by Walmart’s idiotic razor-blade cartridge policy.

If a company noted for their brilliant merchandising policies can be this dumb, what hope is there for us when dealing with those companies who aren’t so—you should pardon the term—“brilliant”? *rolls his eyes*

It was almost as bad as dealing with a telecommunications company; not quite, but almost. But that’s another blog.

Walmart, are you guys listening!?