After Hours: Wal-Mart

After Hours is a blog series about the late night hours.

Late last night, I decided to visit the Wal-Mart by my house to rent a movie from a Red Box kiosk located in their entrance. After retrieving a DVD, I ventured into the store. I didn't need anything in particular and wasn't planning on buying anything. I just wanted to look around.

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Wal-Mart is an entirely different store late at night. The store is considerably less populated and the normal hustle and bustle that occurs during the day is conspicuously absent. Walking into the store this becomes instantly apparent. The dozens of registers that are normally open to patrons have been reduced to a only a select few. The frantic "beeping" has been replaced with a low melodic and infrequent boop.

boop. . . . . . . . . . . boop. . . . . .boop. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . boop. . . . .

It all feels eerily different. I notice a night cashier worker by the registers. She looks to be a little bit older than I am and she is trying to complete the seemingly impossible task of organizing the plethora of discarded items into shopping carts to be placed back in their proper place. Her face is completely devoid of all feeling and I get a sense that she is not particularly happy with her decision. I make my way toward the grocery aisles. Each aisle is filled with stacks of boxes that are about as tall as me. Stock workers also populate these aisles, tirelessly restocking shelves. I can't help but notice the same expressionless gaze on their faces as they try to complete their respective tasks. The store is significantly quieter as well. All that can be heard is the infrequent boop of the cash registers, the rolling of a dolly, and the throwing of a box. Wal-Mart seems to transform from a store to a well oiled machine during these off-peak hours. A quiet, expressionless machine.

As I make my way around the store, I notice a few fellow shoppers. Some are doing some much needed grocery shopping, others are satisfying a midnight snack craving, and a few are just looking around. The aisles are free for us to explore at our leisure. We don't have to worry about squeezing in between carts or running into children. It is almost as if we are apart of a secret society. The store is our oyster. . . .

Upon exiting the building, I glance back into the ghost town formerly known Wal-Mart. The night cashier is still studiously organizing the discarded items, a midnight shopper pushes her groceries towards the exit, and the stock workers continue to work through the night to replenish aisles for the next day's guests. It's strange to think that simple late night journey to a Wal-Mart could fascinate my mind it did that night. I guess anything is fascinating After Hours.