The Kmart from Hell

March 7, 2012 – The Kmart from Hell!

This blog post is likely to lose me my Kmart sponsorship. Okay, I don’t have a Kmart sponsorship but I was hoping for one. Okay, maybe not, but a CVS sponsorship, Starbucks sponsorship, or Butterfinger sponsorship, based on previous posts would be nice.  . . . Sorry, easily distracted this evening. But since I told you about my fulfilling shopping trip at CVS in San Juan (CVS sponsors, did you get that?), I need to do due diligence by sharing my tale of woe from the Kmart in St. Thomas.

St. Thomas has become one of my favorite ports. Most importantly, there is a nearby restaurant with pretty tasty food that is accompanied by free WiFi. It is a beautiful harbor where I can get exercise in walking 25 minutes into the main ‘downtown’ area. It is a US territory so my cell phone service coverage works. In addition, since I see many, many crew members return to ship with Kmart shopping bags I believed it was a very Mecca of retail activity.

That is, of course, until I took the 15 minute walk up a hill to what I can politely describe as the Kmart from Hell. (For those of you insisting on the separation of Church and Blog . . . well, it’s way too late for that . . . but here I’m not talking about the theological construct of eternal damnation, just a place you really don’t want to spend time if you don’t have to. Glad I could set the record straight, so let’s move on.) Let me start by admitting that we are terribly spoiled in the 50 states. Our abundant choices and the way they are organized in neat aisles in our stores is something we take for granted but seems to be less important in many parts of the world. This Kmart in St. Thomas is one of those places. The exterior of this Kmart reminds me of two many past their prime Sears stores that I have seen in Colorado or California. The exterior looks tired, the entryway even more so, and the interior does nothing to correct the somnambulant impression. This is a two floor store, but unlike what you may be thinking this store is built around a main floor and a basement. All the clothes are on the main floor and everything, and I mean everything else, is in the basement. Since my goal was to look for office supplies and house wares, after scanning the first floor which completely underwhelmed me, I headed downstairs to be under-underwhelmed.

I’m sure there is order to this store, but it is not readily apparent. Home furnishing, decorations, electronics, garden supplies, books, kitchen gadgets, office supplies, some food products, and clothes that apparently couldn’t fit upstairs were tucked in aisles throughout the basement. If the aisles were simply long and straight one might be able to scan all the different lanes with relative ease and make the lack of any signage straightforward to overcome. Unfortunately half aisles ran into their perpendicular cousins, and with no signs to direct you, it was easy to get lost as to where you really were. I was excited when I quickly stumbled upon blue painter’s tape that I was hoping to use to create a border for one of my bulletin boards. With great expectation I then hoped to find a reasonable fabric to use as a backing for my bulletin board, business books or videos for my training library, and perhaps some additional glassware for my stateroom. (Remember, man does not live by bread alone . . . oops, I’ve crossed that pesky separation of Church and Blog barrier, again.)

Soon, my expectations were dashed. The glassware selection was entirely random, short on stock, and unable to meet my limited needs. There were a few books and video but they had the completeness of a middle class yard sale. No cloth was in sight other than the few articles of clothing. After a half an hour of futile and somewhat confusing search, I realized that the painter’s tape, accidentally discovered in my first three minutes would be the sum total of my procured bounty. The only question now was to find a cashier and exit this retail wasteland as quickly as possible.

That’s when I made my next mistake. I got in line for a cashier at one of three checkout lines in the basement. The other two aisles were not necessarily closed but not necessarily opened. There was apparently a cashier at one, but with no customers, nor did he make any acknowledgement that he was there to assist customers. There were three men (management?) who were walking around behind the checkout discussing the stock with no interest in the growing line of customers in the queue. The one cashier started making loud comments about the lazy men that would not help her as she slowly, and her lack of speed aided by the lackadaisical customers, moved slowly apace. After ten minutes she called out to the man behind me that he was to be the last in line as she needed to go on a break, and he and I were responsible for turning any further guests away. Wow, did that make us popular! But we persisted and slowly inched toward the register. After 20 minutes we were almost there.

Then she ran out of change. She called to one of the managers to get her some change, but he ignored her first few requests. Finally and apparently reluctantly, he sauntered over to get the money from her cash drawer to make change and then ambled up the stairs. Our register maven apologized to us for the delay and informed us she would help us all as soon as he came back. But at the speed at which he was moving we knew that could be awhile. Finally, after another five minutes with no sight of the anticipated change I timidly asked if I could take my purchase upstairs to a register there. “Of course,” she said. With pent up energy from my half an hour wait I shot up the stairs only to be faced with more lines at the first floor registers. Picking the shortest one I endured the typical curse of watching every line move faster. There was a cadre of women standing behind this cashier engaging her in ongoing and lively conversation. Great for her morale but a detriment to her efficiency. Finally, it was my turn and my $8 purchase was subsequently rung up and I breathed the air of freedom moments later after my hour long exile into the land of fluorescent lights and apparent lethargy.

This was not just a cultural thing . . . island time . . . as I’ve experienced unhurried service in several other establishments in the islands. No this was something unique and special. This was a phenomenon all its own.

This was the Kmart from hell.

And the adventure continues . . .