THERE ARE SO MANY reasons not to like this place.
If it upsets you that our country has ceded the manufacture of just about everything to the Chinese, stay away.  In common parlance, "Made in China" essentially translates as "F.U. U.S.A."  And that's just about all you'll find on the shelves in Walmart.  There are exceptions to everything, of course.  I recently bought some Wrangler jeans there.  The tag says "Made in Mexico."
It is not my aim to portray myself as being against foreign products as such.  I have very comfortable shoes made in Spain, a wonderful winter fur hat from Russia, and a very warm leather jacket made in Turkey.  Of course, none of them were cheap and, as you might imagine, none are available at Walmart.
Nor do I wish to create the impression that I do not care for low-priced goods.  In fact, I'm the worst cheapskate that I know.  Nothing aggravates me more than the prices of the cigars so beautifully pictured in the catalogs they keep sending me.  You can hardly find a decent handmade cigar these days for less than $6.00 a stick.  Times have changed since ol' Tom Marshall proclaimed:  "What this country needs is a good five-cent cigar."  The problem was more aptly articulated a few years later by Franklin P. Adams who countered:  "What this country needs is a good five-cent nickel."  [I still like Rudyard Kipling's take on it:  "A woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a smoke."]
But back to Walmart.  I'm sorry, but the place is filled with ugly people.  Shoppers and staff alike; where do these people come from?  Shopping there causes me temporary psychological trauma because I start to feel like I must be ugly too.  So I turn Emerson's words around and remind myself that one man's ugly is another's beautiful.  But still, I pull the bill of my cap down a bit further so as not to be recognized.
When we go to check out, I say to the cashier that, since everything they sell is made in China, I want to pay for it in Chinese yuan.  She gives me this frazzled look that I can't help but notice is not unlike the expression on my wife's face.
When we leave Walmart it is lunchtime.
"How about Panda Express?" my wife suggests.