The Curse of Lost Umbrellas Strikes Back

The morning after we returned from Dali, I discovered, to my great irritation, that I had once again lost my umbrella. The karmic balance of umbrella loss in this universe had evidently dictated that for saving one umbrella from oblivion, I had to pay with my own.

I decided, therefore, that I would finally pay a visit to the downtown Walmart, for everyone knows Walmart has everything and it is always open. The Walmart did not disappoint. With three stories, it had not only a vast selection of umbrellas, but also clothes clamps, which I desperately needed. For the past few weeks, my dirty clothes had been piling up because I did not have any clamps and was using hangers instead. Armed with forty new clamps, I could finally do two weeks-worth of laundry.

If there is anything distinctive about Chinese Walmarts, it is that they generally have several stories. I figure American Walmarts tend to only have one because American suburbia have much more room for sprawling buildings than packed Chinese cities. Also, Americans hate stairs. Unlike American Walmarts, Chinese Walmarts – or the one I visited, at any rate – are also very, very hot. And they sell chicken feet.

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