I hate Giant Tiger.
In all fairness, I only say this in lack of a better, more potent word to use in this context. But otherwise, I would use it here. In fact, it’s safe to say this general feeling of loathing applies to most discount stores.
These stores go to great lengths to offend each of the five senses. I say five because I’m not even going to bother including the sixth sense – the sense of style – when clearly the term itself would implode if it attempted to walk into the store.
The moment you walk in, they assault you with harsh and unflattering lights, likely in an attempt to partially blind you into not realizing how cheap every single piece of merchandise actually is. Once inside, you will, despite your best efforts, see everything but a sales rep, who would also rather be elsewhere, forcing you to spend undue time in the store searching for help, or giving up and exploring the isles yourself for whatever item caused you to enter in the first place. If you happen to be the persistent kind of discount shopper who hunts until they find a sales rep, what you’ll have is a 12-year-old with a blank stare telling you they don’t know where to find whatever you’re looking for. In the case of WalMart, substitute with a bitter old woman with a blank stare telling you they don’t know where to find whatever you’re looking for.
Although at first you’ll find it difficult to hear anything over the sound of the buzzing fluorescent lights, you will eventually hear a merciless selection of musac that should otherwise only be tolerated by humans in short spurts during elevator rides, as well as the chatter of sales reps and cashiers who are busy not helping you.
The entire store smells of plastic, cardboard boxes, cheap, lead paint-covered items, and an overwhelming stench of I-don’t-want-to-be-here.
95% of all clothing found at these stores is either made entirely or mostly of polyester. Walking through the isles and touching the apparel may result in the sudden urge to rub your hands incessantly to eliminate the unnatural feel of the fabric, not to mention an overall repulsiveness.
You ultimately leave the store with a bitter taste of not having found anything you wanted, but rather something you didn’t want at all but had to to settle for.
Sure, you can come out of there paying $2.97 for an item masquerading as a shirt. But I believe you get what you pay for; so although I may pay more for some things, I’ll spend much less on Advil.