Warning: Anecdote Alert!
There are lots of different Wal-marts.
When I was young the first Wal-mart I ever saw was in Woodville, Texas. My grandparents lived there and were super excited by it. They spent a big chunk of time each Saturday there. Before Wal-mart moved in, Woodville didn't have much in the way of retail. They had a grocery store and a hardware store, but if you wanted a TV or something you had to drive to Tyler. Saturday was a party. There were hot dogs and roast corn, and everyone in town was there. And the prices were shockingly low. It was a kind of rural consumer paradise.
The Wal-mart in Sugar Land is clean and has good prices on synthetic motor oil. I'll stop there sometimes.
The Wal-mart near my house is disgusting and sad. It's filthy, and the people who shop there all look like their spirits have been crushed. There's a target less than a mile away that's clean and full of happy shoppers. The prices aren't that different as far as I can tell. I have no idea why people go there. Maybe it's some form of masochism.
Closer to my house is a Wal-mart Neighborhood Market. It's a 24 hour grocery store with an eclectic selection. Some categories are really limited, but others they have hard to find stuff. Kroger has a wider selection of just about everything.
Wal-mart Neighborhood Market, however, is a kind of modern torture chamber. It's easy to get in and find your items, but when it comes time to leave the horror begins. They usually have one check out aisle open, and the line for that is very long. There are four self serve check outs, but one or two are usually out of order. The rest are clogged with people who should not be allowed into self serve check out aisles. They do not understand how to follow the prompts on the screen. When it tells them to place their item in the bagging area they DO NOT PLACE THEIR ITEM IN THE BAGGING AREA. They place items in carts, or on the floor, or up their own asses. They all carry cash, and it's old wadded up wet cash that's been scribbled on that can't be fed into the bill receiver. Inevitably they thwart the best efforts of the friendly self serve check out machine and it calls for assistance, but there is no assistance. And so you stand there with your pint of Ben and Jerry's Americone Dream rapidly melting in your hand and try not to scream. You really try.