The Guilt was Too Much for The Fan to Handle
Last summer, when I was in Vermont, I went to a Wal-Mart there (perhaps even more rare than a Wal-Mart in the New York metro area) and bought a fan. I needed to keep cool somehow. For less than ten bucks, I found a pretty powerful fan that successfully sucked the cool mountain air into my room. It's done a good job cooling me off this summer so far here in New York, too. This fan is the only thing I own from Wal-Mart.
Every time I used that fan, all I could think about was how I bought it at Wal-Mart. I'm not one of those die-hard anti-Wal-Mart folks, but a lot of my friends are. They shamed me into thinking that, as someone who could probably afford to support struggling small businesses, I was going to Wal-Mart to buy my small appliances.
This morning, I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth, and suddenly heard a loud snap from my bedroom. Then, I heard a very loud clicking noise. I went back into my bedroom, and smelled smoke. My fan unexpectedly and inexplicably broke and the blades were rubbing against the base of the fan. Frustrated and already sweaty, I smashed the fan against the floor and threw it in the trash, in a possibly outbreak of Intermittent Explosive Disorder. Right.
So no more Wal-Mart fan. And as pennance, I will buy a new fan at Surprise!Surprise!