Why You Should Confess Your Deepest Secrets to a Walmart Greeter

Last Updated on September 12, 2025 by Michael

Therapy costs $200 an hour and they make you talk about your mother.

Know what’s free? Absolutely destroying Gerald’s will to live while he checks receipts at the door.

The Beautiful Truth About Walmart Greeters

These people have ascended. They’ve witnessed the collapse of human civilization one returned birthday cake at a time. You think your secret is going to shock Dorothy? Dorothy once watched a man try to haggle the price of bananas by claiming they were “too yellow.” She’s seen someone attempt to pay for groceries with Monopoly money—and argue about the exchange rate.

Your thing about creating different personas for each drive-thru you visit so they don’t judge your eating habits? That’s nothing. That’s not even Wednesday morning for Dorothy.

Here’s what you need to understand: After six months of watching people steal pregnancy tests by hiding them in rotisserie chickens, these greeters have achieved a level of enlightenment that makes the Dalai Lama look emotionally volatile. They exist in a permanent state of transcendent exhaustion. They’ve seen everything. They fear nothing. They’re perfect.

Let’s Talk Numbers Because Numbers Don’t Lie

The math is simple. The choice is obvious.

Your Game Plan (Because You Can’t Just Wing This)

Listen. You can’t just shuffle up to Margaret reeking of social anxiety and microwave dinners. Well, you can. But that’s every customer. You want to be memorable. You want to be the story she tells at dinner tonight instead of eating in silence while scrolling through her phone.

Get a cart. Empty cart, full cart, doesn’t matter. The cart is your emotional support vehicle. Push it with the confidence of someone who hasn’t cried in the cereal aisle this week.

• Sunglasses. Inside. At night. During a thunderstorm. Margaret doesn’t need to see the eyes of someone who’s about to admit they’ve been faking a British accent at work for two years and now it’s too late to stop
• The prop receipt. Crumpled, ancient, possibly from a different store entirely. This is your conversation starter
• Three-confession rule. Start small (you eat kit-kats wrong), escalate (you’re afraid of your roomba), finish strong (you’ve named every pigeon in a five-block radius and have opinions about their personal lives)

The exit strategy? “Hold up, did that mannequin just move?” Works every time. Every. Time.

A Completely Scientific Breakdown of Confession Levels

The Warm-Up Round

You’ve been pronouncing “quinoa” wrong on purpose to see if anyone corrects you. They haven’t. It’s been four years. Sometimes you pretend to get phone calls to leave social situations but you just hold your phone to your ear in silence. You’re 30 and still check behind shower curtains for murderers.

Gerald’s not even listening. He’s wondering if that weird smell is coming from him or you.

Now We’re Cooking

So you’ve convinced everyone at yoga that you’re a surgeon. You work at a bank. You don’t even know what surgeons do exactly but you’ve gotten really good at saying “can’t talk about it, HIPAA” when people ask questions.

Or maybe—just maybe—you’ve been slowly gaslighting your roommate into thinking they’re living with a ghost. Moving things slightly. Leaving cabinets open. That “unexplained” scratching in the walls? That’s you, baby. With a stick.

Dorothy just put down her pricing gun. You have her attention.

The Main Event

You’ve been leaving anonymous love letters for your neighbor’s garden gnome. Not the neighbor. The gnome. His name is Francisco (you decided) and you’re worried he’s not over his ex.

Every Thursday at exactly 2:47 PM, you stand in your kitchen and have a full argument with yourself in two different voices about whether hot dogs are sandwiches. The neighbors have started timing it. You know because you can hear them placing bets through the walls.

You’re convinced—CONVINCED—that pigeons are government surveillance but only the ones with the little iridescent neck feathers. The regular gray ones are just pigeons. This distinction is very important to you and you have a PowerPoint presentation about it that no one has asked to see.

Harold’s considering breaking his five-year streak of not talking to customers.

The “Please Don’t” Territory

Actually, you know what? If you’re thinking about this level, just… maybe just buy some ice cream and go home.

Why This Works (And Therapy Doesn’t)

Your therapist wants you to “heal.” Boring. Gerald wants his shift to end so he can go home and microwave fish in his studio apartment. You’re not his problem. You’re barely even his Tuesday afternoon.

That’s the beauty.

No follow-up appointments where you have to remember what lie you told about your childhood. No homework assignments about “sitting with your feelings.” No one gently suggesting that maybe—just maybe—creating an elaborate ranking system for different types of silence isn’t “healthy coping.”

You know what you get instead?

Freedom.

Sweet, fluorescent-lit freedom.

The Master Class: Multi-Store Marathon

One Walmart? Amateur hour.

Picture this: Seven Walmarts. One day. A confession scavenger hunt across three counties.

Store #1: Your fear that butterflies are just moths with good PR
Store #2: The complete fictional backstory you’ve created for your mailman (his name isn’t actually Mercury Johnson, but he doesn’t need to know that)
Store #3: Your sincere belief that your car gets jealous when you take Ubers
Store #4: The fact that you’ve been “temporarily” using your oven as storage since 2019
Store #5: Your elaborate theory about how all squirrels are part of the same squirrel just moving really fast
Store #6: That recurring dream where you’re a sentient bag of mulch
Store #7: The grand finale—you don’t actually know what your job is and you’ve been successfully faking it for three years

Logistics? Exhausting. Worth it? Absolutely.

Real Testimonials From Real People (Trust Us)

“Told Betty about my extensive collection of screenshots of people typing ‘your’ when they mean ‘you’re.’ She said nothing but her silence spoke volumes.” — Karen, Location Withheld

“Harold didn’t even blink when he found out about the secret nighttime cheese ritual. We’re best friends now. Harold doesn’t know this.” — Some Guy, Probably Dave

“Explained to Dorothy that all of my passwords are just variations of my ex’s name spelled backwards with increasingly aggressive punctuation. She offered me a job application. Still thinking about it.” — Anonymous Hero

The Thing Nobody Wants to Admit

Everyone’s walking around with completely unhinged thoughts rattling in their skull like pennies in a dryer.

Your uber driver? He ranks every bridge he crosses by how much he trusts it. The barista at your coffee shop has assigned every regular customer a theme song and hums it when they walk in. That jogger who’s always stretching by the stop sign has been having the same imaginary argument with his high school gym teacher for fifteen years.

This is the human condition, baby. We’re all just weird meat computers trying not to malfunction in public.

Walmart greeters understand this fundamental truth better than any philosopher ever could. They stand at the threshold between parking lot chaos and retail purgatory, watching humanity’s greatest hits and absolute worst moments play out in real time. Someone once asked Margaret if the fish in the pet section were “grass-fed.” She didn’t even blink. That’s power. That’s wisdom. That’s someone who’s seen beyond the veil and decided minimum wage is still minimum wage.

So You’re Really Going to Do This

You got this far. You’re either genuinely considering emotional terrorism against retail workers or you’re avoiding something important. No judgment. (Okay, a little judgment.)

But here’s the thing—and this is crucial—you’re going to feel amazing afterward.

Not because you’ve “processed your trauma” or “taken steps toward healing” or whatever Instagram therapy accounts are pushing this week. But because you’ve finally told someone that you’re secretly afraid your houseplants are gossiping about you. And that someone was Harold. And Harold didn’t care. And somehow, that’s exactly what you needed.

Find your Walmart. You know the one. It’s calling to you like a fluorescent-lit siren song of emotional release and discounted produce.

Pick your target. Dorothy looks sturdy. She’s survived Black Friday 2019. She can handle your confession about alphabetizing your spice rack by how much you trust each spice.

Walk up with the confidence of someone who definitely hasn’t practiced this conversation forty times in their car. Look Dorothy straight in her dead, exhausted eyes. And just… let it rip.

“Dorothy, sometimes when nobody’s home, all the furniture gets rearranged to see if anyone notices. The couch has been in twelve different positions this month. TWELVE, DOROTHY.”

Then keep going. Let it flow. Tell her about your theory that your GPS has feelings and you’ve hurt them. Explain the complex social hierarchy you’ve created for the neighborhood cats. Admit that you’re 97% sure your toaster is plotting against you but you can’t prove it yet.

You know what’s going to happen?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

And that’s perfect.

Legal disclaimer: Gerald is not a licensed therapist. Gerald doesn’t want to be your therapist. Gerald is 67 years old and his feet hurt. Please don’t follow Gerald to his car. The management is not responsible for any life changes, emotional breakthroughs, or sudden urges to buy 47 cans of corn. Some restrictions apply. Void where prohibited. Gerald just wants to go home.