My Mom Beat Up Everybody at Walmart

a short story about loving your mom, even when she goes viral

photo via

I just sat down in homeroom when Dennis shoved his phone in my face. 

“Yo, is that your mom fighting all the Walmart employees?” he said.

On Dennis’ screen was an Instagram video taken in a Walmart. It showed a large woman in a sweatsuit and curlers flailing her arms like a wobbly windmill with loose screws on its panels. With her belly fat pushing her t-shirt up and her sweatpants down, she was swinging at every Walmart employee that came onto that little square screen. When she came within striking distance, they scattered away in their blue vests and yellow name tags. But then they’d try to get closer again, maybe to stop her, but nobody was doing anything to stop her. They just let the woman flail aimlessly as she shouted at them. They were laughing at her. A few were recording her, too. It was fun for them. 

 Dennis put the volume up on the video. His phone had a very loud speaker and now the whole class could hear the woman in the video calling the Walmart employees bitches and pussies and faggots and cocksuckers and bitches again. Everyone in the class was gathering around my desk, trying to get a look at Dennis’ phone, laughing at the woman on the screen. 

That woman finally made contact with one of the employees - a woman who was about the same size - whopped her upside the head hard, knocking it back like she was swinging at a softball. But that employee didn’t bend and she came back like a slingshot, swinging her arms even more unwieldy than the other woman, faster and harder and angrier. You can tell she didn’t like getting her head whopped like that, and she was getting back in bucketfulls. The two women looked like two of those inflatable tube men standing face to face on a windy day, but the wind was definitely coming from one direction. 

Everyone around me was laughing so hard, I could feel the ground shake a little as all their hot, nasty breath slunk on my shoulders, up my neck, and into my ears, filling up my head with their mockery and my shame. I wanted to laugh with them, but I couldn’t because the woman they were laughing at was my mom. I wish she wasn’t, but she was. I mean, I love my mom. But I wish she wasn’t the woman on the screen they were laughing at. In a way, she wasn’t. That wasn’t how she really was. But to be honest, it was sometimes. She can be a little crazy. I love her, but damn. Why did she have to go and do that?

I had to fix this, but how? What I really wanted to do was beat up Dennis. I could flail my arms just like mom and whoop his skinny ass pretty easy, I was sure about that. I could see him falling on the ground, his phone all broken, him crying at me with a bloody nose. That would make me feel good and he’d think twice about ragging on me like that again. 

But somebody would record me, and then I’d have to whoop them, too. I’d have to whoop everyone in the class, which I honestly probably couldn’t do. And even if I did, somebody would record me and put that video out. 

Then people will say, “Did you hear the son of the woman who beat up everybody in Walmart beat up everybody in his school? What a bunch of animals!”

People will think my whole family is just a bunch of mindless, uncontrollable inflatable tube men. Maybe we are. 

I got up out of my seat and pushed Dennis away. Not too hard - just enough to make him wobble. I knew he wouldn’t do anything. And then I left. There was no way I could stay in school all day after that. I was ashamed of my mom, but also ashamed of myself. I didn’t do anything to protect her. I just walked out like a punk. But I didn’t know what else to do except leave and go home. 

As I exited the school, a teacher was yelling at me, telling me to come back. I ignored her and just kept walking. As soon as the cold air outside hit me, I felt better. I forgot my jacket, but I didn’t care. It wasn’t that cold. It felt good - like a nice, cold shower. And it made me feel truly outside and away from that school where inside everyone was laughing at me and my mom, the sounds echoing in the halls, the teachers joining in, the other students talking about it at lunch and pulling up the video on their phones to laugh at us some more. 

I didn’t want to look at my mom, but I knew I had to. I was worried about her. That video was probably taken last night. Before I went to bed, she said she was going to Walmart. She didn’t come back until I was leaving for school this morning. She was drunk as a skunk and didn’t say anything to me, didn’t even look at me. She just went to her room and shut the door. She did that sometimes, so I didn’t think anything of it. But now I knew how bad her night was. Maybe her worst ever and one that won’t end any time soon unless somehow the internet magically turns off. But the internet is forever, and now so is my mom’s worst moment. 

I opened our front door and had to push hard to open it. There were boxes of beer bottles in the way. They were new. My mom must have gone out and bought some. I got in and walked through the kitchen to the living room. I heard the video playing - my mom’s static-filled voice coming from a cell phone with a busted speaker, hurling insults at Walmart staff members - and then my mom’s real voice, laughing and saying, “Hell yeah, bitches!”

In the living room, my mom was sitting on the floor, several empty beer bottles on the ground and one half full one in her hand. In her other hand was her cell phone, and she looked at it with the biggest smile I had seen on her face in years.

“Look at this shit here, honey - your mama’s famous!” she said, laughing a big laugh.

“Somebody took a video of me kicking some bitch’s ass at Walmart and it has a million views already! Your mama’s gonna be famous!”

She took a deep swig of the beer and belched.

“Come watch it with me, sugar,” she said. 

I sat down next to her. She refreshed the video so it could start over again. 

“Watch this scared-ass bitch flinch when I’m about to put hands on her,” she said.

I laughed and nodded my head with my mom. I was happy that she was happy. And I was glad that she didn’t care what anybody thought about the video. For that, I admired her. She was above the internet. I wasn’t. It and everyone on it had their hands on me, able to drag me down whenever they wanted. But my mom - it didn’t matter people were laughing at her. What mattered was that she whooped up on Walmart employees for disrespecting her and everyone could see it, plain as day.

My mom hugged me and mumbled some words about “I’m gonna be famous” and “we’re gonna get paid.”

I let her fall asleep in my arms, right there on the living room floor. 

“I love you, mom,” I said. 

I was protecting her, but she was still protecting me somehow, too. Maybe more so.