The Sears in Visalia, Ca. Is a rathole. Floor tiles are chipped, shelves inadvertently fall off the wall, and both restrooms are a filthy mess due to the local Latino population dropping soiled toilet paper on the floor rather than flushing it down the toilet like a civilized human being. My wife said the women leave filthy diapers on the changing table as if it's someone else's job to clean them up. No effort is made by Sears employees to make these animals clean up after themselves.
This is a store that is always out of everything, so I ordered a tool chest that did not arrive when promised, and when I complained I was directed to the store's assistant manager, a stuck-up witch named Margie Martinez. She seemed upset that I had the gall to take up a few minutes of her time, and told me in a snooty voice that the best they could do was to refund my money. This bruja is living proof of the old adage that while beauty may be only skin deep, ugly is to the bone.
I liked shopping at Sears before I moved to Visalia; this store needs a makeover starting with their dangerous floors and rickety displays, and the assistant manager is in dire need of a personality transplant. I'll drive 45 miles to the Fresno Sears before I set foot in that Visalia hellhole again.
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