omg, lrn 2 capitalism!
Got an invite a couple of weeks ago to shop at the Nike commissariat employee store as a guest (thanks, by the way!). Since almost every pair of shoes I own is older than my seven-year-old stepdaughter, and since my sneakers are basically a couple of rubber molecules held together by threadbare shoelaces, we saddled up the gas-guzzler and drove into the fray.
Holy cow, I’ve never seen this many people this devoted to shopping. I thought the standard practice was to know what you needed (e.g., a simple pair of running shoes without all the air-pocket gizmos), look for a good price, and make the purchase. Apparently, I’m doing it wrong. It looks like what you’re actually supposed to do is roar agressively around the parking lot as if there won’t be any shoes left in thirty seconds, load your poor shopping cart up with as much swoosh-covered crap as you can, and complain about the checkout lines.
Afterward, we thought we’d get some lunch. Somewhere quiet, local. Something simple, savory. A bagel and coffee. Whatever.
The good local places were, respectively, no longer there, not open yet, not open yet, and closed for a private party. Even Starbucks was out of everything but meat. What kind of “free market” is this? The only stores that appeared to be open at lunchtime on a weekend were a big-box Nike and a big-box Costco. You can have any lunch you like, comrade, as long as it’s beef jerky served in a 64-pack.
If I’d wanted bread lines, I’d have taken my time machine back to the USSR. If you want me, I’ll be bartering with my neighbors for potatoes and butter. You know, real capitalism—not the ineffective corporate kind.