Walmart, 'the Trumpvirus', and survival instincts [View all]

[Ptah]

Walmart, 'the Trumpvirus', and survival instincts
“They are out of everything, the shelves are clean!”

The ancient Native woman rolls in her wheelchair through Walmart's bustling parking lot and exhaust stink, squinting in the midday sun, moving toward the corner bus-stop. Anger moves through her tiny frame, down into her wrinkled hands, the unnatural velocity with which she forces her wheels. No one notices her, a shiny Ford truck nearly collides into her, and she hardly wants to stop and chat. She scowls and rolls, "They are out of everything, the shelves are clean!" Her name she says is Anna and few of her Walmart needs were met and she radiates zero joy despite the outward impression of joy in her dress—a colorful pastel blouse, blue duster and carefully pulled back gray hair. She says babies will be born with the virus now and mothers are doomed. She is alone in a world of vibrating humanity. This old wizened Native woman.

The air at Walmart is wound with tight, grim synchronicity and indifference, but not panic. You want to learn everything about America? Hang at a Walmart around noon on a weekday, during a pandemic. The greedy consumption and feeding, grocery carts overflowing of sugary and salted pre-packaged items, the "unskilled labor" of the checkout-counter folks heroically keeping this town from total collapse.

Robert Ward is outside the Walmart scrutinizing the parking lot and hunting a light for his smoke. His reddish beard tops a Blaze Ya Dead Homie T-shirt, baggy shorts, dark wrap shades, and a black trucker hat. A tat rises up one forearm showing a black forest engulfing a tiny dark house. First glance Ward could be any dude with menace lurking in the Walmart shade.

Nah. He's waiting on his girlfriend who's in the laundromat next door. He came for Gatorade.

https://www.tucsonweekly.com/tucson/walmart-the-trumpvirus-and-survival-instincts/Content?oid=27552146