2009 -- 2.1 (Fall) Fiction


I shot the greeter at Wal-Mart, just after he said “Hi, Welcome to Wal-Mart.”  I figured if Wal-Mart could slash prices, I could slash lives.  Besides, these employees had been reduced to slave-like labor, underpaid, and underappreciated.  I was doing this guy a favor.  He didn’t really want to “Welcome” me into Wal-Mart.  He wanted his shift to end, so he could stop being ignored by mindless shopping drones.  I was doing him a favor, ending his exploitative work-shift, indefinitely. Yeah, I know my killing this guy was drastic, but these are really tough economic times, and damn, I had to do something.

I got the idea to kill the Wal-Mart greeter yesterday, while I was shopping at Wal-Mart.  The little yellow smiley face on the sale signs, which I believe is the same face, and honestly I don’t know how he travels between isles so fast, were mocking me as I perused every isle. This shitty yellow smiley face was laughing at me, telling me: You’re an idiot to pass this up, look how much money your saving! Buy it! I know you don’t need it, but this sales not going to last forever bud! I know it’s a piece-of-shit CHIA PET, made in Indonesia by underage, barely paid, sweaty hands. But MAN, it WAS $19.99, now ITS $10.99!

Fuck you, I said ripping the sale sign down, tearing out the yellow smiley face, and then stuffing him into my pocket.  I left my shopping cart in the middle of the isle.On my way out, I stopped and watched the greeter. He smiled, welcoming each consumer drone.  At least ten shoppers passed him, completely oblivious to the person,and voice merely saying “hello.”

This is just one big fucking trap, I thought to myself,walking past the greeter, I know how to get you noticed. I left Wal-Mart as a freeman, for the first and last time.

When I got home I opened my lockbox, and took out my Beretta.  I was about to pick up the box of 9mm ammunition, but paused before my hand touched the box.  I bought the ammo a few years ago, on sale…at Wal-Mart, before they stopped selling bullets.

It’s alright, I grabbed the box of bullets, it’s actually fitting. I loaded the clip, and then took out the yellow smiley face from my pocket.  After taping it the muzzle of my Beretta, face pointing outward, I set the gun down.

When I walked into Wal-Mart the greeter smiled and said hello to me.  I smiled back, pointing my smiling gun, and fired.

“You’re Welcome.” I said aloud.

While I ran from the store, before being obtained by the police, my mind was flooded with images.  I pictured massesof people, rushing to Wal-Mart, simply to say hello, and thank you to the greeters; much like after nine eleven, when people garnished military service members with unconditional praise, recognition, and thanks.  That didn’t happen.  What did happen was a new uniform policy at Wal-Mart.  All greeters were required to wear bullet-proof vests.  The employees had to pay for them, which could be conveniently deducted from their pay-checks, in three lowinstallments.

I’m in prison now, and I don’t have to pay for anything. $10.99