Serfdom at “Wally-World”

 

Wal-mart. . . . . box-store of enchantment. And number 1 employer of what you and I know as “THE RED-STATE EXPERIENCE”. Never has someone had to show such gung-ho, merry customer service for serfdom as you otherwise have employees in blue-vests singing “Zippity Do-Dah” out of their assholes, “Mousketeer” style– with a kazoo.

Maybe “working for someone else” is merely getting yourself forced along “by someone’s obsession”, be that customer service or the retail mission statement like giddy “Jim Jones” cults for customer savings. Indeed, irony has little place here and even Beetlejuice has to “get with the program”.

Cribbing a bit from the fellow Warner Bros. property, “National Lampoon’s Vacation” you had “Wally-World” standing in for Disneyland with a cartoon moose as company spokesman. The happiest place on earth– open 365 days a year. Only in the movie, the family straggled in to find the park closed for a couple of weeks for maintenance and repair. . . . .

But make no mistake, Wal-Mart is open 365 days a year.

Why not call it “Small-Mart”? Yeah right, the largest box-store of its kind that stretches several football fields in length. You’d better keep Beetlejuice supervised amid all that “moral hazard” and easy thievery.

Smile, you’re on surveillance camera! Believe me, if someone thought of it– store security has set-up countermeasures to stop “shrinkage”. Think of a poster in the break-room of a troll-toothed bulldog brandishing a hockey stick and batting away “free scores” to keep the larger “goal” of staying competitive. Rolllff!

Of course, that doesn’t stop some mischievous cretin to hacking into the intercom system and playing the sound-FX from pornographic-movies while the manager scurries-around, trying to shut-down the public address system.

All sorts of stunts back there in the stock-room. Nailing a wallet to the floor and tricking some sucker into bending-over and straining his back.

Or kicking-around empty boxes like a deranged soccer match as the electronic board side-sweeps “Work is Fun!” across the sign. Tape up a piece of cardboard with work is (F)ucked squiggled in with a marker to give it an entirely-different meaning.

They don’t even have the easy jobs anymore where a retiree sits in a wheelchair and greets customers at the wide front-doors. Instead you have receipt-checkers halting customers to prevent “more shrinkage”. Such, such are the ways of the corporate retail world.

Lower prices, happier savings. . . . . ALWAYS.

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Buy American. We send prices down to hell

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Serfdom at “Wally-World”

Things Overheard in a Record Store

fffffffffffsdfsdfsd1  vintage_vinyal

  nomag06_p01-XL    emily_strange_guitar

Record stores will never die. Nor bazaars– spreading-out their offerings like a booth of tape-trader’s going back since ancient times and local economies.

And with record stores come teenagers.

Like a frenetic batch of reflexes, fight or flight or fuck– and milling around the bottom reaches of the service economy after something in the air, “a bit like excitement” and better than the mere liberty of boredom. Down there, the materialism like petty marijuana dealing and pettier-theft like street-rats sniffing after the rumor “of some golden hoard”.

Or maybe you just had to be young and frustrated and gullible and stupid– even “to ask”.

So it is, our local grunge-bin of buzz and dubious pursuit– Vintage Vinyl as one of the best personable used record-stores in The United States. You were a punk, or pirate, or hippie, or any random customer who came by way of “The Delmar Loop” on the edge of the ghetto like a little slice of New York City.

A human zoo as colorful and scattered as the flyers tacked-up on the plywood wall by the electric-doors– word-of-mouth, and a tribe called “quest”– rapping on bongo-drums and the snicket of Bic lighters like a snaky macarana-beat/happening poetry-kick. . . . . literature on the wharves and world-faring hello’s from San Francisco Bay to the Rock of Gibraltar to the sea of Japan. All the exotic restaurants and counterculture shops boded well for a developing area like street coinage and the groan of our tired old city.

For the jaded-eye, a hang-out no hipper. . . . . Lydia Deetz loves this place like second instinct as Beetlejuice 2 uses locations on sight, for sore eyes– around these cow-town parts as you’d have to be dead not to have heard of it.

And funny things, these clerks at record-stores somehow overhear. Referring you now to a funny article up in the blogosphere by “Dangerous Minds”. It takes all sorts to make a circus, as they duly took-down the funnier things to mention. Have a ball with these– and know it couldn’t have been “made-up”!!

http://dangerousminds.net/comments/how_your_pretentious_local_record_store

winona_arms_crossed   st_louis_magnet

And as a special bonus– some vintage punk-zine covers of interest to all goth-rockers and “Hello, Kitty” deth-heads. . . . .

http://dangerousminds.net/comments/the_entire_print_run_of_transgressive_la_punk_art_and_music_zine_no_mag_is

lydia_exhausted   save_tbe_cat

Things Overheard in a Record Store