With weeping and whining rugrats in tow, they would begin their day, like a trip to Disneyland with only one line-up to endure at the very end. Whole families would disappear into one department or another, clogging up aisles for hours before stopping for a light lunch of Big Macs and fries. There they would lean in wrinkled T-shirts over their McMeals, their lycra-clad asses hanging over the plastic seats.

Several times a day a scandal would ensue over the lack of mechanical buggies, forcing angry, anxious, would-be shoppers to sit and wait for a machine to free up. Seldom were these people aged or disabled, not unless sitting in plastic chairs and eating off of paper wrappers is considered a disability.

Apparently their beloved buggies had endured one bulbous bottom too many. The more patient of them waited for up to an hour, while others finally braved the wilds of Wal-Mart with nothing more than common shopping carts to support them. Then, inevitably, some would have nothing of it and, declaring to avenge themselves through Wal-Mart abstinence, would waddle out to their handicapped parking space leaving a psychic trail of curses and insults in their wake.

The hardy staff members would remain unfazed, accepting the vitriol as just another affliction wrought upon them as members of the service industry. They tolerated open insults and curses directed to their faces while they bagged groceries and made change. They lived with the knowledge that the person on the other side of the register sees them as inferior and uneducated. I recognized their frozen smiles when I saw my own reflection in the mirror.

But, every couple of hours I would escape from the rotting tomb of commerce and slip out into the bright, California sun. I would join my working comrades at their table as they ate, smoked cigarettes and complained about their jobs. They had kindly accepted me as one of there own and it amused them when I strolled by in a state of helpless boredom or when they caught me hiding amongst the racks of sales items.

I watched them shift from one department to another. I watched them arrive to work looking fresh, and I watched them cash out looking downtrodden. I saw them looking desperate, furious, happy and miserable.

I was overjoyed to take off that wig and become myself again, a person who smiles when she’s happy and tells someone to ‘go to hell’ when he pisses her off. I had seen enough of desperate shoppers hunting for deals in their sweat pants and flip-flops. I had seen the death of America in a shopping cart with a side order of fries.

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