A flaneur is usually a man of leisure and impeccable tailoring who strolls along the boulevards of Paris eyeing the grande monde passing. Depending upon the era these gilded gods might be the Princesse Bonapart, the Duchess de Uzzes, or one of the extravagantly courtesans in outrageously expensive equipages with a coachman and footman… Later Hemingway studiously ignoring Gertrude Stein at the Des Magots, or Townsend talking to James Joyce at Le Dome. Those days and idols are all dead, dead, dead.
In Denver what is a body to do especially when the closest to Paris he has ever been is Savannah. One does what he can with what he has. Wal-Mart is an accursed name amongst part of the population but not with me. Being a Southerner and having no sentimental illusions about general stores with their omnivorous mom and pop owners who charged share croppers one percent per month on high priced goods. Sam Walton broke their oligopoly with the world becoming if not a better place at least a cheaper one.
Broadway and Wadsworth are not the Rue Rivoli nor the Champs Elysee, but they supply a suitable address for a Wal-Mart with large parking lot. I had to park away over to one side. Although we think of its customer as being from the lower economic tiers, their cars belie such a belief. I do not remember seeing any vehicle older than five years. Maybe they were the object of much attention.
At the door checking whether patrons were bringing in goods, was an affable woman with salt and pepper hair probably in her fifties maybe even sixty. I asked her how many hours she worked. Being a full timer. She works eight hours a day.
This store has a high percentage of Hispanic customers at a minimum of 75%. Of course signs are in both Spanish and English. Near the door was a stand of cook books with four being in Spanish. Many Spanish DVD s and movies were for sale. In the book section were some books in Spanish by Joe Steen. I believe him to be pastor of a mega-church somewhere and author of inspirational books.
I encountered one Black African family in the produce department. A new product had struck my fancy – chopped onions at twenty cents per ounce. The mother of the family was talking on her cell phone in a language beyond my ken: certainly they were not from Europe.
Two stereotypical Muslim families were filling carts. One was acting strangely; not enough to interest Homeland Security but strangely nevertheless. With a digital camera, they were taking family photographs in the Christmas tree section. They must be Sunnis. No matter, I can’t imagine taking a camera to Wal-Mart to take pictures as though they were at Grand Canon or Central City .
Just inside the door was a MacDonald’s. Time was Wal-Mart operated their own eatery but not enthusiasitic.
The management certainly does believe in wide aisles. Because the date was a week before Halloween, costumes were on display in this aisle and were receiving much attention from families with children.
Being be able to judge men’s clothing than women’s, I went to men where I noticed that the shirts were drab which would mean that they would never be bought by an impulse buyer only by someone interested in covering his nakedness. No bright colors. Wanting to see how the women s clothing compared I moved into that section. Again dull colors. The T-shirts are red, yellow, and so on, but they are tired colors. About the brightest colors were a weak pink a purple that looks like the stain a grape soda leaves upon a white table cloth. Is this what the customer wants or what he can afford. No doubt part of the cost of high goods is in the dyeing.
Wandering around the store for nigh on two hours. I noticed several things about the customers. A number of fathers had taken their sons under ten to the store. Several were buying Halloween costumes. Others were making purchases of a more general nature. I wondered where moma was. First, I thought they might be giving here an hour or two of respite from hearing that dreaded call of Moma. On the other hand, perhaps the parents are divorced; and this is dad s week-end with his boys. Surely a sociologist could make a study of this phenomenons. Wal-Mart would be a likely sponsor. The other question was about married couples shopping together; who pushes the cart? Sometimes the man would push the cart to give the woman greater freedom and efficiency in pulling goods from the shelf. When the woman pushed the cart, the man seemed to be along for a stroll. I wondered who whipped out a credit card to pay. Is there a correlation between who pushes and who pays.
One seldom mentioned evil of growing old is remembering what things used to cost. This journey to Wal-Mart was an epiphany to me. Artificial Christmas trees may be bought for prices up to $228. Barbie sets cost $24.88. Halloween costumes are $17.88. A battery controlled dragon is $129.00. These prices all seem outrageous, but I must remember that inflation marches on.
Creative Writing 2154 © October 27th
About the Author
Although I have done other things, my fame now rests upon the durability of my partnership with Carl Shepherd; we have been together for forty-two years and nine months as of today, August 18the, 2012.
Although I was born in Macon, Georgia in 1928, I was raised in Birmingham during the Great Depression. No doubt I still carry invisible scars caused by that era. No matter we survived. I am talking about my sister, brother, and I. There are two things that set me apart from people. From about the third grade I was a voracious reader of books on almost any subject. Had I concentrated, I would have been an authority by now; but I didn’t with no regrets.
After the University of Alabama and the Air Force, I came to Denver. Here I met Carl, who picked me up in Mary’s Bar. Through our early life we traveled extensively in the mountain West. Carl is from Helena, Montana, and is a Blackfoot Indian. Our being from nearly opposite ends of the country made “going to see the folks” a broadening experience. We went so many times that we finally had “must see” places on each route like the Quilt Museum in Paducah, Kentucky and the polo games in Sheridan, Wyoming. Now those happy travels are only memories.
I was amongst the first members of the memoir writing class. While it doesn’t offer criticism, it does offer feedback. Also just trying to improve your writing helps no end.
Carl is now in a nursing home, I don’t drive any more. We totter on.
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