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End-of-the-World Sale!

John Rachel

[ Author’s Note: This story is an adapted excerpt from my forthcoming novel “11-11-11”. ]

    So the nuts and the fruitcakes were at it again. Something big — really big! — was going down on 11-11-11.
    Aha!
    The world was going to end. For real. Not like the last time.
    A lot of people really believed this. Or as Walmart liked to call them . . . a lot of shoppers.
    As 11-11-11 approached, actually right after the back-to-school promotional push back at the beginning of September, Walmart mounted a new campaign.

Get the best buying tips for the Apocalypse!

WALMART — YOUR “END-OF-THE-WORLD” PLACE TO SHOP


    So . . .
    What part of “end of the world” were people not understanding?
    If indeed the world was ending, trail mix, Kevlar underwear, purified water, skin creams and cartons of Top Ramen were not really going to help.
    But Walmart was keeping busy.
    Very busy.
    The ads touted Walmart as the only place you needed to go for all of your emergency needs. It was one-stop shopping for the Apocalypse. That this was the Mother of All Catastrophes, the one which would terminate all life on Earth, vanish the Solar System, and possibly make the entire Universe disappear, was not a factor. There was money to be made!
    Today was November 10th and people had been packing in for over a month-and-a-half now, leaving wads of cash at the Center, Missouri branch of the multi-billion dollar megastore.
    At this particular facility there was a 30’ high LED countdown meter, visible from the next county if not outer space, mounted over the facade of the gigantic building directly above the main entrance. Its main function was to stress the urgency of buying what people allegedly needed. Today it read:

ONLY 1 MORE SHOPPING DAY TILL 11-11-11!!


    A huge seller at the Box Store at the End of the Galaxy, was the Hyperspace Thermos Bottle, called the Magnum Opus. Advertisements touted the thermos bottle’s most amazing feature: Dual purpose. Keeps your drinks either hot or cold! Wow! Imagine that. Hot or cold! And you don’t even have to tell it which to do.
    There was a giant flashy booth in the center of the women’s section of the store featuring a new special array of cosmetics: Apocalypticsª by Revlon. Several hyperactive sales girls scantily dressed as sexy angels demonstrated the proper application of everything from their Astral Lip Gloss to their Shadows of Nirvana face sculpting cream.
    A whole range of over-the-counter medicinal products dedicated to alleviating discomfort and addressing issues associated with rapture and trans-dimensional travel packed the shelves. These included space travel motion sickness pills, SPF200 radiation block, creams for allergic reactions to space dust, anti-dehydration drinks — what? no drinking fountains on the stairway to Heaven? — a quick weight-loss formula called Slenderness Is Next To Godliness in order to look svelte when meeting your maker, a product called Geiger Balm for gamma ray rash, non-prescription Duragesic transdermal pain patches to alleviate pain from the elongating effects of near light-speed travel, even special soft ‘astral traveling’ non-chafing inflatable diapers called Bum Wraps, for hemorrhoid sufferers.
    There was a Lost In Space Survival Kit which included a talking GPS direction finder, a laser pointer pencil, a Pinochle deck, a baseball cap with a peace sign, cotton swabs, crackers with no expiration date, a tube of Velveeta cheese spread, Handi Wipes, Dr. Scholl’s Foot Powder, and a multi-lingual phrase book which had in over 170 languages: ‘I am from planet Earth and would like to be your friend. Take me to your leader.’
    And so it went. The same questionable or entirely superfluous products they typically sold, repackaged with a new sales spin. People clambering up and down aisles, climbing over one another, elbows flying, tempers short, grumbling and mumbling expletives, cash and credit cards flying out of wallets, everyone lumbering back to their cars to try to stuff all of the stuff in and still leave room for the kids.
    Albert ‘Jinx’ Jenkins worked the shipping and receiving area for the store, and like he had been for over six weeks, today he was on overload. He felt like a one-armed wallpaper hanger. A one-legged ass-kicker. A one-titted pig with twenty sucklings.
    Being so busy had the advantage of making the time go by quickly. The days just passed and nothing particularly noteworthy would happen which would distinguish one from any of the other hundreds of forgettable days he spent there.
    There was one thing, however, Jinx looked forward to. About a month ago, he noticed a very cute new girl working at the Dog-On-A-Stick eatery close to the main entrance of the building. She was a little overweight but had a lovely face and a great smile, and for whatever random reasons fueled such a response, caused a warm urgent swelling behind the zipper of his shrink-to-fit Levi 501s. He recently had been making a point of wandering by on his lunch hour. It was all fairly innocent. He didn’t plan on pursuing anything with her. But it was nice looking at an attractive, sexy, apparently single girl five years his junior, and letting his male imagination do what male imaginations did.
    Since he was showing up every day, she couldn’t help but notice him, and probably just to alleviate her own boredom started being very cordial to him. Not necessarily flirtatious, but certainly friendly and funny. They were fast becoming buddies. Joking. Goofing around. Sharing a few pleasantries.
    It was all good. Something to break up the day.
    The last few times Jinx had stopped by, he ordered his usual but then they just kept on talking and he kept up the jokes and she kept on laughing and finally he would sit down when other customers demanded her time. Same thing happened today. She got busy with other customers. He sat down and now was wolfing down his meal — it was the same every day, two dogs, fries and a Coke — hoping that she would get done before he had to go back to work, and they might have a few more minutes of silliness to get him through the rest of his busy day.
    Jinx waited but the line for phallus shaped fast food kept getting longer. Fun and games were over for today. He stood up, she waved and smiled, then went back to taking an order from an extremely obese woman with three obese kids. He waved, emptied his tray in the trash, then put it on a growing stack of identical trays by the turnstile exit, as he quickly strided out. If he hustled, he would be back on the loading dock with a minute to spare. They were expecting eight big shipments, so this afternoon would be particularly insane.
    Relief was in sight. Tomorrow was the last day of the push for 11-11-11 merchandise. Then either the world would end or it wouldn’t. Either way, the frenetic bustle of the past few weeks would be over. This mad rush shopping for the Apocalypse would come to an end.
    There was a note on his desk when he arrived.
    A note from his boss.

Report immediately
to my office.


    What was this all about?
    He would find out soon enough. He reported as requested.
    His boss didn’t wait for him to even finish crossing the room when he started to bellow.
    “You were observed by security stealing food from the Dog-On-A-Stick. We are not running a soup line here, Mr. Jenkins. Your employment is terminated, effective immediately.”
    “But sir—”
    “No ‘buts’ about it. Please collect your personals. You will be escorted out of the building. Have a nice day.”
    A hand reached out from behind him and took him by the arm. Jinx had not seen the uniformed security man in the rear of his boss’s office when he walked in. They left together. Ten minutes later he was putting the key in the ignition of his Toyota Innova.
    Jinx was fired for eating two hot dogs at the fast food court in Walmart and forgetting to pay for them. Technically, he didn’t forget. He sweet-talked the pudgy little honey running the hot dog booth and she fluttered her eyelashes and giggled instead of collecting the $1.30 due for the nitrite-laced concoctions of ground up beef lips, eyeballs, testicles, ears, and other sinew. His excellent service at Walmart for several years did not factor in the decision to let him go and he was replaced by yet another pus-faced high school drop-out who would work unquestioningly for minimum wage and no benefits.
    With a wife and four kids the current Walmart sales campaign rang very true. Walmart was the end of the world place to shop. If he couldn’t find another job really fast, it would certainly be the end of his world.
    Then again, maybe after tomorrow he would have nothing to worry about.
    Wonder what’s on TV tonight.



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