And the Black Friday horror stories come rolling in! Cops are looking for a “competitive shopper” in Porter Ranch, CA after she reportedly went to Walmart and used pepper spray “to gain preferred access to a variety of locations in the store.” The craziest thing about this story is that she was able to pay and leave without incident, as things were so out of control there that by the time she got to the register, nobody knew what she’d been up to. Success!
At least twenty people fell victim to her liquid fire, including some children. I find it somewhat amusing that Fox News reporters call it “absolutely unbelievable” when someone does it to kids in a Walmart, but when a cop did the same thing to liberal college kids, they were but giving them a taste of a food product. Which is worse: pepper spraying someone because you’re too lazy to do your job properly, or pepper spraying someone because you’re absolutely fucking desperate to give your kid a nice Christmas present despite the fact that you’re poor as shit with no hope of getting less poor in sight? I doubt that X-Box was for herself.
Meanwhile, at a different Walmart, off-duty cops used pepper spray to “quell a disturbance and make an arrest.” It would appear they’re now using the stuff equally on consumerists and anti-consumerists alike.
In all seriousness, I find it hard to laugh at people driven to act like animals in an effort to attain just a tiny fraction of the middle class comforts America promises. And not even for themselves; for their children. If only we could harness these intense feelings into something resembling political struggle, we’d have a new world order in no time.
Or, as one commenter on this Gawker post about a riot over waffle irons thought to do, I’m going to quote George Orwell‘s 1984:
“…a tremendous shout of hundreds of voices women’s voices had burst from a side-street a little way ahead. It was a great formidable cry of anger and despair, a deep, loud ‘Oh-o-o-o-oh!’ that went humming on like the reverberation of a bell. His heart had leapt. It’s started! he had thought. A riot! The proles are breaking loose at last! It appeared that one of the stalls had been selling tin saucepans. They were wretched, flimsy things, but cooking-pots of any kind were always difficult to get. Now the supply had unexpectedly given out. The successful women, bumped and jostled by the rest, were trying to make off with their saucepans while dozens of others clamoured round the stall, accusing the stall-keeper of favouritism and of having more saucepans somewhere in reserve. There was a fresh outburst of yells. Two bloated women, one of them with her hair coming down, had got hold of the same saucepan and were trying to tear it out of one another’s hands. For a moment they were both tugging, and then the handle came off. Winston watched them disgustedly. And yet, just for a moment, what almost frightening power had sounded in that cry from only a few hundred throats! Why was it that they could never shout like that about anything that mattered?