My grandparents moved to Wildwood in the late 1960s and tell me the island had shops that could support every aspect of year-round life. You had your men’s store (shoes, argyle socks, knee-length ties), a dress shop, your butcher… The concept of a megastore had yet to emerge from the gaping maw of industrialism; most of the items you would buy in town helped support a local business owned by a family with concrete ties to the peninsula.
Fifty years later I find myself in Walmart at 10 p.m., eyes glazed over as I navigate the labyrinth of terror that waits inside. I’m not one of those people who look down at Walmart because of “Walmart” people or whatever. I’m a Walmart person, catch me there in my sweatpants. But the excess of it all is undeniable.
If you’ve ever played Metroid Prime, you’ll remember that opening scene, where space bounty hunter Samus Aran has to evacuate a prison spaceship before it explodes. You can’t miss the warning to get the heck out of there: In the visor of her power suit a digital timer flashes, reminding you that every second you stay here nudges you closer to death.
Something like that timer plays when I’m walking around Walmart. 180 seconds to self-destruct. 160 seconds. One minute left.
But the distractions are many. American flags catch my eye on an endcap, their poles no higher quality than a drinking straw. A hundred giant plastic beer bottles, with the Eagles logo on their fronts, sit above my head on an industrial metal shelf. Just ten bucks! I eavesdrop a girl asking her dad to buy one for her. It’ll look nice in her room, she tells him sweetly.
And my favorite place, the toy aisle, always has new molded plastic delights.
The reality is that nowhere in the county can beat Walmart on price or variety. Not any local store, not any regional chain. When the Rio Grande Walmart became a Super Walmart in the late 2000s I remember the local trepidation that came with it. Think of the local businesses it will harm, folks said in Spout Off. My school teacher told me we should try to support local stores when we grow older because Walmart doesn’t care about our community.
I should have listened to my teacher. The timer strikes zero just as I’m getting into my car, produce from Mexico (in the Garden State!) in my hatch and some candy in the cupholder.
The industrial promise of the 20th century has birthed its fruit: $1 fidget cubes, factory farmed meat cheaper than anything you could ever find locally… And how the heck is it cheaper to buy a Wildwood t-shirt at the Rio Grande Walmart than in Wildwood itself.
That’s the comedy of it. Somewhere in China a Wildwood t-shirt is printed in a factory of unvetted material conditions, placed on a cargo truck, taken to a port, crosses the ocean, and is placed on our shelves right here in town.
And if we don’t support local stores, the foreign Wildwood shirt is all we’ll have left.
Folks – shop local! It might cost you a few more bucks per trip, but that money will circulate locally and contribute to material conditions much better than anything Big Corporate has to offer.
I think everybody who walks through a place like Walmart senses in their soul that this isn’t how things are meant to be.
Contact the author, Collin Hall, at 609-886-8600 ext 156 or send them an email at chall@cmcherald.com
