Lawn Boy(61)

“Just a hunch.”

“His ankle is toast. Anyway, I’ve gotta buy some shit. Have fun with your little protest,” he said, pleased with himself as he sauntered off toward the entrance.

“Who was that?” said Andrew.

“Some jerk I went to high school with.”

“Nice guy,” he said.

“Yeah, he’s a prince.”

Nick was right, unfortunately: our protest was a flop. Nobody wanted an informational flier summarizing the insidious business practices of Walmart, except for one guy in rubber boots and a bicycle helmet covered with bumper stickers. Seemed like maybe he’d started wearing the helmet a little too late, if you know what I mean. And while it’s true that a few people paused long enough to read my sign, none of them seemed to comprehend it. The guy with the bike helmet bought Andrew and me a jumbo dog with sauerkraut, which was thoughtful and also sort of surprising, since he looked like he was homeless. I didn’t eat mine. I’d like to say that I didn’t eat it on principle, but the truth is, I couldn’t stop thinking about The Jungle. Even though Andrew usually didn’t eat red meat or support Walmart, I couldn’t blame him for inhaling his, being that he came straight from work and hadn’t eaten since lunch. So I wasn’t about to deprive him his nourishment by saying anything about the working conditions in meatpacking plants.

Before long, our numbers began to dwindle. Moses had to pick up his girlfriend from work. The lady in the sweats had to split at five fifteen, but not before she ducked into Walmart for a carton of smokes. Around five thirty, I spotted Tino and two sleepy-eyed companions I didn’t recognize in the northeast corner of the lot, spilling out of Tino’s beater van.

“You work here now, ese?”

“I’m protesting.”

“Yeah, but do you work here? You get any kind of discount?”

“I don’t work here. I told you, I’m protesting.”

“They fire you?”

“No. I’ve never worked here.”

“So why you protesting, then?”

“Because,” I said. “Walmart is exploitative.”

“Okay, ese. I believe you. Hey, you still live with your mom?”

“Shhh.”

He said something in Spanish to his sleepy-eyed companions. They all laughed. Once again, Andrew came to my rescue, braces gleaming in the weak sunlight. “We’ve got signs, brothers. Join the resistance.”

“No, thanks, mano. I got enough trouble.” Tino turned his attention back to me. “Hey, Miguel, you still got your mower?”

“I got a new one.” If I could ever get it back from Goble.

Tino nodded, looking impressed. “I keep my eye out for you.”

He set a hand on my shoulder and gave me a pat before the three of them proceeded on their way into Walmart.

“Give me a call, Miguel,” he shouted over his shoulder. “We grab a beer!”

It wouldn’t be a proper protest unless the cops showed up eventually. Well, cop, in our case. I guess I really shouldn’t have been surprised that the cop happened to be Jar Jar Binks, the racial profiler, who tried to shoot my tire.

“You,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m occupying.”

“Yeah, a parking lot, I can see that. You and your friends need to disperse.”

Lowering his sign, Andrew stepped up, a little sauerkraut still stuck between his braces.

“We’re not doing anything illegal, officer. We’re exercising our right to assemble. As a matter of fact, you ought to be protecting that right.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” said the cop. “But we’ve had two complaints about the music. And you’re blocking the entrance—which is a fire hazard, last I checked. If I can’t get you kids to clear out, hey, no sweat off my back. I’ll just leave it to the hose jockeys. It’ll be fun breaking up their barbecue.”

“Or you could just shoot somebody,” I observed.

He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t tempt me.”

“We’re doing absolutely nothing unlawful here, officer,” said Andrew.

“Yeah, you already said that.”

“The right to peaceably assemble is an inalienable—”

“Save it, Cesar Chavez. Just quit blocking the entrance. If you want to save the world from great prices, move it over by the shopping carts.”

Needless to say, Andrew wasn’t happy about the move, but we didn’t really have much choice. It took some more wind out of our sails, that’s for sure. Three more folks took the opportunity to drop out, and the few who remained started playing hacky sack. By six, the resistance folded once and for all.

“You hungry?” said Andrew.

“Starving.”

We never did use the walkie-talkies.





Lists and Reminders At Central Market, Andrew bought a couple of wild salmon fillets (sixteen bucks!), a bag of organic salad greens (six bucks!) and a six-pack of something called Hopjack (ten ninety-nine!). I figured the library must pay pretty darn well if Andrew could afford to shop like that. Or maybe he was a Trustafarian, but I doubted it. I mean, he was from Belfair, how could he be rich? He was gracious about not accepting my six bucks.