I pushed the cart towards the checkout counter. The high school kid in khaki and red watched eagerly as I began stacking items. My family helped. Solomon and Samson like placing items on checkout counters. The only Target in Iowa City buzzed as it always buzzes because it’s always buzzing. Always busy.
There weren’t that many items. Wrapping paper. Some groceries. New sheets. This was a pretty tame Target run. The high school kid in khaki and red made quick work of our haul. I finished loading bags into the cart and removed my trusty Target Red Card from my trusty wallet. I’ve had the wallet since the early 2000’s. My Target Red Card too. Did you know I use my Target Red Card as my primary credit card? People make fun of me for that. As well they should.
The wealthy capitalist behind the checkout counter watched me put the last bag into the cart, his eyes alight with greed.
“That will be $392.59,” the high school kid in khaki and red laughed, “sir.”
***
Now, I’m no economist, dear reader, and I never plan to be. My knowledge of the ebbs and flow of capital starts and stops with mercantilism. Though I will write, before going any further, I’m smart enough to know that when one politician blames another politician for singlehandedly causing a rise in inflation they are being an idiot. A manipulative idiot, pandering for votes. Here’s something I know for sure. Boy howdy, this inflation is real.
$392 for an extremely mediocre Target run? I got a pay raise when I moved to Iowa, but, in retrospect, I’m not sure it even covers an increase in the cost of living over the last few years. If I were still employed by the fine folks at Theeee Pennsylvania State University, Altoona Campus, I might be filing for bankruptcy right now.
I won’t go on a rant here about disaster capitalism because I’m not sure the sorts of philosophers or academics I read are the ones reading this blog. I’m actually not sure anybody is reading this blog. And, to be very honest, I put very little thought into who might be reading this blog. I usually just let it flow. Still, I don’t feel like ranting about disaster capitalism although my Target run feels like disaster capitalism at work.
Economics, philosophy, and politics aside, I’m stunned by the number that shows up on the register when I go to Target. I presume that, if things are hard for me, they are hard for others. At least the others in my orbit. I’m no one percent like that titan of industry behind the Target counter, wearing his red and khaki, and laughing all the way to the bank with my hard earned wages.
***
Geez, I really came after that poor kid who works at Target in this blog. I feel bad. I used to be a poor kid that worked at Target. Well, Target McDonalds, actually. Even less prestigious.
I’d slave away at the grill, a humble swing manager, doing my best to delegate responsibilities to the other teenagers who made up my crew. Not easy work, to be sure. And the reward? A whopping $7.25 an hour which, at the time, seemed like a fortune.
My understanding of math is as tenuous as my grasp on economics. Still, I’d have to work roughly 50 hours in 1996 money to cover a mediocre 2023 Target run. 16-year-old Sam would be beside himself shelling out that kind of money for wrapping paper, groceries, and sheets. He made it out of Target for under $200 even when he was leaving with a Nintendo 64, a Playstation, and a hoard of games. Oh, kind reader, how times have changed.
May you weather this inflation, my friend, as people like us always weather the ebb and flow of capital. All the while titans of industry such as that monster in red and khaki behind the Target checkout counter counts his money, pits us against each other by distracting us with the culture wars, and laughs all the way to the bank.
Samuel Jaye Tanner 