Walmart Fails Latino Shoppers – Unless They’re Robots, Of Course

 

Here is proof positive that Latinos are actually marauding robots in undocumented worker’s clothing.

Clean up on Isle Quatro!

My photo shows an aisle at my local Walmart whose shelves are filled with appliances and marked with a cheerful blue placard as “Latino Food”. I know a number of Latinos intimately and they insist that circuit boards, heater wire and stainless steel are NOT dietary staples. In fact, they claim that they would prefer rice and beans to a toaster as a side-dish anytime. Hmm. I wonder: Walmart is, after all, a huge corporation and I’m feeling that I might have to side with them on this one.

On the other hand, and perhaps only slightly more seriouslyishness, I have to congratulate Walmart on having the foresight to keep an eyeball on the growing Latino population in my area of New Jersey. These recent transplants have breathed life in a town otherwise populated by a race of near-rednecks on the verge of extinction. Bienvenidos, mis hermanos y hermanas latinos! And thanks for keeping real estate values from dropping ever more ferociously into the core of the planet.

Walmart is not the only local behemoth that has noticed the northward migration of my olive-skinned, foreign-tongued brethren. ShopRite has been carrying more Goya products and I even found a rare can of El Jibarito brand pigeon peas at the Weis. The Lowes has information signs with nearly-equal-sized English and Spanish markings. And yesterday’s Big Shop, where I, with the help of the somewhat-junior-yet-somehow-savvy Divine Ms. M, re-upped the pantry stores for La Casa Grande, otherwise known as Chaos Manor II, noticed many apparently latin-type folks (excuse the profiling, but they looked to me like they had recetly descended from the cloud-shrouded Andes AND they were speaking Spanish) eagerly snapping up calabasas and green plantains and other such staples that might otherwise be considered both frightening and bewildering to the Northern European-descended shoppers mauling the tomatoes imported from Argentina in Produce.

Does this mean I should be preparing to fend off drive-bys, cutting up oil drums to construct ersatz bar-b-ques and learn how to love burritos? What are you, a racist? This ain’t LA and these are my ass-busting, American-dream-grabbing peeps, yo. So, calm down. And maybe these fine folks will inject a little sabor into my nearly comatose town. One can only hope.