Catch Jim’s latest Red Clay Diary podcast:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vuLLy5ZkWgU&feature=youtu.be
or read the transcript below:
USING SIGNAGE LANGUAGE TO COMMUNICATE WITH WALMARTIANS
Let’s say for just a moment that I am a being not of this planet.
Let’s further suppose that I am just this moment beaming down and looking around.
I cruise through the aisles of a huge facility that dispenses food and all manner of objects Earthlings seem to require.
The posted signs are not easy to understand.
PLEASE DO NOT ALLOW CHILDREN TO PLAY WITH THE TOYS
In my research prior to descending to Planet Three, I am led to believe that toys are manufactured for the sole purpose of being played with by children. Is this some kind of reverse-psychology attempt at human humor? Are children no longer allowed to play with toys?
I must make note of this for later study.
On one of the enormous electronic image screens scattered about this emporium, I view what is generally referred to as News.
One oft-repeated phrase in reportage of interspecies violence is this:
THE GUNMAN WAS A LONER WHO LIVED WITH HIS MOTHER.
Another confusing characteristic of sapiens. It is my understanding that children are raised from birth in close proximity to at least one parent or guardian. Does that headline infer that there is something unacceptable and damning about a grown child residing with a parent?
My time is up for this particular visit. I’ll return another day to make more notes.
Goodbye, Earthies. I mean you no harm.
MEANWHILE, BACK TO THE REALITY OF EVERYDAY DEEP SOUTH LIFE:
Love in the time of Corona is quite challenging at the bookstore.
Distance between visitors and staff is monitored, surfaces are constantly cleansed. But otherwise, all is calm, all is bright.
Customers seek bliss among the shelves and displays, ask questions about price and availability and content, and generally enjoy themselves.
A first-time visitor to the shop announces his entrance with a big juicy hand-covered sneeze. He sees my expression, which must be one of confusion. I need my shoppers, but I need them to enter—then return—both healthy and non-contagious. I don’t say anything. He laughs, says, “I don’t have Corona!”
I reach for the Purell.
His partner rubs her eyes vigorously, then explores the shop.
At a safe distance, I lead them to sections of the stacks that they prefer. I warmly explain the layout. I hope that I am exuding friendliness, politeness, while remaining careful and attentive.
I disinfect before, after and during customer visits.
Since we are all encouraged to keep a safe physical distance from one another, I fill those empty spaces with calming music and a bit of patter.
Today, I am listening to Mozart arias by Cecilia Bartoli, blue tunes by Miles Davis, new tunes by Ahmad Jamal, longing and love by the Sons of the Pioneers, clever lyrics by Anthony Newley, robust stories by Big Joe Williams and Count Basie, jolly instrumentals via Gershwin piano rolls. And so on and so forth.
I am still planted on this planet. I still have to find ways to recall and refresh my humanity, your humanity.
Maintaining the bookstore at the center of the universe is my way. I’m here should you need me. I’m here even when you don’t need me.
The books will endure, as will Earthlings, as will you
© Jim Reed 2020 A.D.