My wife and I recently broke down and joined a mega-national box store, mostly for the deal on baby formula.

I went there today and realized that there are really four major zones of varied etiquette within the store.

The first space, the space I like, is really the center of the store. This is where the stuff you’re going to buy is. This is clearly the sweet spot of the store. People are nice here, or at least indifferent. This is where I serendipitously meet friends and old students. I like this place.

But like some oasis in a questionably produced dystopian feature film it is the only safe place.

Something happens on the edges. I don’t know if it’s because that’s where the better deals are or if the redwood-tall shelves make the churlish, dour, pissiness more anonymous, but I don’t like people on the edges. I get the sense that they are out to screw you. No one smiles on the edges.

The second zone of discomfort surrounds all the little tasting kiosks. I envision these as lonely desiccated sailors, floating aimlessly, surrounded by sharks and barracuda: the kids are the barracuda, naturally. Here people are nice, but it’s almost a saccharine insincerity. There is sort of “Hey, did you try these spinach meat balls? They’re really good. In fact I would have another one if you weren’t judging me and pressing me to get out of your way, you glutinous oaf. You should try one.”

The final zone of inhumanity is at the checkout. If you have a child in your cart and you see a line open up, best just to forget about it, or you are taking your child’s life in your own hands. People don’t freaking care about the fragility of the human body at the registers. If a line opens up they wheel their two-ton cart filled with gallon jugs of Purell and double-dozen packs of Tabasco sauce like it’s a Herkimer Tracked Manmauler in no-man’s land. It’s terrifying.

And I don’t know why this is. I mean, I live in Iowa. It’s one of the nicest places in the world. Even though it’s a city (and I do live in a city) we still wave at each other as we drive by. We still ask how cashier’s days are. We still say please and thank you.

But there is something — I don’t know if it’s the bald-faced consumerism, the vast quantity of products, or the illusion of deals — that turns nice people nasty.

Popularity: 6% [?]