Chilanga Sprinkles

Target opened on the outskirts of the north side of town. The good side of town. The store, unlike Kmart on the south side, could not be reached by bus. The brick facade with the red bull’s eye and shiny red-framed automatic doors loomed over the vast parking lot and could be seen from the main road, beyond a couple of unadulterated plots of land where trees grew where seeds had fallen and the weeds, taller than children, obscured rodents and spiders and opossum. It sat beyond where the main road’s sidewalks vanished and cars drove at highway speed.

The Sunday of the grand opening, and every Sunday thereafter, the most enjoyed feature of the Sunday paper was the glossy Target circular with its vibrant pictures of toys and clothing and electronics. It became more popular than the Sunday funnies and the movie listings. Family members argued over who would look at it first. Many non-subscribers of the paper became subscribers, or went out early on Sunday mornings to the nearest convenience store to pick up their copy of the Sunday paper so that their families could participate in the weekly Target ritual. 

The God fearing got up extra early to plan their Target outing before church so they could be ready at the store’s noon opening time. The seculars luxuriated over the pages sipping on coffee. Both the seculars and the God fearing wore their Sunday best to the store.The townspeople gossiped in the isles while looking at dresses and adapters for game consoles. They complimented each other’s outfits and criticized the outfits of passersby in low whispers. They told each other about deaths, births, divorces, and affairs. They eyed the contents of each other’s carts, gauging their own social standing.

The gossip continued in the car on the way home, and if it was a fruitful expedition, the “can you believes” and “bless his hearts” fueled dinner conversation.