If you live in D.C. and are thinking of applying for a job at Walmart, you might want to reconsider and instead fill out an application for admission to Harvard or Yale.
This advice comes on the news that one of the giant retailer’s stores in the nation’s capital has hired 676 people out of the 23,000 who have applied for the right to don the blue vest since the store opened in 2013. (That’s a mere 2.6 percent of applicants.)
The eight Ivy League schools, on the other hand, accepted nearly 9 percent of those trying to get into a four-year program. It could be worse, though. Google only hires an average of 0.5 percent of its applicants. But if you’re one of those fortunate few, you immediately become a “Noogler,” and you’re given a propeller beanie cap to wear on your first Friday.
•••
Go long limes. That main margarita ingredient may look a little yellow, as many restaurants are now substituting more lemons for limes. South of the border is the problem, where heavy rain and drug cartel wars have spiked the price on a case of limes from $14 to $100.
I remember the soda fountain at the back of the old Park Hill Drug Store in North Little Rock that had the best limeades. They also made great burgers. There was a counter with six or seven of those spin-top stools and a couple of tables that separated the diners from aisles of aspirin and analgesics. And they always had tubs full of sour apple, grape, and cherry bubble gum for a penny.
In that old shopping center was also Walmart’s predecessor, Ben Franklin’s – the old five and dime. They carried lots of sour gum, too. And there were aquariums at the back of the store, where they sold goldfish you carried home in a baggy. I remember sticking my hand, then arm, then shoulder deep into the tank, trying to grab one of the slippery-scaled beauties. I failed and was asked to leave the premises by the stern store manager. That was tough to explain to my mom, who had left me there while she shopped for shoes next door.
Another time, I chased my younger brother, Dean, around mom’s Vista Cruiser station wagon, which was parked in front of Ben Franklin’s. We were probably high on sour gumballs. I lunged at him and missed, catching my pinky on some steel edge of the Vista Cruiser’s trim, at the rear, where the way-way back seat faced forever behind. I felt a sting and looked down at gushing blood from the deep wound. Poor pinky hung on for dear life. When mom came out, of the shoe store again (who is she, Imelda Marcos!?), I looked like Dan Ackroyd doing his Julia Child imitation. The stern manager stood in his window, shaking his head and acting disgusted about the bloody storefront sidewalk. Dean, who wasn’t that fond of me anyway, smiled up at the manager, who smiled back, while I bled to death. There was probably a free goldfish in Dean’s future.
Childhood memories are the best.
•••
Finally, a teenager in Georgia is in hot water after his bank mistakenly added $31,000 to his account. Instead of reporting the error, he went shopping and was soon seen cruising around in a new BMW. He has to give the money back or be prosecuted.
On the other end of the right-wrong spectrum, young Katie Francis of Oklahoma City sold 18,107 boxes of Girl Scout cookies in seven weeks. “She’s a real go-getter,” said Katie’s mom.