The Supermarket Saga: An American Satire
A Comedic Drive Through Democracy in 2025
by T Filis
It was a bright Thursday morning in August 2025,
and Jane, a proud woman and lifelong Democrat, was getting ready for her
perilous expedition: a trip to the supermarket. She buckled herself into her
pastel blue electric car.
In the driveway, her neighbor Bob watched her suspiciously
from behind a wall of American flags, each one larger than his SUV. Jane waved,
but Bob simply nodded, clutching his “Don’t Tread On Me” mug as if it might
leap from his hands and start voting by mail.
Jane drove cautiously, knowing that her route was
lined with yard signs boasting “Make America Great Again, Again” and “Don’t
Blame Me, I Voted for the Algorithm.” She paused at the stoplight, where a
group of citizens were locked in a heated debate over whether the traffic
signal was a socialist plot to make everyone wait equally. Jane adjusted her
sunglasses, tuned her radio to NPR (now rebranded as “NPR: Not Particularly
Republican”), and prayed for a green light.
As she rolled into the parking lot, a pickup truck with a
flagpole and a decal that read “Freedom Fries, Yes Please” overtook her,
blaring country music and intermittently honking. Jane found a spot between a
Tesla covered in climate change bumper stickers and a minivan with a “Jesus is
My Co-Pilot” window cling. She braced herself for what lay inside.
Inside the supermarket, Jane was immediately confronted by
the “Patriots Only” shopping carts, which sported cupholders for iced tea and a
small slot for concealed carry permits. She opted for a regular cart, though
the wheel squeaked in protest. In the produce aisle, she reached for the
organic kale but was intercepted by an elderly man in a MAGA hat who insisted
that kale was a Chinese invention.
At the
bakery, three teenagers argued animatedly about whether gluten was merely a
marketing scheme orchestrated by Big Wheat. Jane, standing nearby, caught a
snippet of a clerk’s conversation. “The Democrats want everyone to eat vegan
banana bread, but I say: let them eat cake!” the clerk joked. Amused, she
picked up a loaf of sourdough, carefully avoiding a loaf labeled “Freedom
Bread,” which boasted an eagle graphic and the slogan “Wheat, Not Woke.”
The checkout line felt like a clash of ideologies. Jane
stood behind a woman who was loudly FaceTiming her senator, expressing her
frustration that “the price of liberty” should not include sales tax. The
cashier, wearing a badge that read “Proudly Neutral Since 2024,” asked each
customer, “Paper, plastic, or personal liberty?” When Jane chose reusable bags,
it sparked a lively debate between the bagger and the customer in front of her
regarding the environmental impact of voting by mail.
Finally, Jane reached the self-checkout, which required a
thumbprint scan "to prevent voter fraud, even in the grocery line."
After she paid and loaded her groceries, she made her way to her car, only to
discover a sticky note that read, "Nice car; too bad liberal
tears power it."
Jane drove home, reflecting on the supermarket’s microcosm
of American politics in 2025. She realized that, in the United States,
democracy was alive and well—mostly arguing in aisle seven, passionately
defending the right to choose between kale and “Freedom Bread,” and ensuring
that every trip to the store was a referendum on the American dream. She parked
her car, unloaded her groceries, and thought: “Next time, I’m ordering online.”
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