Every time I go to Walmart, some chick gets in my way and tries to sell me on a new phone plan or internet provider or electricity contract.
“Who is your electricity provider?” she asks.
“I make my own,” I say and walk past her.
“Solar?”
“Pig shit,” I say. “Just like Mad Max.”
“Does that midget get annoying with all the Embargo talk?” she responds.
I stop. “Yeah. Can you fix that?”
“Pay better than eight an hour?”
“With medical, dental, and 401k.”
I had to throw in a chainmail dress and a crossbow, but it was worth it.