“They’re breaking down the doors!” My coworker Phil shouted from the vestibule where we kept the carts. We had placed the carts against the locked doors but I knew it wouldn’t last. What else were we supposed to do? They were going nuts out there.

Phil was pushing against the carts. “Help! I can’t hold them.” He was looking at me and then shouted at the would-be shoppers, “We’re closed! Go away.”

I pulled one of those electric scooters out but that wouldn’t hold for long. “Go get Linda! This side’s screwed. We’ll have to retreat inside the store.”

As Phil ran off to get the manager I was left to face off against the crowd through the glass. They were just people, regular, everyday people with baseball bats and empty stomachs. “The meat is for paying customers! If you don’t have a voucher you can’t get any meat.” I tried to remind them of the rules but it did nothing to stop them from pounding.

The food shortages were bad but we couldn’t have predicted the backlash that ensued over the skyrocketing prices of toilet paper and baby wipes. I could understand their anger but we were people too. They acted like we were to blame. They wanted to kill us. I could see it in their faces.

One of the cashiers, Sasha, went screaming by, running to hide in the bathroom. The seams of the glass door were starting to crack and bend. What did they think was going to happen when they got in? It would be a stampede for the meats. And there wasn’t enough for everyone. Malnourishment, starvation, and the demand for consumer rights were making people crazy.

Ever since that guy won the case over his right to verbally abuse Wallymart employees there was a new precedence that was set that said that customers were always right, allowing them to abuse store employees if they felt they had been wronged in any way. Since customer rights were valued above employee rights the people banded together to fight the injustice of product vouchers.

The manager arrived when the levy broke and the customers started crawling over the glass doors. Objects were thrown at us when we got the inner doors closed. But it was too late. The doors on the other side of the building couldn’t be closed in time and shoppers were flooding into the store from the far side.

“Move back. Move back!” Phil came up with a mop, I guess for self-defense. Commotion and chaos erupted on the other side. Horrible screams of cashiers being beaten were heard. Linda froze in terror as the angry faces pressed against the inner door.

“We have to get out the back door.” I shouted as people poured into the aisles. We had moved toward the produce when I saw some of the employees being dragged and subsequently pummeled with makeshift weapons. They felt it was their right to brutalize us without our consent, especially since they had nothing better to do since the mass layoffs. They didn’t want to return to work, they just wanted us to return to work.

Blood was spilling onto the floor and Linda freaked, I couldn’t see who’s it was, by the time we got to the deli department. The customers were helping each other up as they tumbled over the store’s employees. A herd of cattle scrambling over lesser creatures.

Sasha was screaming from the bathroom as several men entered. I couldn’t stop to save her as the shrieks grew louder and were gradually silenced. So much rage for such a tiny place. I grabbed a hold of Phil who was being sucked into the mob but it was too late. A man had bludgeoned him in the head with a hammer when I watched his face go numb.

I reached the back storage doors and pushed through. A surge of mostly white men pummeled the black doors and followed me into the multi-storied receiving area. I knew the layout better than they did and bolted through a push lever doorway. Two men followed and chased me up the stairs. It was an odd feeling, being chased by a person thought to be on the same side, like being chased by a relative intent on death and destruction. I never imagined things could get this bad, that we would abandon our peace and prosperity so readily.

I didn’t have time to question it as I made my way into the breakroom and was cornered by the two men. They didn’t care if I was a kid. They wanted blood. There was a cardboard package of florescent bulbs nearby and I managed to slide one out as one of them bulldozed me into the wall. In one movement I kicked him away and smashed the bulb against his head. The chemical dust inside blinded the man and gave me enough time to charge towards the door. The other rioter pulled at my sleeve and tore my shirt but I got away.

He followed close behind when I came to the stairwell. Suddenly I fell, tripping as the man leapt onto my back. We both went tumbling down the two flights of stairs. My wrist slammed against the landing and cracked against the hard landing. After falling head over heels, we ended up at the bottom in a pile of torsos. My elbow had impacted his head which had knocked him out. The rioters had flooded the storage area at this point and I needed to escape. The work clothes I wore would have give me away. I had to make a quick decision.

Several minutes later I remembered running to the front of the store, through the mass of a hundred people, and left the store unnoticed, thanks to the shirt I stole. I left my friends and coworkers behind and became another faceless person in the crowd. I guess it didn’t matter who I was, only that I was wearing a different shirt.