The economy under Trump
I got there at dawn. The line already stretched past the Dollar General, curled around the shuttered pharmacy, and looped once around the abandoned Tesla dealership turned Ministry of Prosperity satellite office. A soldier—pardon me, economic security liaison—handed me a ration ticket with the presidential seal. It smelled faintly of bleach and patriotism.
“Only one loaf per household,” he said, adjusting his wraparound sunglasses. “Price set by Executive Order 14199. Glory to the Market.”
By noon, the sun had reached the exact angle where it can’t decide whether it wants to bake you or mock you. People passed the time comparing their loyalty points—earned by sharing official White House economic posts on LibertyFeed™—hoping to win a spot in the “Premium Bread Queue,” where rumors swirled of crust.
A woman behind me wept softly into her MAGA fanny pack. “I used to shop at Trader Joe’s,” she said. “Now I’m just hoping the crust isn’t made of reconstituted soy-paper again.”
At 3:00 p.m., a cheer went up. A refrigerated truck arrived. On the side: “Walmart — In Partnership with the Department of Price Harmony.” A man in a hardhat shouted from a megaphone: “Today’s allocation: Patriot White, 600 loaves. Made with Freedom Wheat. Non-GMO, Government-Mandated.”
I finally reached the window at 4:37. My fingers were trembling with anticipation, low blood sugar, and fear. The clerk smiled without smiling.
“You want butter with that?” he said.
I looked around, trying not to draw attention. Butter was a Class IV luxury. The kind of thing you whispered about. The kind of thing that got you flagged by the algorithm and sent a reminder that your consumption was being monitored for equity compliance.
“No,” I said. “Just the bread. I’ve waited all day.”
He stamped my ticket with a mechanical thunk that echoed somewhere deep in my spine. I took my loaf. It was warm. Or perhaps just sentient.
On the walk home, I passed the mural again. The one with the former president smiling, arms outstretched beneath the words:
“You will own nothing. And you will eat Wonder Bread.”
“Only one loaf per household,” he said, adjusting his wraparound sunglasses. “Price set by Executive Order 14199. Glory to the Market.”
By noon, the sun had reached the exact angle where it can’t decide whether it wants to bake you or mock you. People passed the time comparing their loyalty points—earned by sharing official White House economic posts on LibertyFeed™—hoping to win a spot in the “Premium Bread Queue,” where rumors swirled of crust.
A woman behind me wept softly into her MAGA fanny pack. “I used to shop at Trader Joe’s,” she said. “Now I’m just hoping the crust isn’t made of reconstituted soy-paper again.”
At 3:00 p.m., a cheer went up. A refrigerated truck arrived. On the side: “Walmart — In Partnership with the Department of Price Harmony.” A man in a hardhat shouted from a megaphone: “Today’s allocation: Patriot White, 600 loaves. Made with Freedom Wheat. Non-GMO, Government-Mandated.”
I finally reached the window at 4:37. My fingers were trembling with anticipation, low blood sugar, and fear. The clerk smiled without smiling.
“You want butter with that?” he said.
I looked around, trying not to draw attention. Butter was a Class IV luxury. The kind of thing you whispered about. The kind of thing that got you flagged by the algorithm and sent a reminder that your consumption was being monitored for equity compliance.
“No,” I said. “Just the bread. I’ve waited all day.”
He stamped my ticket with a mechanical thunk that echoed somewhere deep in my spine. I took my loaf. It was warm. Or perhaps just sentient.
On the walk home, I passed the mural again. The one with the former president smiling, arms outstretched beneath the words:
“You will own nothing. And you will eat Wonder Bread.”
