Walking into Walmart today felt like entering a dystopian Black Friday, except nobody was buying TVs—they were hoarding ramen and frozen pizza like the apocalypse came with a shopping cart. Shelves were stripped bare. The bread aisle looked like it had been mugged. The canned goods section? Forget it. You’d have better luck finding Bigfoot restocking soup than finding soup itself.

Everywhere I turned, people were grabbing whatever they could. One lady had six gallons of milk, like she was planning to bathe in it when civilization collapses. Another guy was pacing the empty shelves like he lost his best friend to inflation. The air was thick with panic, or maybe that was just the collective body heat of 200 stressed-out shoppers wearing fleece jackets.

Apparently, the latest rumor is that SNAP benefits might stop next month if the government shutdown drags on. So now half the town’s worried they won’t have food, and the other half’s worried they’ll have to fight those people for the last loaf of bread. It’s chaos disguised as “everyday low prices.”

There’s something quietly terrifying about watching people scramble for basics. It’s like civilization is this thin, shiny plastic bag, and every time something like this happens, you can see it stretch and almost tear. Everyone’s just one missed paycheck or one political stunt away from panic-shopping.

But sure, let’s keep pretending things are fine. The self-checkout machine smiled at me with its fake little “Thank you for shopping at Walmart” voice, and for a second, I believed it. Then I looked around and remembered: we’re all just waiting for the next announcement to send us running for the last pack of hot dogs.