Supermarkets

We read in ARA that the Civil Guard, the National Police and the Urban Guard have dismantled, in a joint operation, 24 supermarkets in Barcelona They were stealing streetlights and had rigged scales, but they lacked any anti-smoking measures, licenses, and, of course, exploited people. Like we said before: throw a piece in the wok.

We write "supermarkets," yes, but we all know what kind of "supermarkets" we're talking about and what kind we're not. We don't have to imagine Mr. BonÀrea or Mr. BonPreu stealing streetlights. We have in mind—I do, at least—those establishments where the fruit is so bruised and battered that you understand it's not meant to be bought, but rather a distraction, because perhaps they want to sell you other hidden items. Establishments that roll out the red carpet for underage kids who go there, without a problem, to buy the supplies for their street parties every Thursday at three in the morning. Namely: a bottle of Úlcera Non Plus Ultra sparkling wine (two euros), a bottle of Tricinco Difosfuro vodka (six and a half euros), and La Pájara lemonade (six cans for two euros), with Manantial del Uranio ice, thawed and refrozen, and Regel straws.

Walking through the city, we see, every day, how stationery stores, hardware stores, and traditional haberdasheries close down. And we also see how those shops are always replaced by these "supermarkets." You wonder: "How do they do it? How can they survive while the others don't?" We have the answer today. They have truly grasped the concept of "entrepreneurship."

Oh, I don't have any nail files! I'll go downstairs for a moment to...