Nearly naked, I placed one foot onto the smooth rubber mat, my mind ringing with Edward Abbey’s war-cry, obey little, resist much!   Abbey was the bestselling author who advocated for protecting wilderness from commercial exploitation, if necessary by sabotage (he called it “monkey-wrenching”).

Instantly the automatic door swept aside, and I entered the supermarket, the tiles slick and cool underfoot.  I noticed the specials (two pints of blueberries for $5) and the surprise on the faces of some of my fellow-shoppers – evident in a subtle downward flicker of the eyes — as they confirmed that I’d violated an unwritten moral code.  Honestly, people are mostly cool with it.  But not always.

“You can’t come in here like that.”  This was eighteen months earlier at a coffee shop in Chicago.  A pair of icy eyes glared at me from above a light-blue surgical mask.  “It’s a violation of the health code.”

“Not in Illinois,” I corrected her.  But there’s no upside to debating with ignorant people, so I left.

The problem is that American culture is conformist.  Break the code in trivial ways, and people react with hostility.  At the same time, they accept abuse from powerful corporate interests and the government.  Like the military-industrial complex, which promotes forever wars.  Or big food, which is making people sick.  Or big pharma, which relies on chronic sickness as its primary revenue driver. 

The other day, a friend asked – “what happened to the hippies?”  In hindsight, resisting the Viet Nam war was a counter-cultural act that reflected sound judgment.  So was their preference for love and nature, evident in a disdain for shirts and shoes.

Old-timers tell me that those ubiquitous signs – “no shoes, no shirt, no service” – date back to the 1960s. That’s how the conformists struck back against the spirit of skepticism and self-reliance.

On the glass door of the supermarket I’d just entered, there was, needless to say, one of those signs.  I pretended not to see it.  In any case, I was wearing a shirt. 

I generally hadn’t had problems at supermarkets.  They are large, anonymous places.  The workers aren’t looking to make waves.  The managers are secluded in their offices.

Yet I sensed that confrontation was inevitable.  Even if the probability of encountering a hostile manager was remote for each visit, those probabilities would compound over time.

I’m pretty good at math.  The next week, I was stopped at one of the two H— stores I frequent.  It was an assistant manager.  He was polite, but insistent.

A few days later, the same thing happened at the other location.  Once again it was an assistant manager, once again eager to enforce rules.

I asked to speak to the manager.  He wasn’t there.  I left a business card.  Once home, I realized that no one was going to call me.

The next day I returned, this time in shoes, and found him.  Smiled.  Opened by complimenting him for the store’s cleanliness and friendly staff.  Explained that I went barefoot for physical and mental health benefits, without going into unnecessary detail.  Smiled some more. 

He thought for a moment.  Said he didn’t care.  Gave me permission to shop barefoot.  But then added a caveat – “so long as no-one complains.”

So now I walk nearly naked through the supermarket (wearing only shirt and pants) but I have this sinking feeling.  I’m living on borrowed time.  Surely someone will complain.

“Obey little, resist much” is a good war-cry, in my opinion, for a society manipulated by powerful interests and vulnerable to mindless conformity.  So pick up a wrench and throw it into the gears of the machine, before it’s too late.  Do something different.  Reconnect with nature.  Feel the ground beneath your feet.

What happened to the hippies?  I am the last one.