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| - First there were the two World Wars... then Korea, and next Vietnam followed by our current wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Nothing could have prepared me for what I experienced last Friday, or as the country now remembers it... BLACK FRIDAY.
I'd always avoided Black Friday because for the most part I'm a wimp and I've always lived where it's fricking cold and over the years I've grown fond of my fingers and balls. Well, now that I live in Phoenix I thought I'd partake in all the festivities that I've watched on TV all these many years. I didn't know what to expect: Would I be trampled to death? Would I find myself standing in line with someone who has been camping out for days without taking a bath? Would I lose my hearing from the stereo screaming sound of screaming children who already at the age of 3 have figured out that Santa Clause is no further away than their parent's credit card? I could only hope.
There was a line, but dammit if it moved along pretty swiftly and people were polite for the most part. It probably didn't hurt that there were 20+ cops bearing arms, ready to shoot Grannie if she dared tried to cut in line.
After about 20 minutes I found myself walking into the store and into what I can only describe as managed chaos. I have never seen so many people in on Walmart in my entire life (other than the time I went into one in Cancun Mexico, and they pretty much look like that all year).
There were parents dragging kids by the arms, ignoring the screaming from their kids who would no doubt need serious shoulder surgery one day.
There were cute little old ladies with their even cuter little old husbands who were walking....one...step...at....a....time...and...I...could...not...get...around...them...and...
wished...they...would...die...and...get...it...over...with.
Then there are the 'scooter people.' Those folks who have clinged (clung?) to the new age idea that them being severely obese has made them also disabled and the only way to treat severely obese people is to give them carts so they can run into other people and shelves and my knees. And those things moved FAST! The only time I've ever seen one slow down is when they were going through the snack isle and then it's like they were going through a school zone...their eyes scanning the rows snacks with the intensity of a pimp checking out their bitches.
As I moved further into the depths of Sam Walton's hellish dream I realized that this was in fact the American Dream: hundreds of people pushing and shoving each other to get cheap clothes, cheap electronics, and basically every piece of shit you could wish for that was made in any place OTHER than the good ole US of A.
There was a time when people would have thought this was crazy. Who shops at midnight to get a deal for a $15 dollar microwave? And then I realized that because of Walmart and their push for the lowest buck no matter what, they have pretty much singlehandedly created an entire nation of people who don't make enough money thus forcing them to scramble for silly deals just so they can get their kids something special for Christmas. Nice job Sam... I hope you rot in hell.
But I digress.
I was there for one thing and one thing only. I have no kids; nothing wrong with my little swimmers, but just no interest in the wet and spooky place they were meant to go. I do however have the cutest, most darling, little nice who I love dearly and I'd do anything for her. And on this night it was getting the Fisher-Price Sing & Giggle Plush - Mickey. The girl just loves her Disney.
I wandered over to the Toy Section which mysteriously was not as crowded as I would have expected. There were tons of kids but evidently Mom and Dad were still playing mind games with their kids, explaining that yes there were rows and rows of Toys but clearly Santa Clause does NOT shop at Wal-mart. I even heard one women pleading with her little girl who apparently had her eyes on a small Crayon set and the mother was explaining that, "I'm pretty sure Santa Clause is going to get you and even bigger Crayon set, so put it back." The lies...the lies...they start so young. I can already picture that same little girl getting pregnant at 15 and hiding it from her mother, and telling her that, "Of course I'm not pregnant. Would I lie to you, Mom?"
I walked up and down the isles, looking for the little girl area, and sure enough, in the very corner of the store was the isle that looked like it just may have it. I rounded the corner and I was all alone, and it was almost quiet - the sound of screaming people getting run over by fat people in scooters sounded miles away.
I found Mickey right away and then ran for the check out where I waited another 30 minutes to get out of there. On the way out I saw hundreds of people still lining up to get in, and I thought to myself, "Merry Christmas, you poor bastards."
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