For those of you who have only recently begun reading this blog, I work retail. In the world of retail we have this special 24 hour time period which this year falls on November the 28th. It goes by the super cheery-sounding name of Black Friday.
I can recall only one time in my life when I decided to join the hordes of crazed shoppers who somehow overcome the effects of tryptophan and brave the dangers of frostbite in dark hours rarely seen by normal humans to stake out their territory along the aisles of the electronics department at Walmart in hopes of snatching up discounted laptops. The year I went I witnessed an army of grouchy, sweatpant-clad, makeupless women. To this day I can hear the crash of ramming shopping carts as it echoed throughout the store. It was ugly. After that I vowed to always sleep in and spend the day in the safety of my home watching the wishbone dry out.
But this very Friday I will be stationed at the good ol’ service desk at 5:45 am. I’ve been waking up in cold sweat after dreaming about furious, torch-wielding shoppers clambering over the counter and grabbing at my neck because there are no more Wiis. In another nightmare I get to work several hours early and still can’t find a parking space. Eventually I pull into the firelane and race to clock in. Chaos fills the entire 126,000 square feet. The restrooms, especially, are in complete uproar and I spend the entire day dashing back and forth with armfuls of toilet paper trying in vain to keep the stalls stocked. Hell hath no fury like a woman facing a restroom of empty cardboard tubes.
A sympathetic pal offered to to break my leg or infect me with the measles so I can call in sick. Now that right there is what I call true friendship.