Black Friday and Bed-head

While the world gently rested, a chaotic storm was brewing. The commercial captains were still tallying their less-than-Wall-Street's predicted sales, and in that crimson balance the goal of profitability loomed large. Black Friday came and the soldiers camped out all night for a crack at the best deal. Armed with pulp advertisement, the troubadours of trade waged war against the marketing moguls capitalizing on every early bird and doorbuster special.

Fat on turkey and Ms. Shuman's dinner rolls, I sat back in a recliner with an eight pound lap full of advertisements and vowed to form my own merry militia. I twice made my list and checked it as many times. With googlemaps as my navigator, I too was going to save a buck or two. Shortly after 5:00 am my wife and I fought off sleep and the cold brisk wind to join the ranks of retail rangers. K-mart had a line 150 deep waiting for the doors to open.

We ventured to Wal-Mart. Armed with our “key-item” lists, and we tried to make our mark. Line by line we crossed items off our list like pro’s. Then Target. Then Kohl’s. Six, seven, eight, nine o’clock passed and finally we made it to the mall, but despite our best intentions we were just no match for the true treasure troopers. With checkout lines criss-crossing shopping aisles and buggies bumper to bumper, we had enough.

With a jeep full of the best discounts in town, we made our way home and crashed from exhaustion. The Christmas spirit, I now know, smells like sweat, hot cocoa, and bed-head.