She went out into it – suited up, booted up, hunkered down and did it. She was prepared for the worst. Elbowing, pushing, shoving. Possibly, even, name calling. Crazy consumers stealing spots in line and feigning disinterest to throw others off kilter (are you looking at that? that is not something I would want. ever. who would buy that? look away, look away. ah-hah, tricked you. now its MINE.) as they lunge forward for passed-over ornaments and smashed up wire ribbon at fifty percent off. The possibility for ugliness, the chance of seeing the dark side of Christmas, was high.
In a sick sort of way, this is what she wanted. This bizarre holiday madness that requires seemingly normal people to spend money they do not have on gifts for people they do not love…all for the lead up. The big day. The 25th. This particular brand of frenzied need had been on display all month. Yet, she had avoided it all. Had not stepped foot in a shop for months just to be sure. But today – today was different. It was 25 hours after the madness of the 25th. Those who sprinted toward the finish line selflessly buying for others were back, and they were ready to shop for themselves.
This, she decided, she had to see. She didn’t need a thing. Had nothing specific in mind. Just wanted to see the post-Christmas dance. Up close and nutty.
She walked among the wide, empty streets in the pre-dawn mist. The lights of the shops reflected on the wet windows, bounced off the slick sidewalks. It was early. Too early. There were barely signs of shoppers. For a brief moment she thought she had gotten it wrong. Maybe the stores are closed today. But then she saw an open door to an empty shop. And another and another. There were sale signs in every window, in every carefully merchandised basket. And yet -- no shoppers. Just her.
It came to her slowly and then landed with delicious force – I am here alone in this store with these sales and it is just me. Me and these things. These things that I don’t need, but that are on sale. Fifty percent off. Plus 20. I don’t have to fight to get them. My elbows will remain unbruised.
The cool air still on her cheeks, pinking them up a bit while she remained bundled and warm in her winter coat, contented her -- made her just shy of festive. The rain and the coffee and the biscotti from a few moments before…slowly, collectively…became just too much for her to fight against.
She left with three soaps, a lovely candle, two leather-bound journals, a vintage-but-not coffee grinder and a new bowl for her bulldog.
Sometimes, she thought, a sale really is too good to pass up. Especially when there's no chance of getting hurt.
