Hunger Games: Black Friday Edition


Some people say that the holiday season starts on the first of December, others say that it starts with Thanksgiving.  I say it starts on the darkest weekday of the year: Black Friday.

It starts outside the stores; while waiting for the countdown to begin the “Games”, I take in my surroundings.  Though the doors are closed, the windows are clear: I see a panoply of thick, wooly sweaters, dark wash jeans and imitation-lumberjack flannel shirts.  I really only need two pairs of jeans, but that sweater looks really appealing, if only I could crane my head to see the price tag.  Ugh, forty dollars?  I don’t have that much money on me.  How about a camisole or two from the neatly stacked piles on that table?  They would go well with just about anything and provide an extra layer of warmth.  But then again, I don’t think I need a camisole because I don’t get cold often and layering is really not my thing.  My attention snaps back to the dark-wash jeans innocently perched on the shelves.

The clock strikes eight o’ clock and all hell breaks loose.  After a few seconds of standing, stupefied, I remember my Aunt’s words, “Get out of there as fast as you can.  Grab and go; don’t try anything on.”  I walk briskly to the shelves with the jeans.  Organized from double zero on, in increasing size, I realized competition would be tough: there was already a horde of female tributes pushing and shoving their way to the dwindling supply of jeans.  With a sigh, I enter the fray.  Dodge an elbow.  Duck from the incoming knee blow.  Weave through the sea of people.  I reach my size section and begin sorting pants furiously, identifying size and wash like I would poisonous plants from harmless ones.

I take two pairs of jeggings and dash to the fitting rooms.  They fit?  Okay, let’s move.  I meet with my cousins at the back of the cash register line.  Soon enough, we’re out of the first store and on to the next.  We immediately move in and scout for deals.  We didn’t get anything of much value in the first “bloodbath,” but I’m still alive and thus, still have a chance at winning, at getting out alive.

May the odds be ever in your favor.
-March Hare


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