Black Friday Ain't For The Weak

Generally speaking, I am a person of peace. A proud member of the "Can't we all just get along?" club. I like life safely here in the neutral zone, located on the other end of town from the openly hostile and aggressive zone.

Occasionally situations arise in which the peaceful people have to abandon sitting around the campfire, holding hands and singing Kumbaya, to get our aggression on. You know, take a stand. Aside from attacks on my family members (which is a given), this aggressive stand occurs about once a year.

For me, it usually involves some type of sale.

On Black Friday.

Ah … Black Friday. The day in which the sales are on and there are bargains to be found. I love hunting bargains with my friends in the wee hours of the morning. I kinda dig the long lines waiting for the sales to start and the camaraderie of fellow shoppers in those lines with me. We forge strong bonds while we wait just by chatting about our shopping lists, the bargains we are after, and comparing how much we overate at Thanksgiving.

These bonds (and a little something called karma) are what helped me earn my Total Bad Ass badge this Black Friday.

(Pretty sure the Girl Scouts don't really have a Total Bad Ass badge. The Girl Scouts probably don't offer any badges with the word "ass" in them. I'm sure it goes against Girl Scout policy.)

The scene was an extremely crowded big box store. There were cardboard shelves throughout the main aisles of the store, each unit housing a special "door buster" priced item. Each cardboard unit was wrapped in clear plastic so you could see the items, but you couldn't purchase them until the sale officially started and the store employees cut through the plastic wrap.

The shelves containing the item that I desired had a small group of people standing beside it. I was the fourth person in the group. For forty minutes the group and I chatted.

We laughed.

We cried.

We bonded.

We're practically besties.

Then, with fifteen minutes left to go before the sale began, a twenty-something girl arrived. Within five seconds she had shoved a totally unsuspecting and peace loving me out of the way.

This punk had stolen my place in line.

Oh no she didn't.

But she did. And she was muscling her way up to the front of the line.

With two minutes to go before the sale started, the Punk was moving in for the kill. She had her eye on being the first in line and claiming every copy of the game we were all in line to score. She started crowding in on the two women in front of her. She used her shopping cart in a way that I'm sure shopping carts weren't meant to be used.

One minute left.

The line leaders realized what the Punk was doing and they devised a plan: use the Punk's shopping cart against her.

It was brilliant in its simplicity.

Five seconds to go time.

Line leader suddenly whipped around and pushed the Punk's cart into her stomach while the second person in line grabbed two copies of the hotly desired game: one for her and one for the line leader/cart weapon wielder.

After that, the line disintegrated and a massive wall of people surged forward. I was momentarily caught off guard by the onslaught of sweaty human bodies.

(Most reeked of turkey and booze. It wasn't pretty, but then again, war is never pretty.)

I made a split second decision. While all the shoppers were leaping over people to get to the games, I would go under the people. I'm short. I'm used to being close to the floor.

I threw myself to my knees like a volleyball player digging a ball and slid, honest-to-God slid, under the crowd of stinky people to arrive at the cardboard shelving unit. With the Punk right behind me.

She started to leap on top of me to reach the remaining games first. I raised my elbow up to protect my face and someway, somehow, my elbow connected with the Punk.

Specifically, her left boob.

Exploiting her momentary shock, I grabbed the remaining four copies of the highly sought after game, kept one for myself and doled out the others to my new homies who had stood in line for an hour with me.

The Punk actually sneered at me as I smugly waltzed past her. Before I could stop myself, I yelled "Karma's a bitch!" to the Punk.

It was a defining moment in my Black Friday shopping career.

I was reliving my moment later that morning with T and Banana over cheeseburgers and fries at Steak N Shake when it hit me.

I'm a total bad ass. Even T, the self-appointed Commissioner of Bad Ass-ness (Indiana division) had to agree.

I think I need to embroider myself a badge.


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