Black Friday

I ventured out this morning, the most dangerous shopping day of the year.

The sun shot through the ice-frosted windshield, blinding me against my destination. I pulled over and blasted the defroster, a hurricane of sound shattering the silence.

Sight restored, I started off again, only to be held against my will at a traffic light. No cars coming or going, the streets eerie and quiet.

I made a cautious left when the light turned green.

Beside me on the passenger seat was the pair of jeans purchased for my son, the receipt in my pocket and the credit card slipped from my wife’s wallet.

If all went well I’d be in the shop and out in under a minute. Why even park? Maybe just stop at the curb and leave the engine running.

This was not my fault. I would pay no more dues. I would stand in no line.

Traffic picked up around me on the six lane road, finally looking more like Black Friday. All the cars pushed into the left lane to cross into the same lot as me.

I felt tense and tight and ready to wade into the fray.

Two cycles later a green let me cross. I stepped on it, zipped in, chaotic, no path. I slipped through and found a spot, some driver flipping me off over the spot he didn’t get.

I grabbed the jeans, jumped out, and locked the car. Double pumped the lock.

The alarm went off when entered, two cashiers turning in my direction. The alarm kept chirping.

I slapped the jeans on the counter and said, “I bought these on Wednesday. They didn’t take off the tag.”

The clerk looked me over. She took the pants and shoved the tag in the plug to zip out the shoplifter alarm.

She asked if I wanted a bag. I did not. I was out the door.

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