So there I was with my annoying cranky old benevolent and faithful chauffeur, at 6:08 am ready to get into the car and take off on our misshapen exciting shopping adventure. It was Black Friday and we were armed ready with a big heavy bag full of money ready to shove people out of the way with buy all kinds of treats for the local church holiday party for area foster children.
There were many, many problems was only one problem: We were late. The doors to my favorite discount junk store were opened at 6am and I feared we were missing the best bargains.
I flung the door open after waiting for Myren, my Scroogey unreliable wonderful chauffeur to open it to no avail because he was too busy drinking his coffee and looking for the keys because he was too old not used to getting up this early. I wasn’t used to getting up this early either. But I solved that problem by not going to bed at all.
That’s right—I’d been up all night on the super-caffeinated high of triple extra-shot dark French roast espresso with double sugar. I kept busy making my list and checking it twice, three, four, five times, crossing things out and adding them and scribbling something totally unreadable until I had no idea what was on it.
Now I was ready to crash the store and wing it.
Myren finally found the keys and got the car started and I shouted, “On Dasher!”
He didn’t respond by stomping on the gas and screeching the tires as I had imagined. Instead he glanced at me in the rear view mirror with a look that said something unpleasant I figured meant his coffee hadn’t kicked in yet. Maybe he forgot to put the shot of whiskey espresso in it.
I’d like to say Myren made up for his slow start with a quick tire-screeching stop, but my newly acquired whiplash prevents me.
And what to my wondering eyes did appear, but a big glass door with no line of shoppers blocking my entry. So I dashed inside and hoped felt confident that Myren was right behind me. His mission was to lift and haul the massive loads of crazy stuff beautiful thoughtful gifts that I purchased.
Seriously, I was in the zone. I didn’t even notice all the other shoppers around me as I zeroed in on my prey the most wonderful bargains. I shopped and shopped and filled carriage after carriage feeling more and more like Santa in my frenzy to find every possible gift a child of any shape and size might even dream of in their wildest imagination. At the end of my exhausting marathon of mad shopping, with my big bag of cash lightened to the point of emptiness, I barely made it back to the car where Myren helped dragged me inside an I collapsed across the seat, catching my breath and wiping my brow.
I don’t know if it was the post-caffeine frenzy crash or the satisfaction of a shopping spree well done or the fact that I plugged my ears to tune out Myren’s lecture on over-spending and materialism, but I lapsed into a deep, much-needed sleep.
I suppose it could have been because I hadn’t slept the night before.
Whatever it was, however it happened, later that night I found myself in bed and happy with the post-successful-bargain-shopping-spree high, doubly pleased because I’ d competed with the Black Friday crowd and won. It didn’t get any better than that.
At least not until witnessing the delight in all the kids eyes when they saw the mountain of gifts under the local church tree and they opened their presents. And then the extra light in their eyes when they realized someone was generous and giving and cared about them as Myren Santa said his “Ho, ho, ho Merry Christmas to All and to All a Good Night.”