This may seem very contradictory given my shopping problems, but I fucking hate Black Friday. First of all, I think the name of it is super racist. Secondly, after I shovel turkey and mashed potatoes down my throat the last thing I want to do is schlep my fat ass to a Best Buy to go tussle with some crazy bitches in mom jeans and a polyester Turkey sweater over a stupid DVD player. Thirdly, I have extremely high levels of adrenaline and competitive shopping nearly puts me into cardiac arrest. I may be small but I am scrappy and being in an extreme shopping environment puts me on a downward spiral. I have been to a Barney’s Warehouse sale before and it aint pretty. African American Friday may be my version of hell. As a preteen I remember being so pissed that my mother never would take me to the mall for the midnight shopping fiasco. As my mother so eloquently put it, “I would rather pay full price and not have a panic attacks while being surrounded by all those snot nosed little kids wiping their germs all over the place.” My mother also doesn’t like shopping at grocery stores where you have to load your own conveyor belt… So clearly Black Friday was not going to happen.
When I finally had my driver’s license, I finally had the freedom to haul my ass to the Topanga Mall for my first Black Friday experience. To say I was excited was an understatement. I picked up my best friend, played “Eye of The Tiger” on repeat, got some upfront Hanukkah cash and finalized my game plan. As we pulled into the parking garage I was instantly overwhelmed by the mass amounts of mini vans. These bitches weren’t fucking around. The seats in the car were already folded down in preparation, crowds were forming outside the mall doors, women in tracksuits had canteens of water to keep them hydrated and were pacing back and forth barely able to control their adrenaline. These bitches be crazy. I was instantly intimidated, anxious and kind of scared. We hovered around the Nordstrom doors waiting for the mad dash. I had my heart set on a leather Juicy (don’t judge me it was 16 and Juicy was still cool) travel bag that I got wind would be going on sale. The doors opened and it was on like donkey kong.
People started RUNNING and I soon realized I was super out of my element. Trying to keep up appearances I joined the herd and started sprinting to the handbag section, shoving small children to the ground and throwing serious elbows at any bitches in my path. From about 50 feet away I spotted my bag perfectly perched on a pile of other sale items. I let out a sigh of relief, began my descent and as I was literally centimeters away some whore with upper lip hair snagged it out of my reach. I don’t think so hooker. “Um excuse me, that’s my bag. I just sat it down for a second to tie my shoes (lie)”. This was a really bad excuse considering I was wearing Uggs (another shameful moment) and she saw me come in for it at a distance. “Sorry babe, I’m sure there are more in the back. This one’s mine.” Don’t babe me bitch. “It’s actually a gift for my mother. She has a really bad UTI and has wanted this bag for months (lie). She wanted to come here herself but the burning sensation is too painful and she is on bed rest (lie). She will beat me if I don’t get it for her. (another lie).” It’s all I could come up with on the spot. In hindsight I should’ve given a more convincing sob story…something terminal. She gave me a hairy smirk and jetted off to crush another person’s dreams and left me feeling like a total failure. I left with no purchases and no self esteem. I have always been a really sore loser and decided that African American Friday was just not for me.
To all the Haute Messes that are brave enough to persevere and throw down on this extreme shopping event I applaud and salute you. May your purchases be successful, your grand totals be generously reduced and your pushy biatch encounters be limited. Happy Thanksgiving everyone. xx