The Day-After-Christmas Day Massacre Part II

Amid all my pre-conceived notions of how horrible the Christmas shopping season could be, this was beyond my wildest dreams.  It was madness.  MADNESS I SAY!!  I found myself yanked into the center of a circular clothing rack.  I could hear the ruckus on the outside as insane shoppers fought fiendishly for their next big sale item. On the other side, people were being mortally wounded for dishwashing detergent.  Stabbed for stylish stoneware.  To my surprise, Misty was crouched in the hiding place with me.

“What in the hairy hell is going on?” I bellowed, doing my best to keep the fear out of my voice.  Failing miserably.  “This is, by far, the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen.”

“This is nothing,” Misty said, parting the hanging clothing ever so slightly to peer out.  “You should see Black Friday.”

“This is normal?” I asked incredulously, my arms waving around frantically.  “All this is normal to you?”

“Totally,” she said nonchalantly, still peering thru the rack.

“Yeah?  Then who’s that?” I asked, pointing to the other occupant in our hidey hole: A middle-aged man in Woodsy Owl glasses and a powder blue v-neck sweater. Over top of his snazzy sweater was the familiar blue Wal-Mart employee apron.  A pink and white-flowered Barbie bicycle helmet two sizes too small sat on his head, perched slighty off-kilter. He was clutching a bright yellow wiffle bat and smiling politely.

“I’m Walt,” he said, pointing to his name tag. 

I stared at him for what seemed an eternity.  I was sure the little yellow smiley face on the front of his smock was going to reduce me to screaming.  The cacophony outside rose and fell like an ocean of clatter.  I couldn’t take my eyes off that crooked helmet.

“Walt,” I muttered.  “Why the hell not.” 

I turned back towards Misty who was still peering out, apparently plotting our next forward advance.  Somewhere outside, the collapse of what sounded like a mountain metal cans rang out while rabid shoppers cussed and barked at each other.

“Lotsa good sales today,” Walt chimed in, smiling proudly.  He was still clutching his wiffle bat.  “Eighty percent off all Christmas decorations!”

I stared at him, waiting for him to start singing Deck The Halls while his head spun around.  “Look…Walt,” I said rubbing my eyes with my hands, “I don’t know if you’re running on all four pistons but take a look around yo-”

“We’re headed to electronics,” Misty interjected, smiling back at Walt.  “We’re picking up a Blu-Ray player.”  I blinked in amazement, cocking my head in confusion.  Everyone has lost their minds, I thought.  They’ve hopped the train to Bat-Shit Crazytown.  It felt like these two were speaking Hungarian to me.  Here we were in the middle of a war zone that made Somalia look like the mono-rail ride at Disney.  Not two minutes ago I literally bludgeoned Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum with a George Forman Outdoor Grill and now we were discussing purchasing options with Walt the Wal-Mart crackpot. 

“In that case,” Walt chimed as his smile widened, “you’re gonna want to hurry.  Last time I checked, supplies were thin.”  

Suddenly, the look on Walt’s face immediately switched to concern.  The transformation was so swift it was as if someone had thrown a switch in his frontal lobe.  Apparently, he was being summoned by the mothership.  His perma-grin immediately hardened to a strained look of concern, his mouth reduced to a thin tight line.  He stood up so fast that it startled both of us.  His head shot up through the hole and he peered out from the center of the clothing rack as if it were the hatch of an M1 tank.  The knuckles of his wiffle bat hand glared white as he loosen and tightened his grip.

“HEY!” His voice cracked as he barked at some unseen gaggle of shoppers, “those tube socks are only three per customer!!!” 

Walt must’ve come to the conclusion that he had to take matters into his own hands.  He let out a blood curdling shriek that was actually a little frightening (all things considered).  Grasping the circular chrome bar that made up the top portion of the rack, he vaulted out of hiding and out of our sight.  We listened as he bellowed wildly “only three per customer!!!”  Each proclamation was followed by the hollow “wha-ping” of the wiffle bat as it connected with one poor shopper or another.

Three per customer! <wha-ping>

Three per CUSTOMER!! <wha-ping PANG>

THREE <pang> PER <pong> CUS<pang>TO<pank>MER!!! <wha-ping-a-ding-dong>

I popped up through the center hole and caught a glimpse of Walt swinging his wiffle bat furiously.  The yellow plastic whistled thru the air like an angry hornet, cracking a young pajama-panted lady in the ear. She turned on him, dropping the seven packs of white socks she was cradling.  In an instant she was on him, flailing and thrashing.  Other disgruntled shoppers followed suit and soon there was a nothing but a mass of writhing limbs and holiday coupons in the boy’s undergarment section.

“We gotta move,” I said, dropping back down into the clothing rack. “We gotta go NOW! This place is falling apart around us.” 

I shimmied out of our hiding space with Misty right behind me.  I paused, looking up at the signs that designated the different departments.  My eyes fell on what I was looking for.  I grabbed Misty’s hand and pulled her along with me.  A six-year-old girl in footy pajamas came sprinting at me, growling and screeching about Pillow Pets.  Heroically, I kicked her square in the chest.  Her long blonde hair billowed around her head as she was thrust backwards by the sheer power of my manly leg.

“Wait,” she exclaimed, “electronics is way over there in the opposite direction.”

“We need to make a little detour first,” I explained.  “Sporting Goods.”

“Sporting Goods? What the hell for?”

I turned to gaze into her face, my eyes locking with hers. “Cause it’s hunting season, ” I growled, “and Daddy’s on the prowl.”

She looked up at me with what could only be described as disgusted disdain. “Boy, you really suck at this.”