Have Yourself a Merry Little Shopping Trip

Have you ever watched one of those nature shows where starving wolves tear into some helpless animal they've cornered and worn down? Eyes glitter with a frienzied thirst for blood; saliva drips from bared teeth; every muscle strains as greedy jaws tear into the feast at hand.

I witnessed, and in fact participated in, the human equivalent to such a scene just this weekend. I am not describing Thanksgiving dinner with either Danny's or my family - although both were delicious and well worth tearing into! No, the harrowing experience I speak of, from which I narrowly escaped with my life and sanity, is a trip to Wal-Mart. What made this one different from all the others? Timing.

For the past several years, I have made the trip to a large mall about an hour away. This year I decided - no more. This year, I'm keeping it simple. I combed the Wal-Mart and K-Mart ads, looking for Christmas gifts and clothing for the kids, and meticulously listing each item I wished to purchase, along with the sale price and day it went on sale. Wednesday and Thursday I purchased a couple of items, but of course, they sale day to beat all sale days was Friday. I thought this year would be easy - just a few local stores and no long trips and angry crowds to deal with.

And then the clock struck 5.

I congratulated myself for pulling into the parking lot a full 10 minutes before the hour, and then spent about 8 minutes driving around searching for a place to park. I finally found one, at the remotest corner on the lot, and squeezed into it. I hiked up to the store and the frenzy began.

As soon as I set foot inside, I had to literally jump to the side as people grabbed for carts. It was some kind of Christmas miracle that I actually found myself pushing one toward the toy aisles a couple of minutes later. Meanwhile the magic hour had arrived. Bleary-eyed employees ripped plastic from boxes and crates in the aisle, revealing glittering mountains of toys in all their splendor.

Literally within 3 minutes, I saw shopping carts piled high with dozens of items, from MegaBlocks to Magnadoodles. The aisle was a mass of arms and hands and crazy eyes as half the city piled in for the kill.

I discovered something as I frantically tried to avoid being sucked into the toy-grabbing vortex: this kind of frenzy is contagious. I found myself - in spite of my carefully compiled list - mindlessly throwing item after item into my cart, until it was as ridiculously full as every other cart around. The blood rushed to my head and sweat soaked my shirt as I rushed through the store (as fast as you can rush through hundreds of shoppers and carts). Was this due to the power of suggestion? Or because the sales were just too hard to pass up? Or because of the greed that lurks in my own heart, just as much as in anyone else's? Most likely all of the above.

As if we hadn't had enough, we all rushed to K-Mart at 6, where we repeated the scene.

But maybe the saddest thing of all is that I know with absolute certainty that I will go through it all again next year. After the above account, you may well ask why. And I'll tell you: it's the female hunter/gatherer instinct. An ad for a huge sale, to me, is like the smell of blood to a wolf. I can't stay away. And when I return home after the kill, it's a high like no other. To be able to boast that I found all of the items on my list (and then some), for less than half the normal price - not to mention that I actually grabbed the LAST ONE of several different toys - well, it's addictive (and kind of stupid).

So call me a ravenous wolf. This predator can't wait to see the looks on her kids' faces on Christmas day when her hunting finally pays off. Oh yeah . . . and we'll probably read the story of the REAL meaning of Christmas then, too.