November 22nd, 2010
Black Friday: A Training Journal (pt. 2)
There are but 85 hours remaining until the first stores open on Black Friday. Yes, that deserves all caps. It’s gotten its own holiday already. We put in some hard work last week to get an edge for the ballistic day of buying. We’re going to share that with you, but you’re on your own for the last few days. Good luck.
Pole vaulting Westheimer is more difficult than expected. Getting enough speed isn’t the problem, I’ve been having my friend drive as I stand on the hood of her car aiming for my pole placement. The trick is hitting the median between the Crate and Barrel and Pottery Barn in Highland Village without getting clipped by a car. Time saved = Time earned, however.
Began screaming that Justin Bieber was in the food court on the east side. Proceeded to run west, against the flow of salivating, screeching 13 year-olds like a salmon against savage, mountain current. Will need stitches.
I lock myself in my car for the entire day with a single bottle of water and some tunes. I know this is what traffic will be like. Halfway through the day I decide to try some real life scenarios and spend a good five hours sitting on the west loop. Expletives and hand gestures are finalized.
Added wrong mushrooms to lunch salad and meandered into what I presumed to be a Hot Topic. Three hours later, naked and cold, I woke up on the floor of Pet Smart. If this happens again on Black Friday, I’ll never find a gift for Gramma.
To gain perspective, I weaseled my way into the ranks of the Mall Santa Association. However, I was promptly ousted upon refusing to remove clown mask and “conduct un-befitting of the organization” (coarse language/strangely timed fits of sobbing). One four-year-old’s nightmare is another man’s interpretive art.
Ate three pounds of Sbarro and a venti pumpkin spice latte and performed P90x plyometric workout center stage on the ice rink. Since when can you be escorted from a mall for encouraging physical fitness?! Fascists!
Note to self: people discourage highly the practice of parking in handicapped spots and then using a loaf of bread in a baby carrier to get away with it. In my defense, I was not double-parked this time, and everyone loves a good rye.