Yesterday I began my Christmas shopping.  Call me a coward, but I avoided Black Friday altogether.  I knew I had made the right decision long before I saw the video of the lady who pepper sprayed fellow shoppers to get the deal she wanted.  Lunacy.

But yesterday I was optimistic.  I knew of a store that opened at 7 am on a weekday and I decided to be an early bird.  I arrived at 7:15 and was actually the first customer in the store.  Score!  But then I started thinking.  “How big or real could this sale be, if I am the first person to arrive?”  It seemed like everyone else knew something I didn’t know.  Immediately I started feeling ‘out of the loop’. Can you say, ‘schmuck’? 

The store was in disarray, like a giant swarm of locusts had recently eaten all the edible stuff.  All the clerks who might have helped me were busy restocking shelves. Skids full of new products blocked the aisles   An hour and twenty minutes later I left that store with three small items.  I’m usually a flash shopper.  I don’t shop for fun.  I arrive.  I go directly to the item for which I am shopping.  I check out.  Ninety minutes for three items, one of which I was unsure about?  What is happening to my game? 

There weren’t any lines in this store!  The day even had a little snow-the best kind-snow that looked pretty falling down, settled on the grass but wouldn’t stick to the roads. Piped in Christmas music was playing over the store’s speakers.  The atmosphere was perfection.  What was wrong with me?

I’ve figured it out.  The young people for whom I shop have moved from ages with one digit to ages that start with a one.  What a dirty trick.  I’ve moved from fun shopping to mystery shopping with expensive price tags. The things they now want  don’t have names like “truck” or “doll”.  Their lists are full of brands, letters and numbers that make no sense but demand mega money.  They want IPUDS, MP5s, DQD’s with cell inter-links, weez, Jboxes, wyfy and gigibutts.  They want items the size of a postage stamp that cost hundreds of dollars and make no sense whatsoever to me.  How much fun is it to leave a store with a purchase the size of a sandwich bag and a receipt that says “You’re poor.” ?

I decided to write a letter of complaint. Who would care?  But I had to give it a try.  My sanity was on the line.

Dear Santa,

How I miss the toy store!  Couldn’t you and your elves create and deliver the technology gifts and leave the toy shopping to the adults who need some fun in their lives for Christmas?  Think of it as updating the mission statement of your North Pole location…meeting the needs of your twenty-first century,,,uh… customers.

I promise I’ll be good,

Frazzled

Tomorrow I’ll find me a mall with a Santa and deliver my letter.  I no longer have the money to mail it.  Are there any malls left?  The rules change so fast I can’t keep up.  Cross your fingers for me.  We are all in this together.