Shoppers Rush Home With Their Treasures

'Tis the season to shop madly. Moreto the point, this is the time that tries men's souls. Too obscure? How about conspicuous consumption? To quote Johnny Mathis (or David Seville, for that matter), "A pair of hopalong boots and a pistol that shoots is the wish of Barney and Ben. Dolls that will talk and will go for a walk is the hope of Janice and Jen." And we wouldn't want to disappoint Barney, Jen or their siblings, would we?
Nowadays, however, our children do not cry out for fancy new shootin' irons or a Betsy Wetsy. They've got a hankerin' for Wii. We are the happy owners of Wii already. We love to play with our Wii, or at leat we know that our son is content to spend ours playing with his Wii. When we got it, we went Wii, Wii, Wii all the way home. Okay. Enough already. You get the idea. I feel less anxious this year because I know that the must-have item of the year is already safely ensconced in our house, and we can be somewhat blase when the topic of videogame systems is broached. I'm just glad that my son doesn't need a Cabbage Patch kid.
Back in the mid-1980's, I was at ground zero of the Coleco-mass-produced influx of the lumpy mutants. I was part of a crew that unloaded the forty-eight foot trailers that back up to the docks of our local Target store. Beginning in November, we had special orders to grab whatever dolls we saw on the trailer and send them immediately out to the sales floor. We had one kid who was especially wiry and adept at slithering through the other freight to find the random six or eight bright yellow boxes that contained shoppers' gold. We always looked with mild pity at the poor red-vested soul who had the misfortune to carry the merchandise out the swinging doors into the toy aisle. I remember one evening in particular, when we received two dozen dolls, staring blankly through their cellophane windows, awaiting adoption in all their one-of-a-kind glory. These were loaded neatly on a rolling cart, pushed by sales associate Victim out into a pre-Christmas frenzy that was every bit as horrifying as a school of sharks, where even injured sharks are consumed without hesitation. There were always more shoppers than dolls. There was always shouting. There were always tears. I was glad to be on the other side of the wall from all that free enterprise. It still gives me chills.
And so tonight, with ten more shopping days, I feel safe: Safe in the knowledge that those I love will be happily surprised on Christmas morning, and safe from the crazy eyes and clawing fingers of those rabid consumers.