Post Thanksgiving: Black Hawk Down

Jackson Brown sat motionless in a drab, olive La-Z Boy recliner, his hands clasped firmly around his temples. It was his favorite piece of furniture, possessing the unique combination of comfort and distance from the manager’s security cameras.

But like all good things, this too would come to an end; the chair was marked down from $995 to just 4 cents, a veritable kiss-of-death to his on-the-clock slacking.

Jackson gazed around the store, eyes burning from the neon-yellow discount signs. Everything was for sale – the “Duck Dynasty” cardboard cutouts, the feral rats and even the shirt off his back were meticulously price tagged and labeled.

A low rumbling shook the store, swaying the worn fluorescent lights. “They’re getting closer,” Jackson thought, “and they’re growing in numbers.”

The time of reckoning was almost upon them; it was almost 4:55 a.m. according to the nearby Hello Kitty AM/FM dual alarm clock radio with digital tuning. The newer employees were trembling at this point, puking everywhere from nerves. Jackson forgave them – he remembered his first Black Friday.

The invaders were relentless, smashing the store in frenzied hordes, somewhat resembling the last 10 seconds of Pushy Penguins from “Mario Party 5”(you know, the good one). Not a single man, woman or child could avoid being jostled. Jackson wanted to believe this year would be different, but a part of him knew there wasn’t any chance.

“Shopping,” he mumbled to himself. “Shopping never changes.”

At 5 a.m. the sirens screeched and the warning lights flashed violently – it was finally time. The first wave barged in and within seconds fell to the ground screaming in agony, their minds completely shattered by the insanity of the deals.

“THE PRICES! THEY’RE JUST TOO LOW!” shrieked one man, just before he was promptly trampled silent. Orders boomed over the intercom as the four-star General Managers Patton and Tecumseh-Sherman desperately tried to fend off their attackers.

“Dump the scalding Subway oil drippings!” one of them cried.

“The women’s bathroom needs toilet paper!” bellowed the other.

For a brief moment it seemed the valiant defenders had turned the tide, that perhaps they could hold ground until nightfall. Yet soon after, the victory screeches of the defenders were drowned out by the electrical whirring of hellish machinery. The cavalry had arrived.

Fleet after fleet of wheelchair units skidded in, trampling everything in their path. The lamentations of the flattened were drowned out by the shrill grinding of gears and bones, as the crocheted lap-blankets of the disabled and obese were stained crimson by the fallen.

Jackson frantically tipped over every chair he could wrangle, tearing man after man from their ferocious prosthetics. Meanwhile the defensive force scattered jacks on the floors to use as makeshift spike traps; they intended to disable the chariots by popping the vulnerable wheels. Eventually their tactics prevailed and the onslaught was slowed to a crawl, quite literally; the heinous shoppers were nothing without their cybernetic enhancements.

All of a sudden someone remembered that Cyber Monday was a thing and everyone left the store. The pointless bloodshed had ceased and the employees were awarded medals. Jackson was given the prestigious Purple Cart award posthumously because he died of pinched fingers and tetanus or something. The End.