Tussling Over Towels

The day after Thanksgiving in the US is referred to as Black Friday. It marks the beginning of the Christmas shopping ‘season’—that Christmas needs a whole ‘season,’ particularly of shopping, to reach its birthday celebration zenith seems to me a tad ridiculous—and is ‘celebrated’—I use this term loosely—by large retail outlets that launch the occasion, one could say with a kind of pathos, ‘festivities,’ with big promotional sales.

It is the busiest shopping day of the year in the US.

The attractiveness of these low low prices, along with the sense of hysteria that has built up around the day—a froth-at-the-mouth, eye-rolling, elbow-y, hyper hysteria one can only associate with the allure of bargains; the drooling embodiment of lust when you take the desired human out of the picture and replace them with a cheap television or a nifty hat stand—has led to early morning line-ups or camp-outs of hundreds of people who eventually surge into the store as a singular, aggressive entity as soon as the doors are open.

The specially trained employees who man the door action roll out of the way of the rush to the safety of their cash drawer.

Trampling is common, along with cheap shots to the ribs to slow down rivals.

The tent city left behind is a haunting ghost town, rustling in the pre-winter winds, and is sad in the sense that all those abandoned abodes will likely be replaced by cheaper newer releases after the day's shopping is done.

This mass, still running with forearms at the ready, begins to disperse into the outlet’s aisles. These partitions, a way of orderly life in retail, become a bewildering physical obstacle to the throng who cannot comprehend why what they want is spread out through the store as opposed to being safely stowed in one place awaiting their arrival—maybe, a specially designed, well-lit cavern, guarded by motor-cyclists.

As they split up, each figure in the group begins their escape from the collective consciousness and comes back to their self. Yet, it is a self compromised by the material needs coursing through their blood and soul; a self that knows itself only by its own primal urge to have that winter coat and that specially designed salad spoon capable of perfect tossing and dressing with a single fell swoop which Oprah said you should buy.

 

They sport credit cards as hand extensions and a sixth-sense instinct for the best deal that is only heightened in this competitive environment: a kind of mangled flight-or-fight state of mind. Indeed, it becomes almost paternal: people suddenly ‘know’ when the item they came for is under threat of being sold out; it is in danger and must be purchased. Nothing will stop them.

Super human strength becomes a norm to both fend off competitors and carry multiple items in awkward positions all about the body: under both arms, on a shoulder and, sometimes, balanced precariously on the head. An individual, in the heated midst of these sales, is suddenly capable of tucking a 50 inch plasma television beneath one arm, with a Furby Boom! perched on the box, and a child on one hip. With their free formarm they push a trolley loaded with cooking utensils—a new cutlery set, plates, fry pan, bread maker—a stack of DVDs, and a new tent.

Communication is broken down into a few basic words: ‘where?’ ‘want’ ‘how much?’ and ‘mine.’

Every year there appears to be something that is in particular demand, which leads to all manner of childish name-calling and aggressive encounters, primarily break-dancing knife fights. Lest we forget the Tickle Me Elmo debacle of 1996. A great many desperate mothers, fathers and misunderstood individuals with an Elmo fetish lost their life that day.

This year, according to this report from the Huffington Post, http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/11/30/walmart-towels_n_4365047.html, people were going particularly crazy over towels, with Walmart releasing a report noting that they had sold 2.8 million units.

People love towels. I get that. I love towels. They’re useful devices or, if you will, swathes of fury fabric. They dry you if you’re wet or, if you just wet them with some cold water and drape them over your forehead, cool you down if you’re hot. They can mop up messes. They can be used as rudimentary slides or sleds on wooden floorboards. They can be used as whips: get it wet, roll it up and flick it out, targeting, in particular, the buttocks. The crack of the towel, accompanied by the yell of irritation of the whipped one, are sounds of pleasure to anyone with some measure of cheek.

I’m sure someone could make them into a neat fashion accessory if they really wanted: a literal ‘just-got-out-of-the-shower’ look.

But, for all those fantastic uses (at this point, I should clarify that I am not being sponsored by a towel company, although these guys do a stand-up job: http://www.bigtowelcompany.com/), it is hard to see why people, as per the Huffington Post report, would get so nasty in their procurement. Why would people fight over towels? Surely, a super-cheap Brazilian cotton towel, with an astronomical absorbency rating, and excellent post-wash life would not inspire people to duel.

Yet, despite their usually benign nature, towels caused great discord on Black Friday. Why?

The answer is actually quite simple.

 

Firstly, as per basic chi, bathrooms need to be spiritually unified places and matching towel sets are valuable in bringing good spirits to bear in attempting to achieve this heightened state of nirvana. And if fighting for an inner-bathroom-peace is wrong, then, really, what is right? Everyone knows this and although such peace is unquantifiable it just isn't usually this well-priced.

 

And, secondly, who wants to pay a lot of money to be dry?

(Plus all those uses! Get on it people.)