I was tired. Three-thirty on a Sunday evening, on my way home after a long weekend waiting tables, I stopped at the liquor store. In Washington State, only government-run stores can sell my precious vodka. "How is it that, in a free society, access to a simple bottle of bottom-shelf vodka is subject to the whims of bureaucrats?" This was the question that worked it's way through my weary, cloudy, and confused head as I pulled on a locked door.
"Open Mon-Sat, 10am - 8pm." Convenient hours if you need to clear your mind on a Friday evening after working a routine shift at the bank. But no help to me. I remembered a half bottle of chardonnay remaining in my fridge. "I'll survive."
Letting go of the door handle, I took a step back, and looked around. Next door, a small crowd of people were swarming at the outlet store.
Unusual. I've driven by this store many times, and been inside maybe twice. Never more than a handful of locals wandering around; looking for deals on merchandise that their peers passed over in a real store months earlier. I bought some laundry detergent there once; didn't find much else of interest. Now I saw people hustling, alert, and moving large quantities of merchandise through the doors. One man was offloading about 6 cubic feet of power cords into his hatchback. A woman walked by pushing an overflowing cart full of what looked to me like garbage. My suspicions were confirmed as I glanced at the store-front. A colorful poster proclaimed that this was the "Final 1 Days" [sic] of their going out of business sale. Everything, the sign promised, was at least 90% off.
Yeah, I've seen these sales before. Each item is carefully marked up so that it can be marked down to look like a great deal. Would-be bargain hunters have the added incentive of no warranties or returns. But I was already there. Figured I'd go see what all the fuss was about. When I walked inside, the place looked desolate. I made my way through the store, having no clue what I might be looking for. Then, I heard those words that turn ordinary people into crazed lunatics. "Whatever you can fit in a cart is $10."
So far, I hadn't seen anything that I wanted. Heck, there was hardly anything left. Still, I was compelled by unseen forces to head for the front of the store and grab a shopping cart. I spent the next 20 minutes wandering aimlessly around an empty outlet store putting anything of any possible value into my shopping cart.. And not just new merchandise. A half-empty spray bottle of '409.' Some extension cords I found in an old file cabinet. For some reason, I picked up about fifty "Economy Hose-Hangers;" the kind you attach to your house to hang your garden hose. As I approached the register, I found myself looking under the counter. I asked a clerk to hand me two spray cans of glass cleaner and a roll of plastic shrink wrap. He complied. While checking out, I talked the cashier out of his stapler and counterfeit bill-detecting pen. I handed him my ten dollars (plus tax), and the two of us wished each other a nice day.
As I pushed my cart of random crap toward the exit, I wondered about the workers. "Are they all out of a job tonight?" I told the cashier to have a nice day; but what about the next day? Another business goes under. The vultures circle. I was a vulture that day, picking at the carcass of someone's failed dream. It was fun rummaging through an almost-closed store. Still, part of me felt sad that my joy was a result of someone else's pain. I shrugged it off as I pushed what probably looked like a cart full of garbage over to my hatchback. I didn't really know what to think. I was tired.
