Cashmere Scarf
(January 9, 2005)

As I opened my last Christmas present on that day of days, Christmas Day, I knew what my mission for the next day would be.  I would have to crash the Boxing Day sales and buy that pink cashmere scarf that Santa had chosen to elude from me.

I rose out of bed bright and early on the 26th: 5 AM to be exact.  I quickly showered then changed into all new Christmas clothes.  I ran downstairs, unintentionally burnt some toast in my new toaster, and ran out the door with burnt toast in hand.  

There was no time for breakfast at home, only breakfast on the go.  The Gap opened at 8 AM on Boxing Day and the line outside the store always formed two hours in advance.  I arrived at my Gap in plenty of time however, this year there was already a line.  I couldn't believe it.  The one year that I absolutely needed something from the Gap, I was stuck near the end of the line.  I was embarrassed.  Waiting two and a half hours in line before a store opened!  What was Boxing Day coming to?

Finally the doors opened and the stampede began.  Boxing Day sales follow the Darwinian theory in terms of shoppers:  Only the strong survive.  

First to fall were the silly girls who dressed up and wore high heels.  Did they seriously think they could run to the shelves in high heels?  And who puts on make up at 5:30 in the morning?

Next to fall were the forty something women.  In their prime they would have made it to the shelves.  They had the proper footwear and attire but lacked the endurance of a twenty something sweetheart like myself.  

I leaped over the first fallen compadres who were touching up their makeup while lying on the ground.  I never paused as I passed the forty-something women, with their heads on the regular priced shelves gasping for breath and their long lost youth.  I survived the first test.  I was amongst the Boxing Day Sales.

Upon examining the area, I discovered the location of my pink cashmere scarf.  There were a pile of them, the shape of a mountain, laying on an open table at the back of the store.  The scarves were going like hotcakes as the pile shrunk to a foothill.  I had to hurry.

The distance to the table was not a problem however getting down the aisle to it did present a problem.  There were fights breaking out between shoppers and a Gap personnel (complete with headphones) was on the ground - suffering from trample-litus.  

I started my run.  I dodged to my left to avoid a right jab by a shopper.  I then did a 360 spin to my right to avoid a shopper running towards me.   I bounced off the shelf and did a somersault back to the left side because a shopper was leapfrogging the grounded Gap girl.  I sprung up from my 9.875 summersault up to the table.  To my surprise, the foothill of scarves had eroded to a prairie-like flatness.  There was only one scarf left!

As I bent down to pick up the scarf I had a shopper moment.  I could sense someone was running towards me.  It takes years of Boxing Day sales to be able to develop this "6th Sense" of shopping.  I leaped as high as I could.  As the person put her arms out to push me into the wall, I did a back flip overtop of her.  She ran into the wall and fell to the ground.  I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and reached down for the scarf.  The softness of the cashmere calmed my nerves until I felt a tug in my hand.  I looked up to see a girl, twenty years my senior, with her hand on the other end of my scarf!

"Oh, sorry, I think I had this scarf first." I said.
"I don't think so.  I was here first."
"I don't know if you were HERE first, but I definitely HAD the scarf first."
"You are simply mistaken little girl!"

I stared at the mean woman.  She was one of the rare forty somethings who had made it past the fallen.  She was wearing slacks, a light blue silk top nicely complemented with pearls.  I felt sorry for her because the scarf would have looked sharp with her outfit.  

I had never been in this predicament.  I could have beaten her up but I wanted to do the honourably Canadian thing and work out a compromise.

"Let's ask the Gap girl to see what she thinks?"

The lady agreed.  With the each end of the scarf in one of our hands, we walked down the aisle to the Gap girl lying face down on the floor.  The lady asked the girl our question.  She did not respond so the lady leaned over and picked up the girl's head by the hair.  The Gap girl was unconscious.  Probably a nervous breakdown (it happens on Boxing Day sales).

"I remember in my hay-day when sales clerks could last the whole morning before getting a nervous breakdown.  This new generation of shop girls is weak."

We came to a compromise.  Whoever reached the cash clerk first would get to keep the scarf.  On the count of three, we ran.  It was a lot harder to run through the store with a scarf in hand, especially when the scarf's other end is in the hand of another.  I couldn't do somersaults or anything special because I did not want to rip the scarf.  

I had to keep pace with the lady.  This meant we were neck and neck up the aisle thus creating a clothesline.  Luckily all the shoppers were experienced and were prepared for clothesline type scarf races.  As we turned the corner for the cash we both tripped over another exhausted Gap girl.  We tumbled rolling into a tangled ball.

The lady had the upper hand as she was closer to the till.  I had to do something fast.  I reached behind me to the pre Christmas discount rack, full of clothes nobody would want - especially a rich 40 something woman.  I threw some purple corduroy pants at her.

"Ah!  Corduroy!  and Purple!" she screamed as she dropped the scarf to remove the dreadful fabric.

Quickly I tugged the scarf into my gasp and ran to the cash - victorious!  Yay for me!

I paid for my scarf, tipped my tam to the lady who smiled and acknowledged she was outwitted.  It was a nice morning so I decided to skip home from my Gap. 

I was happy and content until I came upon the local church.  There was a crowd of bums and homeless people on the steps talking to the Pasteur.  The minister had was holding up a wooden box to the crowd.  He emptied out its contents to the crowd of the poor.

"Pasteur O'Brien.  What were you doing?"
"Well if it isn't Shaq TooToo.  Your suspension is almost over isn't it?"
"Yes, one more month."

I played in a recreation basketball league in the church basement until I was suspended a year ago.  I dunked a basketball for the victory however I happened to drunk overtop of a nun who fell to the ground and sprained her ankle.  From then on, the neighbourhood b-ballers have dubbed me Shaq for Shaquille O'Neal of the NBA.

The Pasteur and I exchanged Christmas greetings.

"I love your scarf.  Where did you get it?"
I explained my story.

"Say, what were you doing with the poor just now?"
"Oh that, I was emptying the collection box.  It a church tradition since the middle ages.  Every day after Christmas, the church, whichever denomination, would empty out the collection box from holiday service to the poor."
"I didn't know that."
"Sure, that's where the term 'Boxing Day' comes from."

Suddenly my new pink cashmere scarf felt very heavy - as heavy as one of Jacob Marley's chains.

"I only gave out half the collection box.  The other half will be given out tonight at the church soup kitchen."

I took off my scarf.
"I have to go."
"Where?"
"Return this scarf so that I can donate to your collection box."