The Woman Who Fought Me Over a Toaster on Black Friday

I have worked eleven Black Fridays now, and I still cannot explain what happens to a normal human being the moment those sliding doors unlock at five in the morning.

That year we had a doorbuster on a chrome four-slice toaster. Thirty dollars off. It was not a good toaster. I want to be clear about that. It burned bagels on the low setting and it hummed like a refrigerator. But we had a pyramid of them near the front, a big yellow sign, and apparently that was enough to turn our store into a nature documentary.

The doors opened. I was standing by the toaster pyramid because my manager, Rick, in his infinite wisdom, decided the toasters needed a human shield. A woman in a puffy purple coat came through the entrance at a speed I did not think was possible in slippers. She had slippers on. It was thirty degrees outside. She had been waiting in line for two hours in slippers for a thirty dollar toaster, and I respected the commitment even as I feared for my life.

She grabbed a toaster. Fine. Great. One per customer, we had plenty. But then she grabbed a second one, and a third, cradling them like infants, and a man behind her said, "Ma'am, there's a limit," and she turned around slowly like something out of a horror film.

"Says who," she said.

"Says the sign," I said, pointing at the sign, which said, in letters the size of my hand, LIMIT ONE PER CUSTOMER.

She looked at the sign. She looked at me. And she said, and I will remember this until the day I die, "I have four children."