Grim beginning to shopping season

Dennis Piszkiewicz

5:50 a.m.: The numbers glowing on my bedside clock in the pre-dawn

gloom tell me I overslept. Wal-Mart opens at 6 a.m. sharp, and its

day after Thanksgiving sale ends at 11 a.m. I’d better get moving.

Within five minutes, I’m dressed, in my car, and on my way to the

Aliso Viejo store. There is still hope.

Yeah, I read the series in the L.A. Times about how Wal-Mart, in

its quest for the lowest prices and the biggest profits, squeezes its

suppliers dry, pushes some of them into bankruptcy, and pays clothing

workers in Honduras $7 for a 10-hour day. And if the factory owners

and workers there aren’t happy with what they get, Wal-Mart can find

more factories and more hungry workers in Bangladesh and China.

But I have my own problems. On Thanksgiving Day, I made the

mistake of setting aside the advertising supplements from the paper

when I opened the news section. Before I knew it, my kids were all

over them like buzzards on road kill. Christmas is coming, and they

were making lists. If I don’t deliver, the days after Jesus’ birthday

will be very ugly around my house.

6:30 a.m.: Surprise, I find a parking space no more than 200 yards

from the entrance to the Wal-Mart. Another surprise: I see a

half-dozen shopping carts lined up inside the front door. I grab one.

The centers of the aisles are filled with stacks of boxed

merchandise. I try to find a path around them. My fellow shoppers,

who fill what’s left of the aisles, are civil but not joyous.

Shopping this day is serious business.

6:40 a.m.: I find a Wal-Mart associate -- that’s what management

calls them. Her nametag says she is Angela, and she looks like a

refugee from Leisure World. I ask her where I can find the

down-filled throws, the ones on special for $8.77. She says, “They’re

all gone.” She looks as if she wants to add -- but doesn’t -- “It’s

not my fault. Don’t hit me.” According to the L.A. Times, Angela is

paid less than $10 per hour.

I wind my way through the crowd to the electronics section. A big

guy with a nametag identifying him as Carlos is cowering against a

stack of boxes. I ask him where I can find the Game Cube “special

buy” for $79.44. “They’re all gone,” he says. “But we still have the

regular one ... without the games. They’re by the check out counter.

Just get in line,” he says apologetically. I see the line but can’t

see its end.

I don’t bother asking about the DVD players advertised for $29.87,

the mountain bikes at $39.73, or the $7 Timex watches. I leave the

store without making a purchase.

6:50 a.m.: I’m behind the wheel on my way back home, listening to

the news on the radio. The announcer says dryly, “We seem to spend

most of our time working and the rest of it spending.” Then he turns

the microphone over to a traffic reporter stationed outside a big

mall. The reporter says the mall is about to open its doors and the

crowd of shoppers is already huge.

The holiday season is upon us. Peace on earth to people of good

will everywhere.

* DENNIS PISZKIEWICZ is a longtime resident of Laguna Beach and an

occasional contributor to the Coastline Pilot.