Okay, I'll admit it. About a week ago, I heard about the "Missoni for Target" line making it's debut today, September 13th. A google or two later, I was fully acquainted with the official look book and pretty certain that I wanted those zigzag rainboots for my five year-old daughter. So I typed in a little reminder in my iPhone and forgot about it. Then last night, I heard the ding of my alarm and there it was in bright, bold Helvetica staring back at me -- Target Sale Starts. I looked down at my screen in embarrassment. Who puts a Target sale on their calendar? I felt lame and super suburban but apparently not enough to skip my local Target after dropoff at 8:30 am.
The jam packed parking lot was my first clue that most people didn't need a reminder about this day. As it turns out, it was lame to write it on a calendar. Most of these women had the date memorized. In fact, my dirty, little secret was neither little, nor secret. But dirty? Oh, yes. This was a major event with serious players who had all intentions of getting down and dirty.
I walked in the doors and immediately saw the pretty and polished display rack topped with fancy lettering and chic floral patterns. The signage was screaming, Missoni in the house. Only it wasn't. The rack was completely stripped, albeit for a lone hanger and dangling hook. It was the same thing in women's clothing, the kids department, housewares and bedding. The shelves were disheveled. It looked like the place had been ransacked. So where was the merchandise?
This is where the story takes a turn for the worse.
In contrast to the lonely shelves lining the store was a mass of loud, rude, pushy, greedy, they-give-women-a-bad-name crowd. As for the merchandise? It was with them.
Without uttering a word myself, I began to gather information about what went down. Most of these women (and yes a few men) had proudly waited outside at dawn for the chance to be among the first to grab their mix and match Missoni wear. When the doors opened, they came, didn't need to see, just conquered. They grabbed everything off the shelves, piling their multiple carts with anything, any size Missoni. Only after hoarding what they could, did they go through their booty to choose what they wanted. As for what they didn't want...it wasn't going back. Oh no. It became a means to barter for other items.
There were serious trades going down--a floppy hat for two scarves and an umbrella. A throw blanket for a shower curtain. This was not done quietly. Women were yelling out their goods, wheeling and dealing as if this was the New York Stock Exchange. Luggage was king. Like scalpers at a concert, I was approached by whispering strangers asking if I had a traditional spinner roller bag (whatever that is). Then every so often amidst the frenzy, a fight broke out. "Did you just take that from my cart?" "That bitch stole my toddler poncho." Grown women were dropping the f-bomb at other women and I witnessed an actual tug-of-war between two soccer moms over a canvas tote.
It wasn't just women. There was a mom with her three teenage daughters, bragging about them missing school for Missoni. They took photos with their mounds of stuff and called the morning a bonding experience. There were also men. Specifically, there were two burly looking guys with four carts filled to the brim with kids clothing in multiple patterns and sizes. They had no qualms sharing their excitement about going to put everything up on ebay for triple the price. (By the way, I looked and they did.)
You can imagine what a fun morning it was for the Target team members. They were berated and yelled at for not being able to stop the stealing from one cart to another. They were blamed for having sold out in five minutes and they were physically pushed aside by eye-on-the-prize shoppers who would let nothing and no one get in their way. With a smile and an eye-roll or two, they each took it for the team.
At one point, I saw a huge line form at the rear of the store. Fully engaged in the human experiment before me, I followed the crowd. "What are we waiting for?" I asked the woman in front of me who had just told her friend she grabbed baby girl gear because one day she would have a grandkid and it likely could be a girl. The not-yet-expecting grandma excitedly informed me that there were a few more housewares items available and if I waited in line, I could receive two items. "Which two items?" I asked. She looked at me perplexed. Does it matter? It was Missoni. Who cares if I like it or if she likes it? It's Missoni and the price is right. I watched as the long line of people waiting to get their two items not of their choice elbowed their way to the front and then gripped their loot tightly beaming with pride at having such luck.
When it was simply too much to take, I started filling my basket with that other stuff that Target sells--Lysol wipes, Coke Zero, toothpaste. Back to the real world or so I thought. But then there was Tori Spelling with a friendly entourage walking the aisles. Could this day get any more surreal? Yep. Next came a booming voice from the Missoni masses sounding off for all (Tori included) to hear, "What is Tori Spelling doing here? Like she doesn't have enough!"
I wanted to say either...
a. Takes one to know one.
b. Don't you know...stars,they're just like us.
c. Maybe she's taking invenTori
But I was scared. These women were frightening. This scene was insane. I wanted absolutely no part of this. So I checked out and ran for the exit with my head held high.
Then I immediately called my friend and had her go on the website and buy me the zigzag rainboots before they sold out.
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