Mad (TJ) Maxx: Post Apocalyptic Bargain Hunting, Jean Spirit Posession

I am not a bargain shopper. I like deals as much as the next human, but there is always a hidden price to pay- and in the case of deals, that hidden price is having to deal with bargain hunters. They are a terrifying breed, usually foaming at the mouth and accompanied by several starving and damned creatures (typically in child form). Overall, I think it's worth paying a 30% mark up to avoid dealing with them. True as that is, yesterday I came to a devastating realization- I'm pretty broke. I'm pretty broke and I yearn for new clothes.

My mind immediately flashed to my childhood. Memories of bargain shopping at TJ Maxx with my best friend and her mother flooded my mind. Discounted Polo socks, a tempestuous sea of closeout Tommy Hillfiger shirts and people who desperately need them... everything the department store couldn't sell, thrown to the vultures. Next thing I knew, I was on my way to TJ Maxx.

Pulling up, I reassured myself that it was my tendency to over blow the true horror of everyday situations that was causing me to cringe at the thought of sorting through racks of clothing for that Special Find. My best friend is still a dedicated bargain hunter, and although she's not quite to the foaming mouth stage (she'll definitely get there as she ages), she insists that if you search hard enough you'll find a reasonably priced hidden gem. She also has a tendency to make better life decisions than I do, so I take her recommendations pretty seriously. Channeling her bargain hunter patience and spirit, I walked through the dirty glass doors. Inside: End times.

Blinding fluorescent lights, the scent of anticipation and grandma perfume. Packs of creatures banding together, wildly grabbing tags. Female humanoids snarling, feasting on gaudy handbags. Shoe fortresses, forests of active wear. Unaccompanied children, a surprising array of candy from around the world. The sounds of children, old shopping carts, and Rod Stewart. At the end of it all- me. Wide eyed, heart pumping, attempting to map the place out as quickly as possible.

My main goal was to purchase a white t-shirt and a pair of jeans (and live to wear the items). My eyes darted to the t-shirt selection- taken over by a tribe. A female leader, six small tribesman. They looked vicious, like they wouldn't have a problem chewing through my ankles if I were to impede their perusing. No bueno. I immediately turned to the denim. A shapeless creature molesting every pair. I'd rather risk molestation than being nibbled by potentially cannibalistic t-shirt hunters. I slowly closed in the the denim, then, to my size. The molester was breathing heavily, but safely four sizes on the other side of me. The cannibal tribe spread out, war cries echoed throughout the open aisles. I immediately felt a sense of familiarity... these are the same jeans from my childhood.

I stared into the prehistoric jean rack and remembered walking with my thumbs through my belt loops. I remembered loudly declaring that I would only wear JNCO's (self expression). I remembered purple and red and green jeans so tight that my bones were almost too constrained to properly develop. I remembered that my middle name is Jean, and that my last name is Bloomer. I considered that my name could translate to Jennifer Pants Underwear. I remembered peeing my jeans at the age of 13. I remembered wearing bell bottoms. My whole life in jeans was swirling around my head. Possessed by the great spirit of jeans past, I felt my hand being guided toward one pair. My hand landed on the soft denim. The one pair from this century left standing. I looked down at the tag- nay, the tag looked up at me, and it read my size. "COMPARE AT 99.99. " This was indeed a deal. A deal that would fit over my ass... the best kind of deal.

The native screeches and cries of the cannibals, the heavy breathing of the denim molester, the throaty crooning of Rod the Mod- all drowned out by the wholly encompassing euphoria brought on by a huge discount.

I purchased the jeans and walked out into the crisp evening air. My gaze was drawn to the beautiful cotton bargain folded neatly in my right hand. I'm still not a bargain shopper, but tonight, jeans, I'm Yours.