Boxing Day doesn't exist in industrious America, and people are back at work already today. I feel sorry for them, a bit, but I'm glad someone's working because I'm going to raid the shops like a high-seas pirate.
My mother drives me to my sister's. Neither mom nor Rocco can handle large crowds, so they won't be joining us. I hate to say it, but this is fine with me. I'm on a mission, and elderly parents in tow would only slow me down.
My niece and sister and I suit up and board our urban assault vehicle, a Saturn ASTRA 5-door XE. We head off like a SWAT team into the night. First and only port of call: The Eastwood Mall and surrounding shopping complex.
Kathy drops Tiffany and me at the JCPenney. It's not the most impressive shop in the mall, but it's bound to be more deal-heavy than anywhere else. I find two lovely knit jumpers made of high-quality cotton, normally $42 and on sale for $16 (GBP8). A Wenger 'Swiss Army' carry-on bag is the next foe to drop: SRP $100, cut to $40. I also get 15% off at the till with the printable coupon I've got from taking a customer survey on JCP.com. And like the assault on the salt marchers led by Ghandi to the sea, the beatings go on and on into the night.
My mom gave me a $50 gift voucher for Christmas to be used at Macy's. I find a Fossil wallet for $25 and am at a loss as to what to do with the other 25. Then my sister suggests a leather coat. I tell her I'm not good in leather. I grab a zip jacket to prove the point. I look like a retired university professor on his way to the local Harley Davidson dealer.
Kathy hands me a Claiborne lambskin zip jacket with a quilted Thinsulate lining. It catches me off guard and I try it on. Suddenly, I'm cool again. The jacket makes me look almost sophisticated. Almost. In any event, I'm falling for it.
I lift the right arm and read the price tag. My heart sinks. It's regularly $425. However, it's half price now. I ask the lady at the till if there's any other discount that applies today that doesn't involve open a JCPenney charge account. She grabs a photocopy of a voucher and takes another 10% off. They're giving things away today, all over America.
All in, including the balance of the store voucher, the jacket comes to about $175, or a slip over £85.
I'm dizzy with what can only be called a horny materialism. I'm high on an almost sexual wave of stuff. The next six hours are an orgy of Kenneth Cole jackets, Ecco and Nike shoes, Ohio sports team kit and more. And I'm only £300 lighter for the whole mess.
The dollar is in miserable shape. My old neighbourhood looks like Beirut in the 1970s - or 2006. The walls are crumbling, the social foundation is cracked. And yet these four glorious words are the only ones that come to mind:
God effing Bless America.
I return to my mother's house, battle-scarred and knackered, about 9:30p.m. My tendonitis is getting the better of my right arm, which is weighed down with swag. I take it all upstairs and don't ask any of the questions I used to ask myself when I was younger, such as 'How can you indulge like this when there's so much trouble, hunger, war and famine in the world?'
I pause for a second, attempting to reflect, then remember that I really need to arrange a Tesco grocery delivery and email my cleaning lady before going to bed.
I sleep like an overfed baby.
