In his panic, Ross slammed the hatch to the mailbox without meaning to. He checked his watch and saw that he was just in time for the final mail pickup. Thank God there was mail on Christmas Eve because that’s the only way his mortgage check would make it to the bank by the 27th.
The car was still running and he shifted to drive and was moving before he even buckled his seatbelt. Tapping the steering wheel, he headed toward the main artery to the mall. Ahead of him he saw the red tail lights blinking irregularly like Christmas tree lights starting to die out.
“I can’t believe I’m one of those people who is doing all his shopping on Christmas Eve,” Ross said to the windshield of his car.
How did he get here? The thing was that they were all out to get him. Just mess him up completely. Ross didn’t even have any food in the house. What was the point of stocking up to last beyond the 21st? He resisted shopping through Saturday and Sunday so as not to waste money, opting for takeout instead. No sense being left with a fridge full of food at the end of the world.
The Maxima inched up but couldn’t make it through the light at Remington Road before it turned red. Cars turned left but got stuck in the intersection. Another light turned green but Ross could only glare at it and shake his head.
They all had it in for him. He waited a few days after the deadline, as he always had, in case the calendar was a few days off. Each morning, the sun rose – a little earlier each time, but it still rose. Three days of this and then he decided to move. So many deadlines had passed before: Aug. 29, 2007, Sept. 11, 1999, June 6, 2006, April 29, 2007, May 21, 2011 and now Dec. 21, 2012. He was so sure the apocalypse was coming this time. This was a real prophecy rooted in an ancient and exotic culture. Not just some notion by a fallible westerner.
They all were gunning for him. Harold Camping and Marshall Applewhite and Ronald Weinland and now the Mayans. An entire civilization. They were all laughing at him and now it was the 11th hour and he was another sucker scouring the mall, looking for Christmas presents for his entire family.
The car crawled toward the retail Mecca, the music on the radio setting him on edge rather than soothing him. Ross parked in the first spot he saw, rows and rows away from the entrance, and almost ran in. He walked over to the map of stores and tried to see past the family of five that was looking for their particular niche. The wish list, hastily scrawled as it dawned on him that he needed to shop, indicated a few DVDs and CDs for his mom and brother. Best Buy it was, then.
Best Buy looked like there had been a hurricane and instead of looting for food, everyone decided they couldn’t survive without the Action/Adventure section of the DVDs, as well as Comedy, TV on DVD, Children’s and the R&B and Pop/Rock sections of the CDs. Discs were everywhere. Ross made his way through the sea of late shoppers and headed for his first choice: Season 4 of Frasier for his mom. They had seasons 1, 2 and 6 but no 4. He grumbled. Mom was very specific about what season she wanted. She had a few of the other seasons but he didn’t want to call and ask her what she had because then she’d know he got caught up in another apocalypse prediction. And then he’d have to hear about it until the world really ended.
Over in the Comedy section, it was slim pickins. The only things left were a few Adam Sandler movies and some films that Ross only vaguely remembered being in theaters. Nothing mom would want.
He hated this. It was too warm in the store and his coat was too heavy. The sweat was half stress and half discomfort.
A woman bumped into him without apology while reaching to grab the DVD of Ted off the shelf. It was rude and Ross wanted to say something but caught the stressed, dazed look in her eye. God, was that how he looked to other people? He decided to lay off her.
He flagged down a sales associate in a blue shirt. “Excuse me. I’m wondering if you have any DVDs of Frasier, season 4. There are none on the shelves but do you have any more in the back?”
“I’m afraid not, sir. We don’t really have a back room like a shoe store. Everything we have is on display,” said the sales guy. He looked exhausted and impatient.
“Are you sure?” Ross pleaded. “It’s just that it’s Christmas Eve and I’m at the end of my rope. Like everyone else here, I guess.”
The employee suppressed a sigh. “No, I’m sorry. But we do have a good selection of other DVDs. Maybe you’ll find something else you’ll like.”
The employee left, flagged down by some other frantic person. Ross stared at the ravaged rack of DVDs, feeling empty. He couldn’t just order anything from Amazon because it would be in after Christmas and then his family would know the Mayans kept him from shopping.
Only one thing left to do: He had to trek over to the mall farther down the highway. Maybe they had the DVD.
Pushing through the perforated wall of humanity, he made his way back to the car. He saw dozens of faces like his: Panicked and a little guilty and embarrassed that they let it go this long.
Ross was distracted, pulling out into the stream of traffic, and a woman darted in front of him without looking. She looked vaguely Mexican, he thought. It was her ancestors who did this. Her ancestors counted all the days, centuries and millennia of them, and finally stopped for reasons he will never know. And now he’s going from mall to mall, like a retail Ahab searching for his white whale.
Ross rolled down the window and stuck his head and his fist out. “Damn you, Mayans!” he screamed at the Mexican-looking woman. “Damn you all to hell!”
The woman stopped and gaped at him. “Merry Christmas to you, too, buddy.”
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