This is me, standing in line at Saks in Bal Harbour 45 minutes before the doors open, waiting, while visions of Choos dance in my head. Choos at 50 percent off, nonetheless. The doors were to open at 8, but they actually opened at 7:45 and people, I kid you not, ran, screaming into the store.
Toward shoes! Chanel and Louboutin at 30 percent off. Brian Atwood, YSL and Choos at 50 percent off. The shoes flew off the racks. I grabbed a few pairs here and there, slid them on, didn’t fall in love and decided to take in the chaos instead.
Forget beautiful displays. The place was trashed, like when your parents leave you home alone for the first time and your group of three friends turns into 300. And everyone takes off their well-designed shoes and throws them wherever they land. Trashed, I tell you.
Within moments, the racks were near bare, with only eyesores like this left to weed through.
Where did they all go? Into piles like this one, created by girls who apparently have arms the size of linebackers (this one owns the bare foot in the top left). She nabbed as many pairs as she could and ran. Damn hoarders. Not motivated to stick around for castoffs, I sought higher ground at handbags.
But damn, there were none left. This was at 8:15. Fifteen minutes after the doors were supposed to open. Gone. There were, however, some winners at Reed Krakoff. Bags from $900 to $347. But I still had a hankering for shoes. So, it was back to the chaos I went. And things got better. Castoffs made their way back to the barren racks. I perused. I lurked. I stalked. I overheard sales staff bickering with each other about stealing customers and commissions. I overheard a lady explain her pile of shoes had been stolen. I watched a salesman find the woman who stole the shoes, take them away from her and return them to the original owner. I watched a woman lie about being the someone who sent the shoe-fetcher to find her size 8s. She wasn’t, but she took the shoes that came out anyway. And then she bragged about it. I watched mom’s shove cookies into their children’s mouths to steal a few more minutes trying on pumps. And I found the Brian Atwood leopard pumps I fell in love with a few months back … but one size too big. Ugh, I never wished my feet were bigger until today. In the end, I left with a pair of platform sandaled Choos and all of my limbs still attached, narrowly escaping shoe-pocalypse 2012.