Most of the year I spend in the dark caverns of the building. There is no daylight coming in, and the only window that can be opened is blocked by a tall stack of boxes.
Everyone has a predetermined place. The newbies are usually placed at the front, so the oldies, including me, are slowly pushed further and further back.
Twice a day the roller doors open.
The shutters squeak and creak, making the building’s fabric tremble at the seams.
Maybe we are the chosen ones.
Maybe we get to go outside, beyond the thick walls, into the open world.
Today I am one of the contenders. I am taken from my container, to a bright room with spotlights, where I am placed in a crate with fellow candidates.
We start fantasizing about our future.
On a bright summer day, we would have a chance to shine all day. Thousands of eyeballs will gaze upon us. Our vibrant colors will fill the city; men will stare at us with their mouths wide open. Sometimes we will even receive a straightforward compliment, and people will ask where we are from.
It is something awkward to talk about, my farewell in China. I would have liked to say goodbye to one of the children, but they didn’t have time to wave. There was stitching to be done.
But I cannot worry about that right now.
I can hear the first footsteps approaching, and in no time I get passed by innumerable spectators. Some stop for a moment, gently stroke my cloth, some even give a little squeeze.
Next to me, number 4 is lifted up and put in the carrier. From there, it is pretty much certain: you get to remove your tag and go home. Number 4 is soon followed by numbers 8 and 12, and one of the plump spectators has the self-confidence to pick up number 22.
That’s when terror strikes.
Before we know it, our section has turned into total war. No one is safe.
Screams echo loudly through the building, and hands are reaching for us left and right. I am being treated as an object of lust. I close my eyes and let it happen to me. I’m completely torn apart. When I regain consciousness, I am at the cash register.
I am sold.
At my new place, I quickly end up in the closet. One month later, they put me in the attic. Replaced and forgotten.
It turned out to be a Black Friday…
How easily do you get seduced by marketing?
Just one in seven’ Black Friday deals are real discounts
According to new research from Which?, only one in seven deals on Black Friday offer a genuine discount. They analyzed 214 Black Friday deals at seven major home and tech retailers, and compared their prices every day in the six months before and after Black Friday. The majority of promotions 86% were cheaper or the same price in the six months before the sale started.
It found the majority of promotions (183 – or 86%) were cheaper or the same price in the six months before the sales.