Doorbusters

“Don’t forget to tie your hair back.”

Laura nodded and left first, while Justin hung back so as to not raise suspicion. Suspicion was enough to get fired over now, at least according to the latest rumors circulating about next year’s round of SOP updates. The two joined a sea of gray polo shirts and red nametags by the cash registers, and made sure they were separated by only two of their fellow employees.

As the steel shutter clanked open, the store’s entire staff winced. The doors were still locked, but standard operating procedure made it clear that every location was required to use the company’s standard-issue sliding mechanical glass doors. Any manager caught installing doors made of reinforced metal or high-durability polymer was to be terminated upon discovery, and corporate policy held that all expenses related to reinstallation were to be reclaimed in full from responsible individuals in civil court. A uniform appearance was critical to maintaining seamless viability across the company’s over 1000 domestic retail locations, and insubordination was not to be tolerated.

Justin’s hands were shaking. He glanced over to look at Laura, but she was too short to be seen over the employees beside her. He turned his head toward the door.

The employees stood shoulder to shoulder, each clad in their own standard-issue athletic padding and branded visor helmet. These had been provided for every employee on the first of the month, the full cost of which was deducted from each of his or her paychecks. Their line was solid, except in the middle, where they had parted to create a bottleneck between two converging rows of stanchions that had been bolted to the floor. These were connected by retractable carbon fiber belts that flowed with a high-voltage electrical current, which SOP emphasized were only to be employed in what it referred to as “atypical circumstances.” At the end, a canvas banner bridged the gap between two twelve-foot poles. It read: “Welcome Shoppers,” and featured an illustration of the smiling fox mascot that had been selected to represent the corporation in the consumer consciousness, a result of tireless focus testing and brand loyalty research.

A percussive rain of snaps clattered as each employee extended their telescopic batons. The store’s general manager, a chubby man in his mid-forties, struggled to climb to the top of the customer satisfaction station nearest the vestibule to survey his store. In the distance, he could see the mounted employees atop their Clydesdale horses, electric stun wands ready in hand. They rode in a circle around the main waxed-vinyl floor path, but were well trained to not step on the carpeted sectors.

“Everybody listen up!” shouted the manager. “This is the largest, most-anticipated product launch this company has seen in a generation. You will tell your grandchildren about this day. Just stay in formation, stay aggressive, and everything will be just fine! And remember: It is vital that each employee maintain a courteous, friendly, benefits-driven approach to customer relationships. Now let’s close some sales!”

He paused a moment, then cupped his hands by his mouth and hollered rhythmically: “Dis-trict Four!” Nearly every employee responded in unison: “Store Twenty-Four!” they called back, followed by a stomp of the foot.

Justin rolled his eyes, then dropped into a low stance and raised his baton above his head.

With the shutter lifted, the people surrounding the perimeter abandoned the tents and sleeping bags of the shantytown they had erected, and began to coalesce upon the entryway. As they converged, numbers on an LED counter beside the Operations office ascended at a frightening speed; this year, corporate research had eschewed the standard practice of customer counting, favoring instead the installation of pressure-sensitive plates beneath the entrance. The crowd was being weighed. A smattering of sweat and spit and blood sprayed across the fragmenting glass as dozens of disorganized shoppers pressed against one another, causing the doors to buckle. The manager made a valiant attempt to unlock them, but to no avail: With a crash, the mob beat down yet another set of doors. The year’s shrink-prevention bonus check was crushed under 200,000 pounds of mad, writhing flesh and bone. As the mass of people trampled one another and advanced, those at the sides began to howl like wounded animals. Bright sparks flew off the crowd-control belts, leaving behind the scent of ozone and burnt hair.

It was the job of the part-time staff to stand at the mouth of the electrified V and handle the initial egress of the crowd. This was because health insurance was given only to those employees who regularly worked forty or more hours per week, and the company’s accounting department insisted this be included as part of the previous year’s SOP doctrine.

The crowd breached the bottleneck and began to stampede. Justin looked over his right shoulder, and saw for a moment the snap of loose blonde hair as it whipped in his direction. He had no time for a second look. Outside, a small group of volunteer doctors and nurses had set up a free medical tent about a hundred yards from the store’s façade. They were woefully under-supplied.