Blue Friday

We'd been working since midnight, stocking shelves and putting away boxes. There was hardly time to look up. The biggest shopping day of the year had arrived, and our isles brimmed with bargains in anticipation of the 5 a.m. opening.
 I was shocked to find a small crowd already huddled in the outside the locked main doors when I showed up for work.
 "It's gonna be a busy day," I said to Jimmy, a temporary worker.  I liked the young man, maybe because his nickname, "Jimmy" is the same as my actual name. He was big as a football tackle, but a teddy bear. Jimmy was always ready to help. He helped me put up some last minute displays. As we walked toward the front of the store about 3:30 a.m., we heard it. A sound like a distant waterfall. We peered through the front doors. People were standing with their faces pressed against the glass.
 "Wow," Jimmy commented in his Dominican accent. "Lot of people. Lot of money coming in today."
 I smiled. "That's one way to put it," I said, but I felt something strange. Should I call security?
 My manager had already done that. Her face looked grim. I overheard her talking about the crowd gathering outside.
 "No need to call police," another manager said. "We'll just have our people line up in front of the doors and slow the shoppers down. This is a good sign, let's not overreact."
 By 4:30, all the employees were talking about the mob at the doors. Though only illuminated by parking lot lights, they looked like hungry wolves pressing to get in. The din they emitted was an undulating cadence of chaos.
 I swallowed hard as I looked at Jimmy. He wasn't smiling now. He was big. He'd take it better than I. We were positioned ten feet back from the main doors like two fish in a tank surrounded by an ocean of humanity.
 But this wasn't humane humanity. It was wild-eyed, first in line, get outta my way humanity.
 Other employees flanked the front area, forming a human chain. Would our simple line deter that mob of thousands? As far as I could see, faces bobbed before the entire length of the store.
 The chanting began. My blood chilled. I couldn't make out the words at first.
"Take down the door!" "Break down the door!" 5:45 a.m. Fifteen minutes. Could we hold out?
 Managers' radios squawked. Now there was talk of calling police. I fingered my cell phone, considering a 9-1-1 call. But what would I say? Shoppers are going to overwhelm us? Who would believe that?
 I turned to comment to Jimmy when terrifying explosion ripped the doors off the hinges. Glass shattered and feet were pounding. Jimmy was down. An onslaught of rushing feet transformed into instruments of death!
I reached for him, getting sucked into the maelstrom.  My hand grasped his, but the feet wouldn't stop. "Get off him! Get off me! Get outta the way!" I screamed. My panicked mind raced. We were an ineffective human speed bump on a racetrack to discounts.
 It kept coming, I was on my feet, too shocked to realize how to help Jimmy. I heard him gasping for breath. "Slow down!" I heard other employees shouting. A pregnant woman was on the ground. Other shoppers lay moaning.
 My eyes saw the carnage, but couldn't comprehend it. We were in a war zone, not a Wal-Mart.
 I saw police and medical workers respond, but it was as if I were watching a movie. But it really happened. Jimmy was dead.  His real name was Jdimytai Damour. He was 34.http://nytimes.com/2008/11/30/nyregion/30walmart.html?