Craig Hawksley recently visited the Saint Louis Galleria to experience the start of the holiday shopping season. His journal documenting the trip follows.

3:30 p.m. 

Plan A is in motion: My annual trip to the Saint Louis Galleria to get all my Christmas shopping done in one focused outing. It is Black Friday, but I am not afraid. Traffic is manageable.  As I drive north on Brentwood Boulevard under the Highway 40 bridge  a guy with a City of Brentwood window-sticker tries to cut me off, but I expertly coax him onto the westbound I-64 ramp. He screams something at me—probably "Merry Christmas"— and waves. The poor guy seems to be missing four digits on his left hand; there but for the Grace of God, etc. I shout out a hearty "Same to you, Ace!" and send him on his way to the McKnight Road exit. 

3:35 p.m.

I park in the Northeast lot and hoof it toward the mall. This is good exercise, especially dodging countless small women on cell phones driving Escalades.

3:40 p.m.

I go in the California Pizza Kitchen entrance. No need for a list; everything is "up here." The entire complex is bustling with people, buzzing with chatter and muted Christmas music. The colors, the smells, the couples holding hands, the wide-eyed children, the weary moms… I am smiling and actually feeling the spirit of the season wash over me. That's when a gaggle of teenagers tramples me like it's open seating at a rock concert, but even that doesn't break my will. The Galleria is like Bedford Falls under a roof; me and Jimmy Stewart—"Hello, you beautiful Bailey Banks and Biddle!"

3:42 p.m.

At the Meet Santa display I pause to watch a terrified toddler being forced onto St. Nick's lap for the photo op. The bearded one sits on his big throne, emotionless, like a hostage in a YouTube video. He is looking directly at me, and I swear he is blinking in Morse Code, "T-o-r-t-u-r-e…h-e-l-p… m-e…"

I shrug subtly, powerless—and move on.

3:43 p.m.

I come upon Victoria's Secret—a gift for wife?  I gaze up at the young angels smiling down from posters on the windows and sigh.  Once, long ago, I knew Victoria's secret.  Now, years later, I've forgetten what it was.

3:44 p.m.

I pick up the pace. The goal is gifts for three daughters and a wife. Maybe my mom. Sisters and brother would be nice, but not likely. Bath & Body Works? Too crowded. Laurie's Shoes? Too intimidating. Dillard's and Macy's are too imposing, too vast. All the stores are a blur, and my mental list fades like an Etch A Sketch drawing.  Ann Taylor, Lane Bryant, and Francesca try to seduce me with their siren songs; I'm Odysseus, prevented from jumping to my financial death only by the ropes and the mast.  And a low credit limit.  

3:46 p.m.

I will buy something for my brother. I spy Urban Outfitters—wilderness gear for city dwellers. It's a multi-tiered store with steep steps winding to the summit, perhaps a metaphor for the Matterhorn.  I climb to the peak and find racks of Alpine headwear. I try on a short-brimmed, feather-banded yodeling hat, feeling like Christopher Plummer in the Sound of Music, resembling, in a mirror's glance, Burl Ives in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer; alas, so will my brother.  I take the elevator down. 

3:50 p.m.

Focus of shopping shifts from loved ones to myself as I enter Brookstone.   The little boy in me, who at Christmastimes past didn't get what he wanted, stands eyeball-to-eyeball with the adult in me, who has a debit card.   I drool over the u-Control Silver Bullet Mini RC Helicopter that really flies!  I picture myself spending countless hours making it hover noiselessly above my wife at her computer, playfully chasing the dog around the house, and rigging it with magnets-on-a-string to pick up small metallic objects like paperclips and seafood forks and deliver them to me in my chair in the living room. The chopper comes with a remote control unit that uses 6 AA batteries, which are "Not Included." Last Christmas the wife bought me a Propane Designer Series Stainless Steel Grill, with propane tank "Not Included."  Why couldn't the grill's hair-trigger ignition switch, the one that singes the eyebrows off of everyone at your barbecue, be "Not Included?"

I calculate the remote control's "Not Included" batteries will cost more than helicopter.  I pass.

3:58 p.m.

Shopping mission aborted; I leave the Galleria empty handed. I decided to fall back to "Plan B;" i.e. going to Walgreens on Dec. 24; paperback novels for the girls, discount name brand perfumes for the wife and "As-Seen-On-TV" gadgets for everybody else. Who doesn't love something "As-Seen-On-TV?" That Ron Popeil is a genius.

Craig Hawksley is an award-winning comedian with decades of experience in his field. He specializes in stand-up and comedy writing, has worked on a number of film productions and has toured with performers such as Jeff Foxworthy. You'll find videos of him along with a link to his blog and testimonials on his Web site.