The weeks leading up to Christmas were expensive but pleasurable for the bogan. Many bogans get drawn into the endless loop of trying to outdo their other relatives in terms of the scale, shininess, or brand naminess of their gifts. This, predictably enough, was funded by interest free credit card debt at a competitive 20% interest per year. Christmas Day came, the gifts were exchanged, the sugary parts of the Chrisco hamper were consumed, and bogans nationwide retired to their beds on the evening of the 25th, exhausted, broke, and contented.
This period of contentment lasted from 11pm on December 25, to 3am on December 26, when the bogan female pounced out of bed, a glimmer in its eye. Shopping time. The Boxing Day sales at department stores were due to start as little as two hours hence, and it is of vital importance to the bogan female that it heads the waiting throng. Once upon a time, Boxing day was associated with hosting alternate family gatherings, relaxing at the park with friends and loved ones, or getting kicked out of bay 13 at the cricket. Today however, it is entirely, resolutely, tied in with spending immense amounts of money for products no one needs at surprisingly negligible discounts.
The clock ticked past 6am. The lights were on in the store, there were employees milling around in there, but the doors remained closed. The bogans were growing increasingly agitated, united in their outrage at having their consumption delayed by tens of seconds. At 6:02, two security guards approached the doors from inside, and began instructing the bogan mob in how to gracefully enter the shopping centre.
Without warning, a particularly ox-like bogan female barreled at the door, and the security guards soon relented. The bogans surged, foaming at the mouth and desperately snatching at any item within a 2 metre radius of a sign saying “(up to) 70% OFF!” Skinny bogans wriggled their way between the fat ones, tall ones reached over the top, and the fat ones jutted their ample rumps outwards to create a quivering exclusion zone around the precious discounts.
On Boxing Day, the gladiatorial bogan is able to fight to impulse purchase items it does not want, at prices that are cheaper than what it won’t pay. It justifies this on the basis of being broke from Christmas, necessitating frugality, and any discount is by virtue of its discounted nature, a saving. While all of the things it set out to purchase are either not on sale or already gone, the bogan is determined to not leave this feeding frenzy empty handed.
At 8:45am, the bogan limps out of David Jones, sporting a black eye, a torn t-shirt, and a David Jones bag containing an electric mango slicer, a Von Dutch bumbag, and a set of carving knives by a company it has never heard of, and can not pronounce. And only $220 poorer.