If you're like me, then all you can think about is Christmas and the upcoming break from school that'll be greater than any present Santa could ever get us; if you're also like me, with finals breathing down your neck enough to the point where they're all you think about, it's also hard to believe that two weeks ago was Thanksgiving break. My Thanksgiving break was relatively uneventful, but this could be due to the fact that everything seems tame compared to last year's Thanksgiving break. Or, more specifically, last year's Black Friday.

Think of your worst public fear, and throw it into the Mall of America on Black Friday. I lived it. Humiliation. Losing your group. And, worst of all, the earth-shattering moment when your card is declined. Not to mention Victoria's Secret looks more like a house of horrors on Black Friday than anything. I came out of that mall a bruised and battered woman -- mentally, monetarily, and kind of physically. It will be an experience I never forget.

My Thanksgiving break last year started much like my break this year did: peacefully, if not a little boring. I didn't even think about Black Friday until I got the call.

It was a good friend of mine, voice traveling at a million miles per minute through the speaker of my phone. It was 5 a.m. and she was wide awake, actually talking to me while in the shower with a traveling mug of coffee in one hand, shampoo in the other; I was still struggling to emerge from my food coma.

"So, get to my house by 6, okay?" was one of the first things I could comprehend her saying. "They always save the second round of inventory for, like, 8, so we gotta go soon. I'll get some coffee for you!"

Click.

Then, she was gone.

After some internal conflict, I found myself at her house a little after 6 a.m., and we hit the road with her behind the wheel since everything was still a little blurry for me, and we were sprinting down to American Eagle by 7 a.m.

The first few stores went by smoothly, except for the occasional manhunt for the right size. It wasn't until we hit PacSun where I really began to regret being a good friend.

PacSun is already a rat's nest on a normal day; somehow their thin shirts and tiny shorts cover every available surface, and sometimes the floor. My anxiety levels always spike whenever I'm in there, but this could also be because of the 12-year-old girls trying on crop tops next to me; nothing against PacSun, but it's just not my usual scene. My friend, however, loved PacSun, and their 40 percent off deal was too hard to resist when I was low on summer clothes with an impending trip to Mexico in the spring. Even after finding things I liked, I was desperate to leave as soon as possible.

My friend and I got adjacent dressing rooms to try our clothes on. We chatted through the hollow walls about what fit, what looked good; I was halfway through removing a pair of shorts when my curtain was ripped open.

I screamed bloody murder, tried turning around, and ended up falling against the mirror due to the shorts around my knees restricting my movement.

Instantly, the worker who thought my room was unoccupied began apologizing. The worker would've been a bit easier to forgive if he had been a she, and if he also CLOSED THE CURTAIN. Instead, he stood there babbling his apologies for a solid five seconds before I made a grab for the curtain and yanked it shut. My face felt like it could fry an egg on it; however, I couldn't see how red it was since my fall against the mirror shattered it. My friend slipped in (after announcing it was her) while I was blindly and frantically putting my own clothes back on. She took one look at the mirror, put down her desired purchases, and then the two of us ran out of the store. No one called after us, even as we sprinted very suspiciously down the hall; something told me that worker wasn't going to point the finger at us for vandalism when I could've very well pointed the finger back at him for letting those waiting in line for a dressing room see my underwear.

My friend and I regrouped and calmed down over smoothies at Caribou, then laughed about it on the way to Athleta; deep down, I knew I wouldn't be able to return to PacSun for a while, but I had no problems with that. I didn't know that the day was about to get worse.

Those who know Athleta know how expensive it can be, but after some bad experiences with money, I had learned to keep track of the prices of my purchases and the current balance in my bank account. I kept a notepad in my purse and did the math right there in pen, so I wouldn't forget. Being a die-hard Athleta fan, I had several purchases in mind; my notepad was out and at the ready while I combed the racks, jotting down prices, crossing some out. After several laps around the little store, I finally had a balanced equation that let me buy my favorite things with some money left over. I double-checked my math while standing in line. When I reached the register, there was that eager smile on my face that you can only get from knowing you made the best choice ever. The cashier saw my smile and matched it, knowing all too well what I was feeling. She complimented my choice in purchases. Life was great.

I handed her my card, feeling dignified and elite. She swiped it. She asked me to punch in my debit card pin, and I did. Then we waited.

And waited.

And waited.

There was a beep. A heartbreaking beep. The beep that crushes dreams. The silence after that beep was tangible. I looked up at her, feeling another round of heat flush through my face. She couldn't meet my eye when she said my card was declined. It took me a couple seconds, but I finally asked her to try again. There had to be a mistake; I had barely bought anything yet, and I knew my bank account was well prepared for big purchases.

But, alas, I was wrong.

"I'm sorry," the cashier whispered. "Do you have cash?"

I shook my head no, feeling numb, feeling...betrayed. I still believed there was some mistake, but I was forgetting the major decrease in my bank account after an online shopping spree a couple weeks before this that had caught up with me.

I left the store with empty hands and a heavy heart. I'm sure that avid shoppers like me can agree when I say that Black Friday was all but ruined.

I could barely bring myself to follow my friend to Victoria's Secret, our final destination, but I had come this far already; I wouldn't give up now, not when she needed me in the world's most notorious Black Friday store. It looked like anarchy was on a rampage when we got there; there is nothing scarier than Victoria's Secret on Black Friday. My friend and I shared a look.

"You get the underwear. I'll get the swimsuits," she said.

We split up. There were women on all sides of me. I pushed through groups of shoppers, beelining for the back where the underwear tables were. I picked my way through the fabrics and patterns, lucky to even get a front row spot at the table. And that's when a high school girl's basketball team walked in, headed straight for the underwear table.

When I saw them, I knew I had about 10 seconds to gather up the rest of the underwear before I would be drowning in people. I had one pair left when they converged all around me. I'm not little by any means, but I'm not tall either. These girls were tall, though. I barely reached some of their shoulders, and when I grabbed the last pair of underwear for my friend and turned to leave, I couldn't see past their warm-up suits. And there were several layers of them; one girl behind the first girl, and another girl behind that one. I could see nothing but the blue, white and gold of their jerseys. I called out my friend's name, just to test if she was anywhere near, but there wasn't a response. On either side of me, two players moved in closer until I was shoulder-to-shoulder with them. My claustrophobia began kicking in.

I have horrible claustrophobia. Just a mere passing thought of being enclosed in tight spaces makes it a little harder to breathe. So, as the breaths started coming faster, I did the first thing I could think of: I turned around, faced the table, then promptly climbed onto it.

I ignored the basketball players, some of them laughing, some of them swearing as I stepped on the pair of underwear they were reaching for, and yelled for my friend at the top of my lungs. I was doing a lot of screaming this morning. People in the store stared, some entertained, others not so much; the workers manning the floor looked at me with their mouths hanging open, unsure of what to do. I searched for my friend but she was nowhere! I yelled her name again, and that's when the nearest worker started for me.

"Miss? Miss, please get down, or I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Desperate, with tears in my eyes that for sure were a sign I was beginning to crack, I called out for my friend one more time just as she ran out from the dressing room, having heard me from in there. "Sammy!" she yelled back, catching sight of me standing on the underwear table.

I still can't say what made me climb up there, as a girl who normally is a stickler for rules and manners, and I feel bad for it since we got kicked out of the store. My friend and I left MOA after a mere hour and a half there with barely any shopping bags. I was exhausted yet jittery from the coffee I drank earlier, not to mention wallowing in self-pity, still hurt from my embarrassing card decline. My friend and I hadn't talked much after we were kicked out of Victoria's Secret, but when we got back to the car, she took one long look at me in the passenger seat and then burst into laughter. Although we walked away nearly empty-handed on the best day to shop, she promised me that this had been her best Black Friday shopping experience ever. She would never forget the sight of me standing on that underwear table, a psycho expression on my face, clutching boy shorts and thongs in both hands. She would never forget the broken mirror I may or may not still have to pay for.

While the short three hours of my Black Friday took a big emotional toll on me, I did find some happiness in knowing that I left the mall with plenty of memories, however painful those memories can be.

So, if you're ever trapped at the underwear table in Victoria's Secret, you know what to do.