It was November 11th, Singles' Day. The day of triumphant bachelorhood, spinster solidarity, and the greatest retail warfare the world had ever known. For Emma, a 28-year-old marketing executive in the heart of London, it was more than a day—it was the day. The day she’d finally buy that air fryer that could toast, roast, and sing lullabies if you whispered to it just right. But Emma knew that the road to victory would be paved with flash sales, lightning-fast clicks, and the tears of those who hesitated a fraction too long.
At precisely 11:00 AM, Emma stood in her battle station—her living room, fortified with pillows, snacks, and an emergency charger. Her laptop glistened like Excalibur, ready to plunge into the digital fray. As she refreshed the homepage of her favorite online store, the countdown timer blinked in furious red numbers: 00:02:59.
Meanwhile, across the city in his minimalist, monochromatic flat, James—Emma’s office arch-nemesis and self-proclaimed king of bargains—was stretching his fingers with the seriousness of a concert pianist before his debut. He, too, had eyes on the air fryer, and he knew Emma’s reputation. Last Singles' Day, she’d bought a designer toaster for half-price, and the whole office had been abuzz for weeks.
00:01:30
Emma’s cat, Whiskerton, sensed the tension and stared at her with wide, judgmental eyes. “Not now, Whiskerton,” Emma muttered, her eyes narrowing. She glanced at her second screen where her carefully crafted spreadsheet glowed with organized fervor: Item, Price, Link, Promo Code. She wasn’t just shopping; she was orchestrating a heist.
James, meanwhile, had a more guerilla approach. He had ten browser tabs open and a set of caffeinated reflexes honed from years of Black Friday practice. His fingers hovered millimeters above the keys, each one tingling with anticipation.
00:00:10
Emma’s pulse quickened. The chat window popped open—an unwanted intrusion. It was Megan from Accounts. “Are you going for that air fryer too? LOL. Good luck beating James.”
“TRAITOR!” Emma barked at the screen, startling Whiskerton who fell dramatically off the couch.
00:00:00 – SALE LIVE.
The screen exploded into a whirlwind of slashed prices and blinking banners. Emma’s fingers moved like a pianist on a caffeine overdose as she clicked the air fryer link. The page struggled, spinning and sputtering under the weight of thousands of hopeful chefs and midnight snackers.
James smirked. His page loaded faster—fiber internet was his secret weapon. He was about to click Add to Cart when suddenly, the dreaded CAPTCHA appeared. “Select all images with traffic lights.”
“TRAFFIC LIGHTS?” James screamed as his fingers scrambled to decipher tiny, blurry grids. Meanwhile, Emma, eyes like a hawk, swept past her own CAPTCHA—she had memorized the positions of the bikes and crosswalks during last year’s sale.
Her cart showed a victory flag: “Item secured. Proceed to checkout.” James finally solved his CAPTCHA, but it was too late—Emma had moved ahead to payment. In a desperate twist, he clicked Add to Cart again, but this time it was out of stock. The air fryer of his dreams, gone.
James collapsed back into his chair, defeated. But just as Emma was about to hit Place Order, her heart sank. “Connection error. Try again later.”
“NO!” she shouted, as if yelling could resuscitate her Wi-Fi. The spinning wheel of death mocked her.
Suddenly, a ping echoed through the room. Megan from Accounts again. “You two are hilarious. There’s one left on BestBuyLocal.com.”
Emma lunged for her phone, fingers tapping at lightning speed. She beat James by milliseconds. The air fryer was hers. The receipt flashed on her screen, and she let out a war cry that reverberated through the flats below.
James, back at his place, received a notification: “Customer also viewed: Juicers. 75% off.” He sighed, shrugged, and clicked. If he couldn’t have an air fryer, at least he’d make the smoothest smoothies in London.
Emma, victorious, sat back with Whiskerton purring on her lap. A new email chimed in: “Thank you for your purchase. Estimated delivery: 2 hours.” The doorbell rang, and there stood a deliveryman, the air fryer already in hand.
It was Singles’ Day, and Emma was, as ever, single and undefeated.
