The big rule in my apartment: don’t wake anyone up before 7 am, unless it’s to say “get out of bed, our building’s on fire,â€? or “I’m pregnant…I think.â€?

Since my roommate Kate said none of those things when she burst into my room at 6:15 am, I should have slapped her. But I didn’t, because of what she whispered: “Barneys Warehouse Sale.”

Anddd I’m up.

By the time we got downtown, it was 7:30 and the doors opened at 8. We weren’t the first ones on line - those people had camped out, American Idol style - but we got a good spot by the door. The air was frigid and the spirit was of excitement, fear, and anticipation - not unlike what one might experience in a hostage situation. We quickly bonded with those around us. The girl behind us confessed she’d sneaked out of the apartment this morning because her boyfriend had given her a lecture: not to spend her entire bonus “on shoes…like last year� (boyfriends: sweet and blissfully uninformed, all at the same time).

In front, there were instructions being given out: “Listen, if you see something you like, for god’s sake, take it and run. There are no second chances at the Barneys Warehouse Sale.” Thanks, Simon!

Inside, all hell breaks loose. I instantly spot a pair of Mary Janes in dark blue suede that I must have. Unfortunately another girl does, too, and SHE SLAPS MY HAND OFF THE SHOES, then shoves me out of the way. I’m a lady so I don’t shove back, but I do manage to mutter “bitch”… or scream it. Loud.

Karma is apparently a bitch too, because the shoes don’t fit her. I think about prying them off her feet but instead I grab them when she’s done and they are perfect. I’m so happy, I’m not even that upset that I can’t buy the beautiful coats without maxing out my credit card, and ignore the thousands (really) of Marc by Marc dresses dangled before my eyes.

Meanwhile, Kate is in the “dressing room” (i.e. the racks between “Ready to Wearâ€? and “Coatsâ€?) trying to decide whether to buy two dresses or three. She goes for three because “today is practically a national holidayâ€? and settles on a 3.1 Philip Lim dress, a black thing from Juicy, and a blue vintage number from Zachary’s Smile.

We rush to the check-out line, since we’re both kind of late to work (although, come to think of it, I was on assignment), pay and exit out the side door on 18th street. We hug, happy to have made out alive and with a few fantastic items under our belts. Belts, belts, wait a second—fuck—I didn’t even check out the belts! Ah, well. Sale’s on ‘til March 4.

Simon was right - you can meet your husband at the Barney’s Warehouse Sale!

This is the line once you get inside. Sort of like the Pirates of the Caribbean line at Disney, but with no screaming kids (instead: screaming adults).

Instructions.

The “dressing room.”

Phillip Lim loves you.

And finally, my beautiful new shoes. Score.

— BESS LEVIN