Last Friday, I did what all mentally challenged Americans do on the day after Thanksgiving: I went shopping. Not just any kind of shopping, mind you, not the kind where purchases are made amidst a backdrop of casual elevator music, helpful salesmen, and general holiday merriment. This wasn’t an everyday trip to the supermarket or a stroll through the mall. No, last Friday I planted my tooshka right smack in the middle of the entry line from Hades and waited, somewhat patiently, for admittance into the Waco branch of Best Buy, Inc. In a life filled with important decisions, some are later viewed favorably, some unfavorably, and some with a righteous hand thrusted upon one’s forehead. We’ll file this one into the latter category. Here, in dubious detail, is a recounting of my first experience of Black Friday.
My day began just hours after the previous one ended with a bellowing alarm alerting me that 4:00 had arrived. There are only three reasons why a man should have to view the no-light of this time of day: impending childbirth, near-death medical emergencies, and the online viewing of Pakistani cricket matches. Everything else can wait until morning. Nonetheless, I scraped my comatose body off the mattress and began preparations for an assault on capitalism. Those of you who share my disdain for the morning hours will appreciate the effort this feat required. Getting my body off that bed was like convincing a Southern Baptist preacher it was time to wrap things up. A few (read: twelve) shots of espresso and a mouthful of ground coffee beans gave me the boost I needed to chart out a plan of action. Unlike most of those poor fools, so I thought, I had an ace up my sleeve. The night before my assault, I had printed a map of the store off of the internet. This level of genius is only reserved for the highest levels of intelligence. I had it in my mind that all of the other shoppers were amateurs and would be amazed at how organized and prepared I was. I thought it would be easy. I thought I had the upper hand. I thought wrong.
I pulled up to the store at 4:45, a full fifteen minutes before the store’s opening. There was an eery quietness that pervaded the area, almost as if everyone in attendance was aware of what was about to take place. The closest comparison I can make is the scene in “Braveheart” where both armies are waiting in anticipation, though no man is able to acknowledge the fear in his heart. Just a Black Friday rookie, I had no idea what was about to take place, yet deep within my soul I knew that I was about to experience an event like no other. They say that there is a calm before the impending storm, well this was either the culmination of that expression or everyone was just really, really tired and couldn’t speak. One of the two.
The closer I got to the store, the greater the distance between my two jaw bones grew. I wasn’t walking into a sales environment, I was walking into battle. As I peered inside the only open window, I could see the Best Buy employees in full huddle, their leader barking out orders. The looks on their faces was a mixture of emboldened determination, unrivaled fear, and focused concentration. These weren’t your average minimum-wage workers, these were highly-trained selling machines. Folks, Navy Seals aren’t this prepared, nor this focused. The intensity level inside the store, however, was easily surpassed by the level of those outside its battle-strewn confines. I arrived expecting to see soccer moms and nocturnal college students, but these people were of a different level. These were seasoned pros, experts in the art of Black Friday purchasing. My little printout of the store was pittance compared to the materials of those around me. One lady (who I swear was wearing eye black) held in her hand, I kid you not, the actual blue-prints of the store. I don’t even want to know how she got them, or why she would want to know where the maintenance elevators are, but I stayed far out of her way. Another woman, her focused eyes burning holes into the back of the skulls of those in front of her, came with a team of little shopping warriors. Each of them held in his hand the name of one item that must be purchased. I don’t want to assume anything, but it didn’t feel as though failure was going to be an option.
Fifteen extremity-numbing minutes later, and the moment was finally upon us. A hush filled over the gathering crowd as anticipation reached its peak. The call was raised, the doors were opened and…nothing. Nada, at least for me, as apparently the fifteen minutes that I had arrived early were not quite enough. In fact, twenty-four hours and fifteen minutes wouldn’t have been enough. If there’s one lesson to be learned from Black Friday, let it be this: Never, through any circumstance, underestimate the lengths we humans will go to save a buck. I stood in line behind 500 people, many of whom had been in line for hours, some even days. I would later learn that two tents had been erected so that two different families could spend their Thanksgiving just outside the doors of Best Buy. Just as the pilgrims intended. I don’t want to judge, but if the lasting memory of Thanksgiving 2009 for your family is “saved 27% on a washer/dryer combo unit,” your priorities might be slightly off-kilter.
The rest of the morning-long experience will forever remain but a blur in my memory. I can remember, quite distinctly, walking into the store amidst a mass of people. I can remember the horrified looks of the security guards as they watched the throngs of shoppers pass by. The next thing I can remember, I was walking out of the store with hundreds of dollars of merchandise in my arms. That’s the inevitable result of Black Friday. I didn’t know it at the time, but all the waiting and planning had whipped me up into a capitalistic frenzy, ready to be unleashed at the proper moment. If that’s the price to pay for maintaining my health and sanity, then I’ll consider it money well spent.
CONCLUSION
My experience on Black Friday was a lot like my many attempts at cooking: the activity is much more enjoyable, and ultimately more valuable, than the end product. As much as advertisers may claim that the day is about tremendous savings or festive shopping, ultimately it’s none of those things. Black Friday is a glorious celebration of one of our greatest freedoms, the freedom to purchase large quantities of needless crap we’ll never, ever use. After all, what’s n-e-e-d-l-e-s-s at 50% off? Exactly.
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