We've all heard the backlash. Watched the social media statuses about boycotting. Seen the news clips of trampling, crazy crowds. Listened to the growing dislike / bitching about how Black Friday is now more like Black Thursday or Black November (which is not very shiny for the holidays). And yes, I genuinely do feel bad for any retail employees forced to work on Thanksgiving - but I usually feel bad for retail employees all year round, so...
None of that phases me though because, above and beyond anything else, Black Friday is that most important of things: tradition. It's not a day that takes me away from my family / from being thankful and robs me of my soul or some nonsense - it's the opposite. It's time spent with my mom, being grateful that we can afford to buy gifts for the holidays (even if it's just once they're on sale). And this, dear friends, is the tale of how Black Friday has stuck with us, and why it will until someone forcibly stops me from continuing with it.
It started in 1992, when my hard-working single mama wanted to get something special for her babbling daughters, both under age ten at the time. That special something? A g'damn Super Nintendo (with Mario Paint!). That staple of our childhood wouldn't have been affordable if not for those super sales. We'd have surely turned to a life of crime or hard drugs had we not had three versions of Donkey Kong Country to conquer instead. From that point forward, the morning after Thanksgiving had new purpose.
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| The definition of happiness. Framed. |
Living in a small town, the nearest major retail stores were a 45-minute drive. That meant that (depending on the year), you would find my ma, grandma, sister and me (and sometimes my aunt) loading into the car around 3:00 or 4:00 am. We weren't leaving in the middle of family dinner or anything. In fact, we left around the time most of the men of the family were getting ready to hit the woods for deer hunting. This was our version of "hunting season" - hunting for sweet bargains!
The first stop: the local gas station to get coffee (or, in my case, hot cocoa). Then we were in the car, jamming to the oldies, until our arrival to "the city." We strategically picked store order based on desired purchases and opening times. If we really wanted something, my sister and I served as the family placeholder in the line, with ma and grandma jumping in as soon as we got within range of the door. Once inside: the pure adrenaline and sheer thrill of unadulterated capitalism took hold.
Since a young age, Black Friday has been a game for me. It's like the ultimate, high-stakes scavenger hunt, where being small is a beautiful advantage (until you need to carry a TV or a big crock pot or something). No carts, just zipping about, my little hands reaching into a bin and running off with the goods before the adults around me knew what was happening. If tears needed to be shed or elbows thrown to get the last of some item, then the game face went on and you did whatever it took. A battle royale with stressed out moms at 4:00am - a most dangerous game indeed.
Everyone had their mission: a list written up after reviewing the sales papers the day before. There was often the sneaky exchange of, "Grandma, I want to get this for mom for Christmas but I'm a child and have no concept of money, I have $3, can you help me?" or of my Grandma insisting that we go sit in the car with her, while my mom skirted around the nearby cars and ninjaed two three-foot long Casio keyboards into the trunk without us seeing somehow. We were mostly buying gifts for one another, so discretion was key.
If anyone got lost, the rendez-vous point was usually the unoccupied greeting card aisle. To help find each other, we also had a string of family chants over the year. This was usually a random phrase that could be shouted in an attempt to locate missing persons without causing much alarm. Because a little girl shrieking, "TEAM JACOB!" in the card aisle is just amusing, and not worth calling security over. And when you see a grown woman hollering "Alright alright alright" (à la McConaughey) into the void, you just assume she got up too early to go shopping and is getting a little loopy (or is drunk).
At the end of it all, we'd return to the car. Victorious, we'd nestle against our crinkly plastic bags and settle in for the ride home. The sun was usually coming up, and our bellies were grumbling. Nap time awaited, followed buy turkey day leftovers for lunch. All was well.
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| Cheers to victory, and another item checked off the list! |
Over the years, we've gotten more savvy about the shopping. We're no longer the first ones in the door, we aren't waiting outside in the cold; there isn't anything that we can't live without. After the first wave has hit, we mosey our way into the stores and scoop up any remaining door busters available, wait five minutes in a now empty checkout line and work our way to the next place. Most of what's purchased is no longer sneaky - typically I'll pick a handful of items on my list and tell my ma that's what I want for Christmas. She'll buy, wrap them up, and I'll open them on Christmas morning, happy as a clam at my surprise presents (sometimes having an awful memory has its advantages!). It makes the holiday gift giving infinitely easier.
At some point, this tradition of scrambling about at dawn, frantically stimulating the economy, may come to an end. Everyone says to just go buy things online instead, avoid the madness. But I tell you what, I live for the madness; it's a thrill. (Not to mention, I still don't fully trust online shopping #CuzIm90) And even if there's nothing I'm getting that's essential to my survival, it's a chance to get some goodies that I likely wouldn't have spent the time to get otherwise, to experience some of the best people watching of the year, and to spend some time with my family. I know I won't always be able to come home for the holidays in the future, so in the meantime, I'm going to cling to this tradition like I did to those $2 candles this morning. You can pry my Black Friday tradition out of my cold, dead fingers, world. Shop on.
How about you? Is Black Friday your jam, or something you avoid at all costs?
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