Black Friday shopping not safe for the weak, traumatic end to Thanksgiving
Hillary Brady
Issue date: 12/1/09 Section: Editorial/Opinion
12/01/09 - While the highlight of most people's Thanksgiving break were the massive amounts of food and the subsequent tryptophan overdose, many of us were using "Turkey Day" to look ahead to the upcoming holiday season and prepare for one of the most traumatic days of the year-Black Friday.
This terrifying event is when America lets its rampant consumerism freak-flag fly and common decency, morality and, oftentimes, legal codes take a back seat to big savings. What a better way to celebrate a holiday meant to foster togetherness and family-"Happy Thanksgiving, now get out of the way of the $5 toaster oven or I'll impale you with a shopping cart!"
The overnight lines of campers, sitting outside waiting for a good deal on a plasma-screen TV, seem more like a scene out of a post-apocalyptic blockbuster than the way to spend the evening of a national holiday. Then you get into the store, where hoards of rampant shoppers trample one another for the last door-buster deal, like the wildebeests in "The Lion King." If you're not a shopper with enough grit and sass to embrace the use of physical violence at 3 a.m., you're Mufasa in this scenario and you should probably just stay home.
This Black Friday, like every year, I tried to wait out the peak of the shopping insanity. I tried to outsmart the system and ventured out of the house in the afternoon. Most of the militant savings-warriors were gone, retreating back home with their stash of holiday gifts and wounded prides. What was left behind was a battle-scarred shopping complex.
Broken shopping carts were overturned in the parking lot, leaving one to question what could have possibly happened in Bed, Bath and Beyond to warrant such destruction. Clothes were littered on the store floors, boxes scattered wherever their rejected buyers had abandoned them. The employees looked shaken and worn, as if they would start having sales flashbacks, like they'd just returned from a tour in 'Nam.
In every store there was also the ubiquitous wandering person, who somehow forgot that this was the world's worst day to casually stop by Walmart to pick up some batteries. Each one of these poor souls roamed the massive crowd, doe-eyed and scared, clutching their one item to their hearts in a near panic at the massive crowd of consumers. Their naiveté was heartbreaking to those of us who remembered to check the date on our calendars.
My attempt to still participate in the nation's collective celebration of spending amounted to nothing more than sifting through boxes of "Flight of the Conchords" DVDs at Target for an hour then calling it quits. I came home empty-handed and with a still growing list of people expecting presents from me during every conceivable upcoming holiday. But at least I walked away from the horrors of Black Friday free from any physical or emotional battle-scars-which is more than Mufasa could say.
This terrifying event is when America lets its rampant consumerism freak-flag fly and common decency, morality and, oftentimes, legal codes take a back seat to big savings. What a better way to celebrate a holiday meant to foster togetherness and family-"Happy Thanksgiving, now get out of the way of the $5 toaster oven or I'll impale you with a shopping cart!"
The overnight lines of campers, sitting outside waiting for a good deal on a plasma-screen TV, seem more like a scene out of a post-apocalyptic blockbuster than the way to spend the evening of a national holiday. Then you get into the store, where hoards of rampant shoppers trample one another for the last door-buster deal, like the wildebeests in "The Lion King." If you're not a shopper with enough grit and sass to embrace the use of physical violence at 3 a.m., you're Mufasa in this scenario and you should probably just stay home.
This Black Friday, like every year, I tried to wait out the peak of the shopping insanity. I tried to outsmart the system and ventured out of the house in the afternoon. Most of the militant savings-warriors were gone, retreating back home with their stash of holiday gifts and wounded prides. What was left behind was a battle-scarred shopping complex.
Broken shopping carts were overturned in the parking lot, leaving one to question what could have possibly happened in Bed, Bath and Beyond to warrant such destruction. Clothes were littered on the store floors, boxes scattered wherever their rejected buyers had abandoned them. The employees looked shaken and worn, as if they would start having sales flashbacks, like they'd just returned from a tour in 'Nam.
In every store there was also the ubiquitous wandering person, who somehow forgot that this was the world's worst day to casually stop by Walmart to pick up some batteries. Each one of these poor souls roamed the massive crowd, doe-eyed and scared, clutching their one item to their hearts in a near panic at the massive crowd of consumers. Their naiveté was heartbreaking to those of us who remembered to check the date on our calendars.
My attempt to still participate in the nation's collective celebration of spending amounted to nothing more than sifting through boxes of "Flight of the Conchords" DVDs at Target for an hour then calling it quits. I came home empty-handed and with a still growing list of people expecting presents from me during every conceivable upcoming holiday. But at least I walked away from the horrors of Black Friday free from any physical or emotional battle-scars-which is more than Mufasa could say.
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