Black Friday Fail

In my previous post I said I was dreading Black Friday -- and I was right. My day/night/afternoon didn't even have to see me get out of bed before it got off on the wrong foot.

I slept an hour before 4 in the morning. I'm usually up, but the two places I had to go open their doors at 5 and 6 a.m., just when I'm about to go to bed. And since I had to work that morning, I needed to get in as much pass-out time as I could. Which was an hour. And the alarm didn't wake me -- my Grandmother, Buddha bless her, did. She burst through my bedroom door. She had turned the hallway light on, so when she startled me awake, she looked like the Virgin Mary, scaring the shit out of me.

She said she thought I had already left. I didn't, and now I wish I hadn't agreed to do this for my parents. Closed my door again and just laid back in my bed, quietly stewing over what I was about to do and feeling so tired I wish I was dead. I only wanted to pity myself for a few minutes before I got up out of bed, but my Grandmother, ever vigilant, walked up to my closed door and said, "You've got to get up." To which I replied, "OK, Grandmother, I'll get up when I want to!!!"

I heard about Black Friday bringing out the worst in people, and I didn't have to be awake to prove it was true.

I rolled out at about 20 after, got to Target a half-hour before opening, a little later than I wanted to. Couldn't believe there were so many cars at 4:30 in the morning. Then I got to the parking lot and drove up to the line; it was long already. I had to drive past the line, then park and walk past the line, to appreciate how long it was. I estimate I was the 250th person in line. Longest line I've ever been in, even longer than the rides at Disneyland.

The kid who got in line just in front of me told me he was at Herberger's, which opened their stores at 3. He was fighting with a woman for a comforter and she hit him right across the face. I feared this: Black Friday violence. I remember the poor Wal-Mart worker who last year was trampled to death by these sick humans. Sick humans like this bitch who hit this poor kid. Sick humans ... like us. Like me. Fighting for cheap stuff you want with other people doesn't change a person; it reveals who that person really is.

(I didn't tell him, but when I saw the kid pulling ahead of me in the race for the end of the line, I thought, just for a second, "I have to cut in front of this fucker.")

Actually, he and the two people ahead of him were really nice -- comiserating on Black Friday horror stories, what Target will do, what we want to buy, etc. I was a dick; when one of them asked me what I was going to buy, I declined to tell her. I'm a dick. Talking with them killed time and made me forget it was in the twenties in the wee hours of the morning.

There was no trampling when the clock struck 5, thank Buddha. But I did start race-walking once I got inside. Target did a great job preparing us while we were queuing, giving us a reusable bag with a map of where to find their door-buster deals. And the corner is where the 32" LCD TV my parents want was.

I quickened my pace once I got to the hall where the TV's were. I saw carts with one, even two TV's. My parents wanted two TV's, and when I got there, I saw two TV's.

Is there a limit?

Is there a limit? ... No, there is no limit.

And then I heard someone behind me: "He can't take two TV's."

And here I was, at the Janus point. What was he going to do? Was I going to ignore him because it's every man for himself at Black Friday? And then I had a practical question: How the hell was I going to carry two flat-screens to the register without a cart? I really wanted to try, but in the end I decided I didn't want to get this stranger pissed at me to the point where he'd cold-cock me while I was dragging both TV's down the aisle and take both of mine. So I gave one of them up.

And then another guy, right behind him, with a cart, says, "Aw, I needed a TV."

Fuck, what do I have to not piss you people off? And I don't even fucking know either of you! And now My Fucking Mother will ask me why didn't I get two fucking TV's, and I'll have to lie to her, but she'll have none of it. Goddammit, if you want these TV's so fucking bad you'll endanger your life to some stranger you'd probably get along with under any other social interaction, go fucking do it yourself!!!

Anyway, bought the TV for $250. Sweet deal, but are Westinghouses good?

---

Had to go to Menards too. They opened at 6, about 45 minutes after I got done with Target. Fortunately or unfortunately, it was across the street from Target.

Should I go home and dump the TV? I didn't want anyone who didn't get a TV to stalk me all the way to Menards (in case they too were going there) and do some bad shit to me or my car. But I saw this line grow when there was none at 4:30. I couldn't do it in case the dozen items My Father wanted me to get for him were gone.

The line was shorter when I hopped in; about #125, I guesstimated. The guy behind me was thin, old with white hair, and wearing camo. For much of the 35 minutes we were in line he was kneeling and gazing off into the distance, as if he was hearing Custer's cavalry coming.

I really didn't think there would be a line for Menards. I mean, it's Menards, a hardware store. Why would anyone want to pour into a hardware store for stuff at 6? But I guess a deal's a deal. Which meant that this queue was more dangerous. Target customers are kids on their skateboards who want to buy Call Of Duty, or moms who want a new set of linens. Menards customers are men. Men and lesbians. The woman in front of me, the one I made very small talk by ragging on a car that was making a lot of shitty noises as it drove past us, had a really, really masculine voice. If we were fighting over a cordless drill, she would've poked my eyes out with her dick.

The line grew exponentially behind me. There was an edge to the parking lot that was fairly close to me, and the tail hit it soon after I lined up. Then a Menards employee came out and probably forced the line to snake somewhere around the corner to make more space. And yet the line grew further and further. Lines are long, but when it gets so long that it bends, that's when you go, "Damn, this is a long line!" Yes, I understand that a long that remains straight infinitely is by definition long. But when it reaches natural obstacles that in turn shape it, that means it's too long and has to be contained and controlled. Like this one had to be.

Menards was not proactive; there were no bags or directions to hot items. Moreover, Target did a clever job of forcing the beginning of the line to go behind this huge wall and an extended row of planters. Menards had set up several posts with crime scene tape, but it ended several dozen people ahead of me. That's important to note because, shortly before the doors opened, I noticed several people waiting at the front of the parking lot but not headed to the end of the line. No! They're going to cut in line!!

And they did once the clock hit six. Well, I vividly remember a couple of bitches going around the last stantion and joining us. They put their heads down as if hoping none of us would notice. But we all did, stupid. Only a few us catcalled them: "Hey! You cut in line! Go back to the end of the line! Be a grown-up!" I was not one of the catcallers. But in a different mood than the one I was at then, I could've.

This time I really needed a shopping cart. There was some pushing and shoving. When I saw those two cunts that cut in line grab a cart from an employee, another guy rushed right in and took it from them, saying something to the effect of, "You cut in line, you don't get this cart!" They got another one anyway. It made little difference, and yet I agree with the principle of what he did. Fairness, that's all. But in that ephemeral act of Black Friday Justice, I saw the dark side of me, a side I know I've shown to the world often, a side I was ready to wield as a weapon if provoked for something as little and as stupid as the last pair of fucking dark socks. There were so many goddamn people in the store, by God, that I could've been ten times as worse as those two rude women or that vindictive man. That anger, that acceptance of the use of force to get what I want, that is in me. That is me. And I hated seeing the monster side of me reflected in that little exchange.

Men don't want to ask for directions, yet they generally don't want to shop longer than they have to. Those two facts don't reconcile, and that's brought into sharp relief on Black Friday. You either are left alone to get your shit, or you get out as soon as you fucking can, but not both, not today. So I did what I think many of the guys (and lesbians) did; I just went up to the first worker I saw and asked him or her where this product is. Once I got that, I went up to another employee and asked where the next item in my shopping list is. I still couldn't get anywhere fast because of the crush of rabid consumers; hell, waiting in line to check out took about 40 minutes -- but I really would've gone postal if I didn't ask for directions. Maybe I should do that more often.

By the way, a nice young woman piling in line for one of the checkout registers handed me the box of plastic food containers, the last item on my Menards list. There can be civilization amid the chaos if you find it.

There were at least four lines leading to the checkout lanes. How can people shop at this place Black Friday morning? But everything went well, and no one tried to steal the knockoff Snuggies and puffer coats out of my cart while I wasn't looking.

Look, the first time I do anything I anticipate with loathing because I fear the unknown. Once I face all the bad things that could happen I feel prepared for the next time I do it. But not this. I got some great deals, but there's nothing, and I mean nothing, that would interest me so much that I feel I would have to line up early in the morning to buy it. And fend my way through other people -- and potential get into a fight with someone -- just so I could get my hands on some material goods.

I do this for my parents, but for no other reason. And they can clean up my room if one of these Black Fridays I wind up murdered by a guy who really wanted those $2 slippers for his wife.