Its the most wonderful time of the year

So here we go again...that little cringe that starts in the small of my back and slowly creeps up in between my shoulder blades and results in a full body dread that has been known to send me into catatonic fits. I am of course talking about the impending doom that is Black Friday. Even though I have been out of the retail business for the better part of six years, there is still a dread that infiltrates my soul as we approach the Thanksgiving, my own little slice of Post-Thanksgiving Stress Disorder.
I don't know if the greater majority of America truly appreciates the horror that is Black Friday. That one day that we shed our Dr. Jeckyll exterior to expose our Mr. Hyde-and-shop door buster selves. We change from normally controlled, only slightly neurotic individuals into a frenzied mob of hooting neanderthals scrambling to get the most stuff into our shopping carts, as quickly as possible. We lose that sensibility and practicality that we seem to pride ourselves on so much.
Perhaps it is an after effect of the large amounts of tryptophan from the turkey, or even just the need to feel like we are getting one up on the Joneses by getting our shopping done early. Yet for whatever reason the transformation is complete, and for those of us who have spent time on the other side of the register, down right scary.
I can remember arriving at my store in a small town mall at 4am to make sure that we were ready to go at the 5am door opening. The line was already around the corner, old women in their various holiday sweatshirts imploring us to "keep Christ in Christmas", sleepy kids that had been dragged out bed to stand in the cold, and of course the hung over mothers and daughters that had put their differences aside "for the holidays". I approached the door, already cursing under my breath at the fact that I had gotten up at an hour that most of my college friends were just returning from the bars.
"Hey fat boy!" It was one of the grannies in her "Merry Catmas" sweatshirt, "The line starts back there!" The rhinestone eyes of the cat on her shirt twinkled under the street light. "I have been here since 2 am and I'll be damned if somebody is going to pass me in line."
Now I would hazard a bet that this particular grannie had administered several good mouthwashings in her time--probably fond of using the lava soap on the kids--for their use of foul language. Yet here she was, swearing as easily as any ten year old. I just smiled and wished her a Merry Christmas, as my boss let me through the door.
Inside I found my fellow teammates bleary eyed and dreading the next ten hours of their respective shifts. We moved as zombies, going through the various routines necessary for opening the story, but as zoned out as we were, we remained conscious of the time. Some detached part of our psyche kept pace with the long hand of the clock as it swept quickly to the 6 and then climbed with amazing speed toward the 12. As if the clock was not enough, the press of grannie flesh outside the main doors provided a constant reminder.
At 4:55am the tuggers started working the doors. These are the people that come and try the doors, pulling on them to see if they are open even though no one with keys has gone anywhere near the doors. 4:57 brought us all to the center of the store where we drew lots to see who would be the unfortunate person that opened the doors. Opening the doors on Black Friday is somewhat akin to the running of the bulls in Spain. The unlucky person chosen for this position has to somehow manage to convince the people to back up from the door, to take the pressure off the lock so that the key can turn the tumbler. Then, once the door is unlocked, the person has the choice of running ahead of the pack of shoppers or, as in most cases, just getting the hell out of the way. The only thing that saves most people from being trampled to death is the fact that the doors open out, so the mob has to step back before they can rush in.
And rush in is exactly what they do, generally at high speeds with little care for themselves or those around them. Many have already mapped out a plan of where the good deals are and will run anybody over to get to them. I have seen grannies run though packs of people with skills that would make a college football running back jealous, most of the time dragging some poor grandkid like a skier. Good thing most of the kids that year were wearing those heely shoes. They just lifted their toes and let grannie do the pulling.
I wonder what this year will bring with our recession and the proverbial tightening of our belts. I don't think the crowds will be any less, or the people any less frenzied--old habits die hard. I suppose the best we can hope for is that in the midst of the mad sprint for the 50% off bin that there is a moment of reflective pause to consider all the good things we do have in our lives, or at least how much those good things will appreciate the great pair of christmas light earrings that you got for $2.00. Viva la percent off.

Until next time...

M