Every Thanksgiving, thousands
leave the family reunion to participate
in the annual one-night stand.
Many believe that this night of
standing in line represents a sick
sort of selfishness, but those of
us who participate know that it’s
not.
It’s a celebration, and it’s a
game. Many of the first people in
the lines of more than 300 don’t
buy anything. This year, I waited
in line for 13 hours, and, after I
got in the store, I decided to let
someone else use the voucher for
the computer I was going to buy.
I cut the turkey dinner short at
4 p.m. (Frankly, I prefer pizza.)
My brother and I rushed to an
electronics store where we were
the fifth and sixth in line.
According to Sunday’s “Good
Morning America,” Black Friday
spending reached $10.3 billion, up
more than 8 percent from last year.
This surprised their “experts,”
who had predicted no more than a
5 percent increase, but not me.
I’ve been doing it for five years,
and every year I’ve seen it get
more popular. The first year I was
able to get in to two major electronics
stores when they opened
and the lines were short when I
showed up minutes before the
stores opened. The second year, I
went to an electronics store after
midnight, and I was the seventh
person in line. This year there was
a group of at least 100 by midnight.
This year, my brother and the
three people who got there before
us pooled our resources to watch
a DVD on a laptop that we set
on an extra chair. We enjoyed the
movie after we covered the store’s
lights with cardboard and tape to
eliminate the glare. This sort of
thing led to a sense of friendship
and teamwork, but no names were
exchanged. We all knew that the
bonds between us were as strong
as they were temporary.
Some time in the night, a news
van pulled in to the parking lot, and
one man with a camera walked out
to interview us. My brother and I
had worn boxing gloves for just
such an occasion. “They’re really
warm, and, well, if anyone tries
to cut in line….,” I said, glancing
over to my brother who is much
larger than I am.
A few hours later, a friend who
I had hardly seen in years, came.
She said that she was living in the
area and she had seen me in line
on the news. We talked for a while
but because it was only 22 degrees
outside, she didn’t stay long.
She wasn’t the only familiar
face that I saw, however. Many of
the people around me in line were
the same people who I had met
last year in the same line. Though
we only see snapshots of each
other, it’s interesting to see how
drastically that snapshot changes
after just one year.
After about 10 hours of waiting,
I always get to the same point.
I become bitter, tired, and cold,
and I start to regret ever coming. It
reminds me of the “Buy Nothing
Day” campaign against consumerism,
run by the folks at adbusters.
com. While I don’t agree with
their premise, and the goals of
many of their grammatically-challenged
activists, I can understand
part of their point.
The site says that a “Buy
Nothing Christmas” is “about taking
a deep breath and deciding
to opt out of the hype‚ the overcrowded
malls‚ and the stressful
to–do lists. It’s about reminding
ourselves to really think about
what we are buying‚ why we are
buying it‚ and whether we really
need it at all.”
If that’s the way they feel about
it, they should just stay home on
Black Friday. But the attitude is
more anti-social than it is anticonsumerism.
I enjoy the long
lines, the crowded malls, and the
“hype.” I even headed to the mall
after a brief nap on Friday, and yes,
there were a lot of people there,
but it was fun. Looking around, I
saw people smiling. People were
enjoying the company of their
friends and family, and celebrating
the season through their love
for each other.
When it’s all over, I always
ask myself the same things. Was
it worth it? Will I do it again next
year? And my answers are always
the same: yes, and probably.