When I decided to stop at a local strip mall to try my hand at Black Friday shopping, I truly feared the worst.
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Over the last 24 hours, everywhere I turned, I was reminded at how dreadful a Black Friday shopping experience could truly be. There were stabbings, shootings and general melee in all corners of the country. What would my suburban Virginia town bring?
Dispatches from my friends and family reported a variety of calamities: long lines, angry customers, and distraught employees. This is to be expected, however, I wanted to see it for myself.
I pride myself on many things, chief among them my ability to purchase an extremely thoughtful and perfect gift. Nothing about the items available on Black Friday would ever scream “thoughtful”, so this year, I was the selfish shopper.
Armed with my credit card and a desire to update my winter wardrobe, I ventured off into the masses.
My first stop was Men’s Wearhouse, a quality store armed with the abilities to help me up my business casual swag. The Internet informed me that most items in the store were buy one get one free, and a $700 suit would now cost a quarter of the price. As I walked into the store and surveyed the landscape, there were dozens of men, young and old armed with the same swag inducing hopes that I had. As I perused each rack, I began tabulating savings in my head.
The two-for-ones and the heavy discounts are great but pose an issue to the indecisive like myself. Just what would be my best buy?
I tried on one jacket, then two, then three, then four, hoping that I would find a fit so perfect that I would have to make a purchase. Next I went to the jeans, they too were heavily discounted, but something seemed off. While I did want to up my winter swag, I wasn’t exactly in dire need of any of these items.
One man at the checkout counter had stacks of items. He was explaining to the associate that he hadn’t bought a new suit in a very long time, and had just lost a considerable amount of weight. I watched as the woman rang him up, his eyes widened when he saw his savings. The thought occurred to me — I too could be this man.
But alas, I was not this man. In the hour or so that I spent in the store, I tried on, intended to purchase and put back almost a dozen items. Feeling a little embarrassed and quite overwhelmed, I left the store hoping that my next stop would let me joins the legions of American’s expressing their right to indulge.
Old Navy is a very different store than Men’s Wearhouse and thus, Old Navy was a very different experience.
I can only imagine what the place looked like when they opened that morning. My best guess brought images of a clean and orderly store, where all the winter items were neatly pressed and ready to make someone’s Christmas Day a brighter one. What I walked into was an all out war-zone.
Clothes were strewn across the floor. Sneakers lay stacked upon affordable pea coats. Children were playing with their toys in the aisles, as their parents savaged to find the best deals. I didn’t witness any fights the Internet had promised me, but I did notice something more personal.
On more than one occasion I observed two people looking indecisively at the same item. When one of them would look away, the other would snatch up the item and carry it around the store in order to privately inspect it. Eventually they would throw the item somewhere it didn’t belong, satisfied that they had made the right choice. This fascinated me. Even if they didn’t buy it, they needed those extra moments to have it and imagine it, for fear of what they would think if they put it back and never knew what joy the holiday deal would bring.
I soon found a sweater and a shirt to match, then some black pants and a pair of slacks. Pleased that I kept my composure and didn’t need to ask anyone to “take it outside,” I started towards the line. The line in question was about 60 people long. It stretched from the seven registers all the way to the back of the store.
An employee, armed with a bullhorn, was holding a contest to keep some semblance of order. Perched above a stack of women’s stockings, the young men asked trivia questions and gave out coupons.
This led to 25 minutes of people screaming out answers to inane trivia (this was no game of Jeopardy) and then arguing with the employee about why their wrong answer deserved a second chance. If they were rewarded, then other people would join in the complaining, arguing why the person ahead of them had received something extra. I imagined that the boy on the bullhorn had better things to do. He looked like he was still the age where meeting friends at the mall for pizza was the coolest thing around.
As each person yelled out to him, his stress levels clearly rose. After a few more minutes of people shouting over one another, he stepped down from his perch and rejoined the masses. It was then that several coupons fell out of the bag he was holding. The masses, seeing this opening, dove for the coupons in a way I had only seen after a Sunday Night Football fumble. Men pushed baby carriages, and women gossiped about what was fair and what wasn’t. People clearly left their shopping inhibitions at the door.
When I finally got to the register, I asked the cashier how her day had gone, but she was in no mood to chat. I left the store, pleased with my ability to save $80.
Maybe I’m a cynic, I, too, get the excitement of rushing for deals, but I think I will do all my selfish shopping online next year.
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