Blackest Friday

It seems that on Thanksgiving, following the annual carb-fest we call the Thanksgiving Feast, I lost my sanity for a short time. I think massive carbs overload might bring on a momentary deficiency of judgment at anytime, but particularly when the need for all that shopping looms large.

How else can you explain Black Friday?

We were sitting at the table, contemplating our agony. I remember that I looked at my wine glass and wondered how many hours it would be before I could make room for that last swallow of Merlot when granddaughter Kylee asked, “When can we have pie?”

That’s a dangerous scenario. Some of us issued distressed moans as we tried to consider the implications of just one more tasty morsel while others considered physical violence toward anyone daft enough to mention it again.

A few hours earlier, the thought of pumpkin pie with whipped cream or pecan pie with ice cream sounded heavenly to each of us; now the idea was torture.

As the hostess, I bravely attempted to distract everyone and mentioned Black Friday.

In total innocence, Kylee said, “What’s Black Friday?” I feel that it is the joint responsibility of her paternal grandmother (who lives in Arizona) and me to provide her with the experiences and knowledge that she would have received from her mommy.

Kylee’s mom died when Kylee was one year old. These lessons can include hosting, decorating (her dad places a string of lights on the philodendron plant in lieu of a Christmas tree), lunch and tea at The Davenport, shopping, and ad infinitum. In an effort to continue her important life education, I decided we would participate in Black Friday.

Mark and Kyle were adamant that they not be included in the plan. They preferred to stay home and watch football.

Or, frankly, golf, tennis, basketball, hockey, or a national dog show; anything but shopping on Black Friday.

That’s an attitude that seems to be shared by most men, and it’s probably best that way.

Kylee was fully engaged in the idea. I found her excitement contagious, and once some of the bountiful carbs began to digest and I could inhale again, even entered into discussions about where we would go. We formed a plan.

We agreed to wait until 9 a.m. to leave home because Mark was concerned about freezing fog, and to meet Kyle and Mark at 1p.m. for a late lunch at the Rusty Moose in Airway Heights.

That gave is three shopping hours which sounded to me like a reasonable amount for a novice.

At 9 a.m. exactly we departed. Our first stop was Toys R Us.

That should put sheer terror into any shopper, but it wasn’t bad.

Following a couple more stops, we ended at Macy’s for the express purpose of finding a sweater or shirt for Kylee to wear to a High Tea a friend of mine was hosting the next day and to which Kylee was also invited.

It was her first experience of its kind and she was very excited.

We found the ideal item for her and stood in line. We were sixth from the clerks, which is okay under normal circumstances. We stood and stood and the line didn’t move forward.

Instead it lengthened.

Women began murmuring and impatiently shifting, never a good sign. Still the line didn’t move forward. Then the ladies began speaking in louder tones. The impatience was clearly mounting.

Finally, ladies began leaving the line to find another station where they could pay for their items.

As Kylee and I were about to do likewise, it became clear that one clerk was new on the job and she was attempting to help a woman who had a mountain of purchases, was being difficult, and wanted to open a new account.

The other clerk was just slow and deliberate beyond efficiency.

Finally, a floor manager (who, had he been the one who decided to make Black Friday the day to train a new employee, should have been very afraid), stepped up to the challenge and helped move the line along.

That scenario inspires rage among people who are normally polite, gentle, friendly law abiders.

Kylee and I finally carried our purchases out of the store, dropped a contribution into the Salvation Army pot which is a holiday tradition in our family, and to the parking lot where I found the car on the first trek down a parking aisle which in itself was a near miracle.

We were happy with the Black Friday experience which wasn’t bad at all, happy with the purchases we’d made, and looking forward to lunch with our favorite guys.

We laughed at the experience at Macy’s, which is normally a very nice place to shop. Kylee’s education had expanded in a positive way.

We didn’t realize that the hell of Black Friday awaited us just ahead.

The parking lot was a mess of furious women trying to get home. There were policemen directing traffic. It was a battle zone and I had no idea that trying to get away from the mall would be such a freak show.

Women honked, glared, yelled obscenities out open windows at one another, and some used inappropriate gestures.

I wasn’t about to put my car’s dent-free exterior at risk by changing lanes in the parking lot or inviting an encounter, so Kylee and I hunkered down, looked straight ahead and inched our way forward when possible. We were in survival mode.

The parking lot was a different world altogether. These women didn’t fight in the stores, they were friendly and considerate there.

But behind the wheel of their cars, they became potential roller derby or mud wrestler aggressive and mean spirited.

We spent another half hour just exiting the parking lot. It was the worst part of our day.

Next year, if we are lucky enough to have Kyle and Kylee with us for Thanksgiving, Kylee and I will still shop on Black Friday. She needs to learn about selecting gifts for people she loves while applying a budget.

She needs to plan for the shopping experience, and understand the joy that giving can provide. But we will do all that in Ritzville first.