Black celebration

I had no taste for such activities. It was foreign, like going to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, watching ice skating or making a decorative cheese ball. Until this year.

Seems Costco had some sort of deal on backup drives and if we just got there at 9 a.m., we could shuffle in, grab what we needed and hit the line. There was even a promise of a Costco hot dog, which the day after Thanksgiving — at 9 a.m. — seemed just about the unhealthiest idea ever. I had to come to terms with this particular family activity. I’ve been through significantly worse — like Interstate 80 holiday traffic, grad school, shin splints and the discovery of dry rot — so I could manage. The beacon of Costco — with its cinderblock walls, rows and rows of excessively packaged material, oversized shopping carts queuing up with flat-screen televisions and sleepy-looking shoppers sporting Uggs and too-tight Harley-Davidson T-shirts and more muffin tops (if you know what I mean) than those muffins in plastic-wrapped flats — awaited on the rain-soaked horizon glistening like the Emerald City in its horribly magnificent consumer splendor.

I was inside, weighing the value of computer memory versus money in our checking account alongside gleaming display cases of cameras and other fine-looking electronic equipment at the bottom of towering boxes like the last scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark. With a few purchases, I too could be a part of this day, this day in which retailers begin to see a profit. There were purchases (not by me), a quickly and happily remedied problem at the checkout line with a gift card and we were on our way — gripping a free cookbook of Costco products distributed by the saccharin-friendly worker at the door. "Have a great day!”

There, that wasn’t that bad. Kohl’s was the next destination. Did you know the Food Network makes kitchen gear and that Bobby Flay has his own line of glassware? Did you know Kohl’s has $30 pants? It also had two lines stretching the length of the store nearly meeting at the back. We couldn’t hang. No deal was worth it.

But I made it. A few hours immersed in the consumer frenzy. I expected fights, grabbing, bum rushes for the electronics and the latest high-tech doll. Maybe a little slapping or at least an exhibit of tongue-lashing between deal-mad shoppers. There was none of that. Everyone seemed friendly, happy almost, and dare I say, cordial, in the long lines that would make Russia look well-run. I didn’t buy anything, but at least I know now what Black Friday is.

Fast forward a few weeks and my Christmas shopping list still has holes, in fact the only gifts I have committed to were ones purchased by my wife (who called me while on one of her own post-work ventures to report that LEGOs now makes battery-powered robots that shoots fictional flames from its hands — don’t tell Zach). I knew it was time for my own fruitful venture out into retail-land. Now, however, the mood is different. It’s dark. There is still a strong showing of holiday cheer, at least outward displays of it with red and green sweaters and wreath-clad Mercedes, but the mood is more desperate, fatigued ... selfish. I was among crowds acting like pheromone-deprived ants. There were no anecdotes about good deals and gift plans in lines — only pursed lips, aggressive stroller moves and the tap-tap-tapping of feet of depraved and atavistic Jingle-Bell sweater lovers dripping with disdain because I was the recipient of the frazzled clerk’s phrase, "who’s next?”

The mood spreads to the parking lots and roads, with people having no problem of cutting another off in traffic or turning the car quickly to get that one coveted covered space near the door. There are honks and hand gestures and just how many times do we need to hear that Mariah Carey Christmas song? Where, oh where, is the joy? The camaraderie? The fellowship?

I kind of miss Black Friday, with its good cheer and fresh "can-do” attitudes. Next year, I think it’s backup drives for everyone. Maybe muffins.

Jon Mays is the editor in chief of the Daily Journal. He can be reached at jon@smdailyjournal.com.