Black Friday

Silly me!  I thought Black Friday was the day after Thanksgiving when we’re somewhat disheartened, having, despite our best resolve, blown the diet by 5,000 calories. We’ve also come to terms, as we do each year at this time, that we do not like our twin cousins Eddy and Betty, or their mother, Aunt Trudy. We realize Uncle Pat will forever be getting drunk before the turkey is served, and there’s not a thing we can do about it. We are, as they say, powerless over people, places and things and we have to accept it. If we don’t, we will be very angry and depressed indeed. Thanksgiving is an odd holiday, a celebration of excess sugar, meat and fowl, strange tubers and gratitude.

The day of over-indulgence is followed by Black Friday, the holiday of over-spending.  Some stores open before dawn and promise savings such as are not seen in the lifetime of an average human. Indeed, these places, boiling over with the milk of human kindness, are almost giving away their wares, and who are we not to appreciate such sacrifices? If we are good, smart and discriminating shoppers, we will forthwith and without a second’s pause rush to such establishments, and partake of their kindnesses. Never mind that a recent survey showed that an alarmingly high number of us are still paying off the 2009 Christmas debt.

The newspaper in our driveway weighs eight pounds this morning, but only has five ounces of news. All the rest is catalogs, broadsheets, invitations to partake in the above-referenced incredible bargains, and if we go to the mall and spend a few hours (and dollars) there, we might be lucky enough to return after our houseguests have joined the crowded roads and airspace to return to Idaho, Maine or Florida.

Me, I’m always sort of lonely on Black Friday. I avoid taking the leftovers proffered the night before—tasty as they might be, they have no place in my fridge. I’m fairly certain most of the people I know are dealing with a bad tryptophan hangover. It’s hard to find someone to have lunch with. And it’s hard to find someone not dreading the next holiday, scheduled for less than a month from now. And people are moody after Thanksgiving. It simply never unfolds as it is supposed to. A friend calls it the most bitter of holidays. I suspect that long-term and short-term relationships end at Thanksgiving, possibly suffocated by the food, the environment and the resentments. It’s that kind of a day.

Going shopping on Black Friday is anathema. Really, I have nothing I need to buy, and I’ve already selected the presents I will give my friends. This being said, the 36-inch (diagonal) hi-def surround sound flat screen TV is tempting at the new, low low price. There will be a rebate too, and maybe even a few months’ of free cable access (basic subscription only). And a six month membership to Net Flix, a free copy of Avatar 3-D with accompanying glasses, a set of NFL mugs, 12 packs of microwave popcorn, a case of Diet Coke or Mountain Dew so the young ones can get really wired, and a big plastic bottle of mild salsa. This is almost too good to pass up; I could easily justify the purchase since they’re more or less paying me to take the thing home. It’s sort of like walking by a bar that’s offering free booze.  Who would pass such a deal?

So me, on Black Friday, I rake leaves. I go to one or two twelve-step meetings. I commune with my cat and vacuum the spent fur accumulated under the sofa. I think of friends both here and gone, and parents and siblings who’ve passed on. And I do give thanks for remaining at the top of the foods chain and realizing I don’t need any new doodad to appreciate being there.