A Lighter View
Thankful for Black Friday?
By K.E.H. Stagg

Nov. 26, 2009

Thanksgiving is a wonderful holiday! Families gather together and think about the blessings in their lives. It’s a good warm-up to the season of peace on earth and goodwill to mankind. However, there’s a little glitch in the spirit of giving and gratitude sandwiched between these two great festivities, and it’s called—appropriately—Black Friday.

You’ll never find official record of this anywhere, but trust me on this: Black Friday is named for the Black Plague, also known as Black Death, The Great Plague or the more mundane bubonic plague. The disease that carried off millions of people in the Middle Ages was the harbinger of a day centuries later in which otherwise sane folks would be carried away in the pursuit of bargain shopping.

Having survived one encounter about 6 years, I vowed then and there that I was going to consider it my warning inoculation and would steer clear of danger areas from then on in order to prevent infestation of Black Friday-itis into my own life.

First of all, the wackos should come with visible warning labels, but the sad truth is that they masquerade as completely normal and trustworthy fellow citizens. The insanity only manifests itself when those of us who really are sane attempt to do something to set them off like, say, get in line to check out. Oooh, baby! Watch the bell go off and the lights flash on the insane-o-meter.

I got body-checked by one woman of a certain age whose tag team wrestling cohort rammed her shopping cart into my shins because they thought I was headed toward the latest must-have gadget for children in the Western Hemisphere. Once the tears finished flowing and my breathing resumed, I was able to croak out the truth that I was simply walking to an adjacent aisle and the pause in my step wasn’t to snag the last remaining discounted thingie-whatsit. You know what I’m talking about—there’s only two offered at a special rate at two stores a thousand miles apart, and the rabid shoppers plot their strategy with the religious fervor of big-game hunters and stake their claim on the sidewalk a day ahead of time.

My favorite aspect of observing Black Friday—before I learned my painful lesson and have since stayed safely inside my own home—was how many parents drag their children along on the free-for-all. There’s nothing like hearing the roar of mother at her young offspring for warming the special holiday feeling: “I mean it, Billy Bob. Don’t make me tell you one more time, or I’m going to whup your behind so hard, you won’t be able to sit for a year!”

There’s also the threat of presents not-to-come combined with the completely nonsensical flexing of the “santa card”: “Santa Claus won’t bring you this electronic gadget if you don’t quit whining. See? I’m putting it back. You’re not going to find it under the Christmas tree.”

This year while the rest of Dillsburg and its environs are engaged in WWE tactics to nab the lowest priced gotta-have-it gizmo, I’m going to be snug at home, sipping cocoa by the fire and laughing my head off at the nutcases who brandish their handguns in order to make off with the bargain priced goods.