On Black Friday I was dealing with some severe back pain. What with the giant screen TVs, the treadmills, and the new furniture — well, I never should have carried in all those newspaper ads from the front porch in one trip.
My wife and I have always avoided Black Friday bargain hunting. We believe that shopping on Black Friday is losing popularity because it’s getting so crowded in the stores. That last sentence may not make sense, unless you are Yogi Berra. I say let’s have Black Friday on a Monday when most people are at work. That would thin out the masses, wouldn’t it? Hello, is anyone listening to me?
We are tempted every year to try shopping on this busiest of days, but my wife is funny about crowds. Oh, it’s not that she’s afraid of germs—she’s just a little fearful of being trampled. An image of someone being squashed is a part of the lead news story each year on the day after Thanksgiving, a kind of symbolic way to tell people that the bargains are to die for. I am not making light of this. It is far worse than getting caught under the mistletoe by a creepy relative.
The Wolfsies stayed home on this Black Friday, but we didn’t want to get a reputation for not taking part in any of the classic holiday rituals, so we found a way to feel depressed—which is another holiday tradition. It was easy to accomplish it. All we had to do was read through the newspaper and realize how much money we had already lost on these advertised items. Not the savings we missed by not shopping on Friday, but all the moola we blew throughout the past year by being impatient and not waiting until Black Friday.