The only time I went Black Friday shopping without having to work at a retail job, I was in the Pocono Mountains in northeastern Pennsylvania with my mom. I hardly had to clutch my jacket around me because not a flake of snow was on the ground and the air was less than brisk.
Like so many past years, we were spending Thanksgiving at my grandparent’s house in an old coal-mining town outside of Scranton.
The day was bright, the air was cool, but comfortable and we were just looking for something to do while everyone sat-off the caloric feast from the previous day.
Since I turned 16 years old, my Black Fridays have been consigned to waking up before 5 a.m. and making the long drive to work in a car that was still warming up by the time I got to the parking lot.
The first year, actually, was pretty fun. I don’t mind being out when the streetlights are still on and everyone’s house lights are still off.
I got to work at 6 a.m. My fellow sales associates and I spent the first four hours with our boots off, sitting on the floor, marking the new prices on bras. The first customer didn’t walk through the front doors until about 10 a.m.
I’m not expecting that kind of laid back, shoes off, no customer atmosphere this year.
I’m also not expecting to spend much time in the warmth of my grandparent’s house, surrounded with home-cooked food, the newest infant girl blowing mouth bubbles, first-graders running around or the discussions about priests and Republicans from my notoriously political family. I’m not sure I’ll get to hear my mom and her siblings retell stories of how my Great-grandma Arthur would run through the long list of first names until she got to the right one: “Debbie, Susan, Kathy, Julie – one of you answer! Whoever you are!”
Instead, I’m thinking of making the five-hour drive back to Buffalo in the pitch black so I can make it to work at 3 a.m. on Black Friday.
No, I’m not sacrificing my entire holiday so I can service the needs of all the deluded shoppers out there who think deals on Thanksgiving are worth the sacrifice of millions of associates who cannot spend time with their family.
I might make the five-hour trip to northeastern Pennsylvania Wednesday morning and drive back right after Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday.
Yes, I’ll probably be miserable at work. But too bad – you’re desires do not override the need to see my family, whom I haven’t been able to visit since my one-day trip last Thanksgiving.
I love my retail job, a lot – don’t get me wrong. But I’m glad I don’t have to work Thanksgiving.
Newsflash: the sales on Black Friday are no better than what you’ll get for the rest of the season. Except, from what I’ve heard, electronics are definitely cheaper. I wouldn’t know though – the last electronic I bought was my laptop three years ago.
If you pay attention to store promotions, then you’ll realize Black Friday deals, or should I say Thanksgiving deals, extend well to Christmas – and after.
Boycott the whole damn thing.
The only reason stores are forcing underpaid and minimum-wage employees to skip dessert and rush into work is because they believe people will buy into the whole damn thing. They expect you to buy terrible-quality clothing made by children in sweatshops around the world to give to your loved ones, who probably will then return it the day after Christmas – the day with the highest return volume out of the year. Ironic, right?
Instead, stay home with your family – finish dessert, watch television and reminisce. Don’t step foot in a mall; make a declaration that you respect the rights of the worker and you don’t value consumerism and capitalism over familial connections.
This Christmas, I’m going all out with small, local businesses. I don’t intend on buying anything from the mall for my loved ones. Instead, I’ll peruse the boutiques on Elmwood and Allen for handmade and local gifts that will benefit local business holders, not multi-million dollar CEO’s who I guarantee will be home, snug like a bug in a rug with their family on Thanksgiving.
Sure, I have to work. I’ll be at the mall. I was lucky enough to get off for Thanksgiving. My fellow sales associates aren’t so lucky, along with millions of other workers in America. Nonetheless, I’m lucky to have a job. I have some extra money to spend on my loved ones because I do work retail. But I don’t agree with the ideology behind the consumerism that demands stores open on Thanksgiving.
And yet, I know people will flock to the stores; mass consumerism at its finest.
I wonder when they’ll get rid of Thanksgiving all together.
Probably next year.
Think about that when you walk through the glass doors of the mall next week.
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