Diary of Black Friday Hunter
This is a revised version of something I wrote several years ago. As I no longer have the means (or the babysitters) to go out in the wee hours of the morn, I am denied the hunt for the elusive deal. Based on reports from the field, and from the hubs who was acting as game warden at Target, my observations still ring true.
As someone who cannot recall ever participating in the Black Friday ritual, I didn't understand why year after year people subject themselves to the insanity.
The line stretched, and stretched, and stretched.
(Photo courtesy of Chris Miller)
Ok, I get it; I see now: it's the thrill of the hunt.
As I stood in line to pay for my $3 coffee maker, I couldn't help but be a little proud of my kill. I wasn't at the doors when they opened and I wasn't the quickest hunter on the Savannah, but I got my prize, and others were now viewing me with a mix of envy and disgust.
I made the mistake of hunting alone, however.
Black Friday shopping requires a pride of lions. One woman (or reluctant husband/boyfriend) is needed to stand in line, several other women are needed to surround the herd (the items wanted at a store) and attack from all angles, and one woman (maybe two) is needed to grab a cart and close up the rear. Constant communication is necessary. All hunters in the pride must have cell phones and/or walkie talkies on and at the ready in the case of an item that has gotten away, but perhaps discarded in a remote location of the store.
Apparently rival packs moved in on the shoe department at Belk's, this year. Wedges and flats were being picked through by so many vultures only to be run off by a dominating pride. It was described as carnage.
Will I do this again? Was the blood lust enough to keep me coming back year after year?
To be honest, I don't know. It was an experience and a social experiment if nothing else. It was fascinating to see domesticated humans revert back to a tribal mentality where it was kill (shop) or be killed (return home to disappointed children).