Scott Green

This classic Scott Green column was originally published November 29, 2007.  Scott returns with an all-new column Monday, December 7.

Around harvest season in 1621, a year in which the funny hat supply ran devastatingly low, the Pilgrims hosted a feast with whichever of the local Indians they had not yet killed.  And when it came time for the main course they ate as quickly as possible, so as to be first in line at Ye Olde Walle-Marte to buy discount flat-panel HDTVs.  It was the first post-Thanksgiving sale.

Even the men went shopping that year, as there were no football games on television.  This was largely because the NFL had not yet been invented, though the Plymouth Rock-Gazette was already speculating about when Brett Favre would retire.

It was in the spirit of those simpler times that I headed to a big box electronics store in Deer Park, Illinois 8 hours after Thanksgiving dinner to get first crack at a “Black Friday” sale.

The place was scheduled to open at 5 a.m., and I arrived around 3:45 having not slept in over 20 hours.  About 120 or 130 people were already lined up in a queue that stretched past the other stores in the strip mall.

With me in the 14-degree wind chill were my sister, Amy, and our friend Carrie.  I was there for a $30 radar detector, marked down from $60; Amy was braving the elements to buy an $8 calculator; and Carrie had come for a shot at over 70 DVDs at $4 apiece.  Some of them, like “I, Robot,” were still overpriced.

We started making line friends, but there was still the tension of knowing that, should the situation turn dire, we would have to kill and eat each other.  The topic of conversation was mostly our wonderment at the people at the front of the line: we were jealous they were going to be the only ones to snag the top deals, but this was offset by an equal amount of pity.  Hey, we thought, at least WE weren’t dumb enough to endure a night of bitter cold for a couple of mail-in rebates.

Finally curiosity got to me and I walked toward the entrance to meet the first people in line.  This earned nasty glares from everyone I passed along the way, who thought I was trying to cut.  It was the majesty of the holiday spirit.

Five women huddled together at the store’s door, trying to keep warm in the final stretch of the evening.  They’d eaten a hearty turkey lunch at noon and were first to arrive, at 4:45 p.m.  They killed the time by watching DVDs on a laptop purchased on a previous Black Friday.  Just like the Pilgrims.

The women were family, and spending Thanksgiving night in front of a store is one of their traditions.  This was the tenth straight year they’d done it; they tend to pick a different retailer every time, depending on where they find the best deals.  They were surprisingly normal, though this Black Friday stuff was serious business to them.  When I asked if they’ve ever sold any of their merchandise, they were shocked.

“No, never!” said Debbie, the group’s ringleader.  But then she smiled and made a peace offering: a voucher for a $399 laptop she said she didn’t really want.  It was as moving as the Indians bringing an assortment of deer carcasses at the first Thanksgiving.  I would have cried if my tear ducts hadn’t frozen shut.

I went back to my spot in line with Amy and Carrie, and at exactly 5 a.m. we began the march into the store.  When I got to the automotive section, they had not yet sold out of the radar detectors.  In fact, there were approximately 9,472 radar detectors, and exactly zero other patrons attempting to purchase them.  I could have come in any time Black Friday to buy my $30 radar detector; I probably could have gone to the dumpster after Christmas for overstock.  Neither of those options would have required an all-nighter.

But the important thing is, I now know what it takes to wait in line on Black Friday for discounted merchandise.  What it takes is:  stupidity.  Because as it turned out, the same radar detector was available online at midnight.  I bet the Pilgrims never made that mistake.

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