Walkabout: PI
Happenings in the Star City
For years, I have refused to even go near a store on Black Friday. But it somehow became one of those “experience” goals — one of those things you feel you ought to experience at least once.
Yes, I enjoy shopping. And at holiday time it’s especially fun — the hustle and bustle, happy music everywhere, and the season seems to make people just a little kinder and more giving — a small reminder of what Christmas is really all about.
But Black Friday shopping? I never could imagine rushing into a store and battling bottleneck entrances, squeezing among throngs of frenzied shoppers, fighting your way to shelves, waiting an hour in line to buy your cartful … Admittedly I have a touch of claustrophobia, so it’s partly survival instinct. When pressed in a crowd, I just might wind up on the ceiling.
But I had to dive in and give it a go. Overall, it was unbelievable. I was amazed at the lines and lines of people at Wal-Mart. This is something we don’t see in our neck of the woods on an average day: hundreds of cars pouring into the parking lot from both entrances, crowds lined up the entire sidewalk and spilling out all over — and, unlike what happens in some places (this is The County, after all), most everyone looking happy, calm and being extremely patient.
However, I did not join that line. That was just too big for me. But another store opened at 12:01 a.m. Friday: JC Penney at the mall.
I wasn’t sure what to expect, but as I drove down in I could see the breadth of it: The parking lots were crammed, from the main entrance over to the former Porteous door. There were cars (mine included) driving around and around looking for a place to roost.
This store, I would try. It seemed smaller and more manageable, and they had a great buy on a gift I was looking for.
So I braved it. Somehow the door swallowed me. I was in. And stuck. I have never — ever — seen so many people in a store, with the possible exception of Filene’s Basement when I visited Boston some years ago.
There were so many people thronged around the cash registers that I couldn’t move. Finally, a small opening appeared. I swam and sidestepped my way around until I found the gift I wanted, and a couple more, and I made my way to a line.
My normally spot-on sense of direction had me wondering why the quilts and pillows were in the men’s department — until I realized I’d gotten turned around and was at the opposite bank of registers.
I noted how most everyone around me seemed to be taking things in stride. There was no pushing, no shouting; folks were smiling, relatively calm; the air was filled with the chatter of many, many voices.
I was in line for about 10 minutes. Then beads of sweat started rolling down my neck. The temperature around me seemed to have rocketed to 90 degrees. I started taking deep breaths.
At the end of it, I looked at the sea of people in front of me, many with arms piled, others with rolling carts mounded high. I glanced at the items in my hand — all three of them. And I knew I was kidding myself. I wasn’t going to make it. I would return for the gifts at a calmer time.
I felt like a lonely salmon, swimming upstream through that crowd. I put the merchandise back and wove through the throng toward the door. At last I was on the sidewalk, gulping fresh air.
“I am a failed shopper,” I thought.
But then, I reasoned, my goal had been to be there and experience the rush. And that, I did do.
And, if nothing else, I maybe worked off some of that Thanksgiving dinner …
