That Time We Went Shopping on Black Friday

Black Friday is something I avoid. The idea of shopping the day after (or night of) Thanksgiving overwhelms me. Long lines, busy traffic, and getting in a wrestling match over a Hugging Elmo can create anxiety butterflies in my stomach full of turkey and pie. I’m more of an online shopper.

My mom, on the other hand, loves Black Friday. She and Dad usually go out shopping together the night of Thanksgiving, a Bonnie and Clyde tag team amongst the crowds and craze.

But last year, fate intervened, and I found myself at Walmart on the night of Thanksgiving.

“Lindsay, I have to work on Thanksgiving night,” my mom explained one early November afternoon. “Can you please go out and help your Dad? There’s this big screen TV on sale at Walmart we want to pick up.”

I looked at her. We all have our faults, and Mom and I both knew cranky shopping was mine. I have like, a two-hour maximum shopping threshold, and it’s all downhill from there. I’m like a toddler. I’m not proud of it.

“Mom,” I said after a pause, “I just don’t think I would be good at it like you are. You know I’m not the best shopper.”

“I know, honey, but I don’t want your Dad to go out there alone,” Mom continued. “It will be fine. It’s one store, just for the TV and a few video games for your brother, and that’s it. Adam could come with. All you have to do is stand in line.”

I already felt bad Mom wouldn’t be able to go out shopping with Dad. Every year after their price tag slashing conquests, she complained about how tired she was and how she “would never do THAT again.” But I knew better. I knew she loved scooping up the deals like ice cream flavors. So I decided, in that moment, to rise above.  Rise above my shopping dislikes and take my mother’s place—sort of like in that Disney movie, Mulan, when Mulan goes to battle in place of her father. I would bring honor to the family! I would fight the Battle of Black Friday! I WOULD GET THAT GINORMOUS WALMART TV.

“Well, okay,” I said after a pause.

It’s not like I’d be out all night like the Hardcore Shoppers, I thought. The stamina of those people is impressive. Survival of the Shoppers’ Fittest, and I was at the bottom of the retail chain. But I thought again of Mulan and Mom and family honor, and as my mom gave me a hug of thanks, I was glad I said yes.

On the afternoon of Thanksgiving, Dad, Adam and I set the plan. Dad would drive his truck, while Adam and I would drive in Adam’s Taurus. We’d meet at Walmart and assess the situation once we got there. The anxiety and excitement were starting to rile me up. So many questions. Would we get the big TV? Would we have to wait in line all night? How many people would be there?

Day turned to dinnertime, turkey became a carcass and the side dishes found new homes in plastic Tupperware containers, officially deemed Leftovers. Mom left for work, giving me a hug and a “Good luck, honey! Thanks so much!” as she walked out the door. I smiled and gave her a thumbs-up. “Okay guys, I’ll see you there,” Dad said as we walked out the door, cell phones charged and jackets on.

And we were off.

In the car, Adam and I turned on the Christmas music. This was our first Thanksgiving as a couple, and I liked the idea of Adam, Dad and I doing something together as a team—building the family bond, breaking in the boyfriend with the father and all that. Little did I know what the night had in store for us.

“Do you think Walmart is going to be nuts?” I asked Adam. Traffic was busier than usual. I felt like we were entering an entirely new world. Busy traffic was the first sign of change, like when you go to Florida and start to see palm trees.

“Nah, it’ll be good,” he replied, ever the optimist. “I think it will be fun.”

Adam and I pulled into the parking lot, cars quickly pulling into spaces on both sides of our car. As we started walking towards the sliding glass ENTRANCE doors, I saw Dad’s red truck parked near the back. He was already inside the Mad House.

“Here we go,” I said to Adam, grabbing his hand.

“Here we go,” he repeated with a smile.

Once in the store, my eyes widened with surprise. I knew there would be a lot of people, but there were so many people—all in lines weaving in and out, aisle after aisle. There were people amongst the glass freezers of frozen pizzas and Eggo Waffles, there were people in the main aisles towards electronics, there were people near the mangos and the fruits, crowded around displays of Barbies and basketballs.

There were tons of people in the Health & Beauty lines, all standing in aisles amongst creams and shampoo and razors. And there, near the boxes of hair color in between the Blondes and Brunettes, stood my dad.

“Here, take this.” I gave Adam the ticket in my hand. Ironically golden in color, this ticket could be redeemed for the TV that Mom wanted us to get. Our job was to stay in line and wait until the clock struck 8 p.m.; that’s when the TVs became available to purchase. We’d hand over the ticket in exchange for the TV, pay, leave, get home, collapse on the couch and call it a Successful Night.  

“Will you go stand in line for the TV and I’ll meet you there?” I asked Adam.

“Sure,” he said.

“Thanks,” I said, giving his hand a squeeze. “I’ll be over there in a minute, I just want to see how my dad is doing.”

“Take your time,” Adam said and started heading towards the lines near the Frozen Foods.

I turned back towards the Health & Beauty aisles. Dad hadn’t seen me yet, but I watched him for a second. I smiled. Wearing his favorite St. Charles Bulldogs sweatshirt and a red trucker hat, Dad looked slightly out of place as he stood in line amongst strangers. This was out of Dad’s comfort zone, doing this shopping stuff without my mom, but he was doing it anyway. This is love, I thought.

“Dad!” I waved, shouting from the main aisle. People turned to look at me.

“Sis!” Dad smiled, waving back. He was towards the end of the aisle, which was roped off so I couldn’t get to him. This is all so Titantic/every man for himself/women and children first, I thought.

Just as I began to move closer to the roped off area to talk to Dad, a large woman in a Walmart uniform started to shout.

“All right,” Walmart Woman said, her voice booming over conversations. “Move ahead,” she gestured towards the front–of-the-liners, sweeping her arm forward. “Thirty people go in at a time, and you get three minutes. JUST THREE MINUTES.”

People started moving ahead towards the woman, my dad now closer to the main aisle where I stood. Three minutes? I mouthed at Dad, confused.

Dad reached above his head and pointed over the Walmart woman’s shoulder. Right behind the woman was a gate-like metal bar. The woman lifted the bar and began to number off people who were allowed to enter into another roped off section. Normally reserved for Home & Garden Tools, this area had been transformed into a DVD/Video Game “Land,” where displays of DVDs and video games stood on the concrete. The whole roping off-thing reminded me of the black velvet curtained room at video rental places that housed the naughty, adult-only stuff.

“Sis, here I go!”

Dad had reached the front of the line, and the Walmart woman was motioning him forward.

“THREE MINUTES!” the woman reminded the group. Like ants on a picnic blanket, the shoppers started to scatter.

“Go, Dad, go!” I shouted, laughing as I watched the madness begin. Dad began to move like a burglar, all stealthy and quick as he darted amongst strangers.

I felt like I was watching a game show like Supermarket Sweep or Minute to Win It. These grown adults were grabbing DVDs like hotcakes, as if each DVD was a $100 bill. It was all just too much.

“Come on, Twinkle Toes!” I shouted jokingly. I couldn’t stop laughing. Dad fought back a smile as he looked back at me, brows furrowed, a DVD in his hand. I squinted at the cover: Breaking Dawn: Part 1.

“Sure, Dad!” I shouted. “Grab it!” Dad nodded, chuckling as he ran faster from display to display. I stood alongside other encouragers as they coached their people.

“Sue! SUE!” one guy wearing a Lions jersey shouted next to me. “Go to the back! Look for the NCAA game Jacob wants!” A husky woman with a red face and curly blonde hair nodded, determined, and headed towards the back.

Just then, the Walmart woman shouted.

“You have 10 seconds left! 1, 2, 3…” Now people really started to move, pushing past each other and grabbing cases left and right. Dad emerged from the roped off area, his hands full and breaths heavy.

“Dad,” I said, giving him a hug, “THAT was impressive. That was hardcore. It’s like a freaking jungle in there. I felt like I was watching a game show, geez. And there you were, in the thick of it all….just...running around, grabbing….” I was laughing hard now, waving my hands above my head as if I was grabbing things out of the sky.

Dad smiled and looked down at the Breaking Dawn DVD and video games. “Well,” he paused, all serious. “That’s how you do these things.”

“I guess so,” I said, smiling.

Dad and I started towards the Frozen Food section. During the DVD madhouse, Adam had texted me he was waiting in line near the ice cream.

“I wonder how good ole’ Adam is doing,” Dad said as we walked by Women’s Wear, People were everywhere, their carts already full of other Black Friday deals.

“I’m glad Adam came with us,” I said.

“Me too,” Dad replied, then stopped in his tracks. “Oh, wait, Sis. SIS. I gotta get this for Adam. He needs this.”

Uh-oh, I thought, walking faster to see what he was looking at. Dad is a notorious prankster, always has been.  Whatever he was holding, I could bet it was embarassing, inappropriate, or gross.

Or a combination of all three.

“This is perfect,” Dad said.

“Dad, what do you…” I looked down. “DAD, come on!” I said. Hanging off a hanger in Dad’s hand was a triple F cup-sized satin bra, bright purple. I could probably put my entire face in one of the bra cups. Dad looked down at the bra, a grin spreading over his face.

“Dad, you cannot give that to him, what are you doing?” I said half-heartedly, trying not to laugh. Laughing only encouraged him more.

“Oh no,” Dad said, nodding his head and smiling. “I think Adam would like to get one of these in front of all those nice shoppers.”

“OhmyGod, Dad, you are ridiculous, put it back.” I said, but I smiled. I couldn’t help it. The smile was all it took, like giving silent permission. Dad threw the bra in a nearby empty cart and started down the main aisle that ran parallel to the Frozen Foods. I shook my head and continued walking, searching for Adam up and down aisles full of people.

After passing the Pizzas and Frozen Veggies section, I found Adam near the Mackinac Island Fudge and Strawberry ice cream flavors.

Dad won’t give that bra to him, I thought as I walked towards Adam. Too soon. Too soon for pranks. Even my dad had a threshold, rules for when and how and where.

“Hey!” Adam said, opening his arms outwards in an embrace. I walked into his arms and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “How’d it go over there?”

“It was INSANE,” I said.

“Yeah?”

“Adam, it was one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen, seriously,” I said. “They let people in, like, in waves, and you get a time limit.” Adam raised his eyebrows.

“I know, right?” I said. “So Dad was in there, amongst all of these people, and he was just darting in and out grabbing these DVDs...” I started to laugh again. “People were shouting, saying ‘Grab this! Get that!’ It was like a game show, for real.”

“Oh my God, that’s crazy,” Adam said. “I’ve just been standing here. I’ve heard people say at 8 p.m. they’ll start to give out these TVs.”

“Yeah, that’s the plan.” I looked around. We were surrounding by people. Most of them were middle-aged, but there were teens and older adults, too. We all were looking for the same thing: Deals. I guess Christmas did bring people together.

“Adam!” A deep voice shouted across the main aisle about 50 feet away. Adam and I turned towards the aisle.

I saw a glint of purple. Satin. Oh no, I thought. He’s doing it.

“Adam!” my dad shouted again. This time, people were staring at us. “Adam!”

Adam looked across the aisle where my dad stood, holding the giant purple bra over his head.  “Adam, is this the one you wanted?” Dad shouted. Our aisle-mates turned and looked at Dad, then back at us.

I stood frozen like a statue, staring at Adam’s face. Whatever Adam responded would be important. Dad would remember how he responded. For my dad, it was like a Project Runway, “either you’re in or out” moment. I could not believe Dad was doing this, here, in Walmart, with a purple satin BRA.

Dad continued to hold up the purple bra in the air, grinning. Adam stared. Oh no, I thought. He doesn’t think this is funny.

After a pause, Adam looked down at his feet. Then, he slowly began to smile as he lifted his head up.

“No,” Adam shouted to Dad. “I told you to get the leopard one!”

The crowd of people began to chuckle, and I laughed as I punched Adam playfully in the shoulder. Dad brought the purple bra down, smiling and nodding back towards him. He’s good, I could hear my dad thinking. Of course, I knew Adam was good all along.

“I’m so glad you came with us,” I said, taking Adam’s arm and putting it over my shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he smiled. “Your dad is hilarious, did you know that?”

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, I do.”

Adam, Me, Dad: The Black Friday Trio.

In the end, the clock finally struck 8 p.m. and we were able to nab the giant TV, the DVDs and the video games from my dad’s mad dash. We did not, however, purchase the purple bra. But when I heard my dad re-telling the bra story to my grandma over the phone the next day (“And then he said, ‘No, I told you to get the leopard one!’”) I knew the bra would live on in our memories for years to come.

Despite my dislike of shopping, I started to see why my mom liked Black Friday. It wasn’t just getting the items for a good price, it was the planning, the strategy, the Us vs. Them. It was the adventure. The quest.

The fun.

It's That Time of Year Again

I felt my first twinge of Christmas spirit this week. It was small and fleeting, similar to a quick body spasm that wakes you up in the middle of that annoying dream where you're falling. I hate both feelings: the scary sense that you're falling, and the sudden body-jerk of reassurance that you actually aren't, that it was just a dream.

It surprised me, to be honest, this sudden burst of Christmas cheer. I have never been one to allow myself to truly get in the Christmas spirit until after Thanksgiving. It's not that I go all Scrooge and "bah-humbug" on the holidays; I just want to take it one celebration at a time. But this year, I am feeling some uncommon pre-Turkey Day excitement.

Maybe it's my recent introduction to Starbucks peppermint mocha drinks that did it. Coffee AND mocha AND peppermint? Plus dollops of whipped cream and those adorable chocolate curls on top? For $3.25, you've got yourself a cup of Christmas cheer.

Aside from the seasonal drinks sweet enough to give you a cavity, I think my burst of holiday spirits started with the trees. I have lived in the woods and surrounded by nature since I was a little girl, which makes me somewhat of a 21st century Pochahontas by default ("Just around the riverbenddddd!!" Or in my case, just around the one-acre pond.)  I have learned you really can judge a lot by nature, especially the trees. I know that is pretty obvious, since everyone can clearly see trees lose their leaves, but aside from their looks, the trees just feel different, sound different. In the summer, their limbs are loud and alive, swirling their leaves around like they are having a conversation with the wind. But now it's November, and the trees are no longer chatty; with no leaves to swirl around with the air, they stand still and silent. I often find myself staring out the kitchen window, noticing how the limbs look skeletal, pointing awkwardly to the sky like broken fingertips. RIP pretty fall leaves.

I'm not a hippie.  I don't think...
I just appreciate nature. You know that Neature Walk Guy clip on Youtube where he's walking in the woods pointing at random nature-like things and saying, "How neat is that? Look at this, this is an Aspen. How neat!"
I'm like that.
Sort of.

Anyway, though the trees' lackluster limbs make the woods look depressingly bare and cold, it calls for celebration in the Henry household, a special holiday called "The Return of Normal TV Channels Day." The leave-less trees in the winter allow for a stronger signal presence straight to our Direct TV dish behind our house, which means we get what my mom calls "The Normal Channels": ABC, FOX, NBC, and CW. When the trees regain their leaves in the spring until the last leave drops in the fall, the thick foliage blocks the signal, and for some reason, it wipes out only the local stations. Or so that is what our Direct TV rep tells us.

The Return of the Normal TV Channels means a reunion of sorts. For me, it means reuniting with Grey's Anatomy, Glee, popular football games, Robin Roberts (I just like her for some reason). And perhaps most importantly, Modern Family. I really missed Phil and Cam.

My dad and I looking our
best in the Dad Recliner

Unlike Christmas falling on the 25th or Thanksgiving falling on the fourth Thursday of the month,  we don't know when the Return of the Normal TV Channels Day will happen;  it all depends on the signal strength. So every day for the past few weeks, my dad has sat in his traditional "Dad Chair": a hunter green leather recliner we bought him at Godwins about six Christmases ago. I myself do not see the appeal to the chair; the leather feels cold and uncomfortable in the winter or hot and sticky in the summer. But Dad sits like a king in his throne in that Lazy Boy (such an ironic name) and made it his mission to see when we would get the local TV channels. An avid sports fan and news viewer, my dad was really missing those channels.

My father has a process he performed nightly. He'd slide into the leather seat, simultaneously easing his knees up and reaching for the wooden handle to recline the chair's footrest. Taking his time putting his legs up due to a bad left knee from years of blue-collar work, he'd reach for the remote.

"Let's see if we get the local channels yet, Sis!" my dad would say to me excitedly as he turned on the TV.

I'd smile, looking over the book I was reading.

"Maybe today's the day," I would reply.

"Let's take a look."

My dad would then press the remote button, and on would come the TV, the screen showing a clear screenshot from the MTV channel it was left on: Snooki from Jersey Shore dancing on a table in all her guidette glory.

Grabbing the gray remote again as Snooki now fell off the bar table, my dad would point the remote purposefully at the TV, pressing the fateful buttons. "005." Staring at the screen-- my dad versus the TV signal-- I would sit amused at his obvious hope that today would be the day we would get local TV, even though I really wanted it to come through too. I missed my guilty-pleasure shows.

As the TV registered the remote's request, my dad and I would stare at the screen, waiting. Then suddenly, a shot of the local newsman would come through, though it was pixalated. The newscaster looked like a robot, a square of his eye over to the left with a patch of green to his right, his mouth moving like a puppeteer, choppy words coming through that didn't make sense: "The....she said...no one was hurt..."

"We're getting closer," my dad grinned, albeit disappointed the TV signal was not strong enough yet.

Every night, we'd go through this process: eagerness, anticipation, semi-excitement coupled with disappointment.

It wasn't until this weekend that we got to fully celebrate The Return of the Normal TV Channels. My dad sat in his recliner, pressing the remote buttons as usual. This time, though, the pictures were clear:

"005," he'd type, and a clear picture of the newscaster popped up, now looking human instead of robotic: "Tonight, on abc12, we will discuss how you can prepare your home for winter."

"Look, Linds!" he said. "It's coming in!"

"Yes!" I grinned at his happiness.

"012" he typed next. Ty Pennington on Extreme Home Makeover was now smiling back at us, screaming, "Move that bus!" as a family of four began crying at the sight of their new home.

"Jean!" my dad called excitedly to my mom, flipping to channel 25, 66. It was true. We now got local TV.

We probably shouldn't be so elated that we are getting local channels; there are certainly better or more productive things to do than watch TV. I think it has to do with the whole "want what you can't have" effect, plus the excitement from checking every day to see if today was "the day." And yes, what can I say? We are a TV-loving family.

So the trees are bare, we're getting local TV channels, and Starbucks has their Christmas drinks out. I think it is safe to say my levels of Christmas spirit will only increase. Bring on the snow. And the cold. And wet jean pantlegs. And cold cars with ice covering the windshield.

Hm. Maybe I'm in the Christmas spirit, but I am not quite ready for winter yet.


And with that, I am going to go back to listening to my Alvin and the Chipmunks Christmas album.