Why is Black Bad?

On Thanksgiving Eve, my friend Ndidi called me up to invite me to Black Friday. I have never succumbed to consumer-ism, which is a great feat to have accomplished seeing as I live in the Great Land of (Senseless, Rampant, Uncontrollable) Consumer-ism, but she deceived me. I know this now. I mentioned that my brokeness this year transcended all previous levels of brokeness in my life and that I would not be spending a dime, therefore I would not be going. Then she flippantly mentioned that they were selling Motorola Razrs for $19.99, which was her way of telling me that I would go down as the biggest fool in history if I passed up on using my credit card to take advantage of this gargantuan sale. In my heart of hearts, I knew it was too good to be true. But it only takes a split second for the "me too, I want" spirit to take a hold of you, and Ndidi was so excited about the whole thing. Before I knew it, she had sent me a good ten lists of items on sale in ten different stores, and I was perusing them, wondering what would be worth going further into debt for. I told myself that I was only going to Black Friday because my dear friend wanted me to go. After all, she had called me "dear" when she asked me to go with her. It would be a special time for us to bond. Hindsight is 20/20. I cannot believe I agreed to follow her to what can only be described as absolute craze.

After an eventful Thanksgiving, I finally got to bed around midnight. Actually, I got to couch at midnight, knowing that if I fell asleep in a bed, I would not be able to wake up at 4 to get ready for Ndidi's arrival. This my friend, punctual even in the wee hours of the morning, drove up to the crib at 4:20 on the dot. I was already downstairs waiting for her, and off we zoomed to Circuit City, where our cheap Razrs awaited us. What I saw as we pulled into the parking lot will be forever imbedded in my mind. First of all, it's 4:30 in the morning - a morning following a holiday that is designed to take people out by overeating - but the lot looked as busy as it would have looked on a Saturday afternoon. Second of all, it's cold. I mean, it's North Carolina, fair enough, but it's still November. It's cold. And there is a line of people that's four people deep, and long. Long, long, long, long, long. It took Ndidi and I almost 4 minutes to walk to the end of this ridiculous line, the whole time marveling at how many people are standing there waiting for the doors to open and wondering if we can really expect to get inside, talk less of buy anything.

We amused ourselves thoroughly at the back of the line, though it was only the back for about 10 seconds; people were still pulling in to line up even as we stepped into our place. First, we speculated about sprinting to the front of the line as soon as the doors were opened, and bursting through the doors before anyone knew what was going on. I anticipated a fight, though, and pointed out that it was unfortunate that I was wearing a hoodie and she was wearing a scarf, because we would almost certainly be dragged back by those two items and pummeled/trampled by the incoming crowd. Scratch that idea. Then I marveled about how great this country was and how people were obediently, quietly standing in line unlike the savages we deal with in Nigeria. Then Ndidi asked a great question: what would Nigerians do if this was Nigeria? I gave the following options:

1) They would have broken the doors down by now (it was 4:47, which is close enough to 5am so the sale could start early).

2) Nobody would even have arrived, because the sales people themselves would have looked their oga square in the eye and asked him whether he was feeling all right to ask them to come to work before daybreak. Ergo, the 5am sale would have started at 7. Or maybe even 9am, if some people wanted to attend early mass.

3) There would most certainly not be a line. Rather, a crowd would have gathered where everyone was wearing the sharpest, most dangerous shoes they could find so as to kick the hell out of anyone who dared to enter the shop before them.

4) On the off-chance that the Nigerians could form an orderly line and the sale did start promptly at 5am, some rich Money-Miss-Road from Aba named Johnny Too-Much would have hired a number of area boys with whips to clear the line at precisely 4:59, at which time he would calmly step out of his Pathfinder to stroll leisurely into the store to purchase his goods. This would inevitably put everyone else in a bad humor and they would subsequently take out their frustrations on each other once they did enter the store.

This killed about 10 minutes for me and Ndidi, at which point we realized that the good folks at Circuit City were about to open the doors. The line rumbled with anticipation. We began to stamp out feet expectantly, eager to walk through those doors, hoping that we would be let into the store at all. It was then that we noticed a fairly large number of people migrating to the front of the line from the parking lot, people who had stayed in the warmth of their cars (taken much-needed naps as well, no doubt) until the last possible minute and were about to pull a Johnny Too-Much, sans thugs. These were the people that awakened the Nigerian in us, because Ndidi and I decided then and there that we were not going to be taken for fools. We cut the line. At first, we were hesitant. We just sort of stood there with the other hesistant would-be cutters, waiting for someone else to make the first move and cut. That way, if there was going to be any resistance from the others who had probably been in line since 3am, we could just find our way back to last place and count our blessings (and losses, cuz there were a good forty or fifty people in line behind us when we chose to cut). When Someone Else did saunter into Circuit City without trouble, Ndidi linked arms with me and we calmly entered the store. Line cut, no problem. Now the shopping could begin.

I won't bore you with the details. It was basically a corral and we were a herd of animals, product-hungry animals. We were shopping shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers, who were pushing and shoving and yelling. I was hot as hell because I was still wearing all my warm layers, but I couldn't de-layer because we just didn't have the time; there were windows of opportunity to get our stuff that would be missed. We eliminated the possibility of buying the Razrs as soon as we walked in the store, by the way, because of course the price was accompanied by a 2-year contract with Verizon, which we weren't going to sign. When Verizon offers Rollover, we'll talk. So we looked for Ndidi's stuff: digital camera and Season One of Grey's Anatomy ($8.99). Looking for a suitable camera was hell (more lines in the store, too many rednecks with their ghastly cigarette breath in my face), G's Anat was $19.99 - we decided to check out Target.

We drove the quarter-mile to Target's lot, which was already full to bursting. The time was 5:52. When I saw another one of those terrible lines, I realized that Target wasn't opening 'til 6am. Ndidi had already begun to plot our strategy for cutting the line. Like convicted felons with 2 strikes staring a life sentence in the face, we were already frantically chanting the phrase, "We're not going to the end of the line, we're not going to the end of the line!" What most people don't know about Ndidi is that she is fiercely competitive and she hates to lose. Beneath that sweet, genteel exterior lies a monster akin to The Incredible Hulk. I remember one night, years ago, we were playing Taboo, boys against girls. It was me, Ndidi and Crystal against Walter, Roland and Patrik. We huddled, presumably to develop the best plan of action, but Ndidi began by first calling us "motherfuckers" (this was before she got saved, people - allow her) and telling us that if we made her lose, we were going to die. Suffice it to say, we won. Anyway, it was this same monstrous being that showed its face at Target. Her face set hard, her eyes sharpened like daggers, a shadow crossed over her and rested, and she plotted. I mentioned the fact that there were shopping carts dotting the entryway, with ropes strung between them, defining the line as well as keeping out the line jumpers, but she seemed oblivious to the sound of my voice. "Ndidi," I said, "Target has their shit together, man. And the people in line look aggressive." And they did. Some people were already shadowboxing, and everyone looked ready to charge. I heard the person at the front of the line say they had been there since 4am. It was not looking good for us. But Ndidi was a woman possessed and she did not care. As for me, hunger wan nearly carry me. All I knew was that I didn't have the strength to fight anybody in that line - and the Target shoppers were ready to throw 'bows, from what I saw.

Ndi dragged me to the front of line, where four security officials stood, ready to counter any chaos that might ensue. The head security announced to the crowd forming at the head of the line that we would not be let in until the line had passed through the doors. Clearly, he had not met Ndidi. She was breathing deeply now. "Come on!" she ordered me, and dragged me further down the line. Like I said, those Target shoppers weren't taking any mess that morning. People were holding up the ropes as they walked by, to ensure that nobody would hop over and cut the line in front of them. I looked into the red eyes of one of them as he walked past, glaring at us, and knew in my heart that we would not meet success in this line. Ndidi whispered her latest strategy to me: "When the security guard looks away, we're going to hop over the rope and go, ok?" I laughed, partly because I thought she was joking and partly because I thought she was crazy. "Ok, Ndi." So we watched the guard carefully.

Actually, I was watching the guard and the rope, cuz it would have been awfully embarrassing to try and hop over a rope that was too high because someone was holding it up. I also didn't think the guard would look away, given the number of us just waiting at that part of the line. But he did! With excitement, I looked round at Ndidi to say, "Let's go!" But Ndidi was not there. Literally before I blinked, this girl had hopped over that rope with all the grace and agility of Michael Flatley and his dancers and the only thing my eyes witnessed for sure was her pink peacoat disappearing into the store with the wave of shoppers. Her speed not only shocked me, but impressed my co-loiterers, who literally applauded her nimble dexterity. It was clear to me that I had to quickly attempt the same before the guard caught on to what was happening. I awaited my chance. Again, the man looked away, and I quickly jumped over the rope into the line.

Alas, it was ill-fated timing. As my feet landed on the concrete sidewalk, I felt the hard claw of a middle-aged white woman - small in stature, but with a crazed look in her eyes, which peered out under the edge of a badly-tied scarf - on my arm. She grabbed me from behind her shopping cart - a feat which I still find amazing - turned me around and tried to push me out of the line, yelling, "You need to get to the back of the line," over and over. Why me, Holy Father, I thought as I tried to appear nonchalant lest the guard recognize me and yank me out of the line himself. I remember feebly saying something like, "My friend is already in there," then getting on my phone to call Ndidi (for what specific reason, I'm still not sure), while trying to walk faster to get out of reach of this crazy woman so the guard would think she was talking to someone else. As I was trying to call her, Ndidi called me, yelling, "My friend, where are you?! Will you get inside this store, I already have a cart, let's go!"

This happened in a space of 5 seconds, but it felt like a lifetime. The tiny amount of energy I had left in me was burned up by the burst of adrenaline brought on by that hag outside, and I was so relieved to see Ndidi that I ran a little so as to get closer to her sooner. Of course, it was madness inside that store as well, and between running around trying to get our gear (we finally found Grey's Anatomy for $8.98 - yay, Target!) and getting rammed repeatedly by someone's cart (I was concentrating so hard on taking care of myself that I didn't even realize that the bitch was ramming me until it was too late), I could not wait to leave the store and get back in bed. Ndi got everything she wanted and more, and I learned a valuable lesson: when an event is named Black and it's not Black like Black Tie, turn on your heels and flee in the opposite direction!

As we walked out into the crisp dawn, the sun painting the horizon deep pink and yellow, my dear friend said to me, "That was great! We should make this a yearly tradition!" I knew then that she was lost, and nothing I could do or say would save her from herself. It was then that I realized that I was not the only person she had asked to accompany her on this rigamarole, but I was the only person that had foolishly agreed. I was too weary to say anything except, "You and who should make what a yearly tradition?" And that was the last either of us said about Black Friday. It will never happen again.