Like it or not, here in America in the 21st century, there are two kinds of people.
First, there are the kind of folks who frown and snicker condescendingly when they hear the words “Black Friday.” They are the holiday Scrooges who don’t know what it’s like. They think they know. They think that it is among the most pathetic and ridiculous things they have ever heard of, this notion to stand in long lines in parking lots through the frigid Thanksgiving night, just to be swept along at midnight or 6AM by a human tidal wave of everything that is wrong with the modern world.
Those kinds of holier-than-thou people see Black Friday and all that it stands for as a singular metaphor for the slowly burning conscience and soul of the human race.
They don’t know what they’re missing!
And if you don’t believe me, then just go ahead and ask any battle-scarred veteran of Black Friday, someone who knows the sort of electrical taste that pops into your mouth, all sparks and current banging against your inner cheek when you are all alone and clinging to the final 50-inch LED flat screen TV on aisle 9 in a suburban Toledo Walmart while an army of zombies tries to get it from you like some crazy episode of The Walking Dead.
Go ahead and ask one, I dare you!
I dare you to ask a seasoned Black Friday pro what it feels like to be flapping like a flag out on the wind-leveled battlefield, your Thom McCanns flailing and kicking other people in the eye as they try and horse the treasure in your arms away from you, as your body is thrust forward toward the check-out counters by some bizarre tornado of fortune and dedication, the very savings you are about to encounter shooting out of the TV and into your chest like a pair of those heart attack shock pads keeping you alive!
Over your dead body, you tell them. “OVER MY FUH-REEEEEEEEAKIN’ DEAD BODY!!!!!” you scream.
Look, everybody has their own idea of what the American Dream really means, what it really is.
To some, it means taking a stupid nature hike or whatever on the day after Thanksgiving.
But to others, it means crawling across a mountain of honorable fallen comrades under a relentless halogen sun at dawn and saving $16 on a $120 soda-stream thing that will soon die an unused death under a kitchen sink (next to an exiled popcorn maker that looks like an old-fashioned red wagon or something).
And so hear this. For those about to shop, we salute you.
Here are some valuable “tips” on just how to win Black Friday.
You can also find Serge on his personal blog, Thunder Pie.
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