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Black Friday comes to Thursday by PenguinScott

This year’s holiday internet battle cry apparently centers on Thanksgiving and workers not being able to spend it with family for having to do their job. Post after post from people I know deplores Americans to avoid shopping on Thanksgiving. “Think of the employees!,” they read, and, “They deserve to be with family like you do!” Is it only in America that we constantly have the need to project our desires onto everyone else? A few things came to mind around the 80th time seeing one of these posts.
                Anyone who gets a job in retail certainly doesn’t do so with the expectation that they will have the holidays off. I’ve worked in retail and I knew this going into the interview. I’ve worked the holidays as everyone in retail has. Sure, the first time I spent the holiday away from family was a bit tough. But I had something else working for me- pay.
                A lot of people enjoy working holidays for the holiday pay. I’m sure these days, in these hard times, these people depend on working Thanksgiving for the holiday pay that I hope they are making. Even if they only earn their normal rates of pay, let us not assume that everyone wants to be home not earning money.
                Then, there are those who don’t have family to spend the holiday with. Maybe they are college students too far from home or too broke to afford an airline ticket. Maybe it’s the crazy cat lady who has no one of the human kind to be with. Perhaps it’s someone who just can’t stand to be with family so bad that they shiver at the suggestion of staying home so they can be with those who judge, condemn, argue, smother or push other’s down in a competitive nature. I know I can only handle being in close proximity to my family for about 5 days, max (not for the reasons I just mentioned, in case they’re reading this). Some people can’t stand to be around family for 5 minutes.
                I hear the cry- stay home. Don’t go shopping. Avoid the malls. But for me, it’s about bucking the system; I’m such a rebel. I don’t want to shop on Black Friday mainly because it’s become expected to do so. I don’t want to shop on Black Friday because I’m saving money and I don’t have a lot to spend. I don’t want to shop on Black Friday because there really is very little that I need. I finished my holiday shopping weeks ago. Big screen TV for $100? I’ve already got one. DVD player for $20? Got one of those, as well. I think I’ll avoid the crowds and make a turkey sandwich, thank you. And I certainly don’t want to go shopping on Black Friday and join the fray of morons clamoring with fellow white trash royalty and ne’er-do-wells as they literally bust down doors and claw their way over their fallen to reach the stack of made in (insert foreign sweat shop country here) electronics, which will probably explode in 13 months, right after the warranty expires.
              
Penguin, post feast

  This year, I spent Thanksgiving with friends in Santa Rosa. These are good friends, and they know they are after hearing how I spent over 2 hours driving up from my home in Pacifica. Normally, that drive should take just over an hour and it’s no secret that I hate driving, especially in heavy traffic. But it seems either the city was being evacuated, or everyone and their dog was going to Northern California for the day…and apparently left about half an hour before I did! “Aren’t you people supposed to be at home cooking things?” I yelled from within my car (the Peng-U-V). There were as many people, or more,  walking on the Bay Bridge as any weekend during the summer! I was absolutely blown away. Maybe people were taking heed of the cries on line to spend the holiday with family; they just didn’t see the words, “at home.”

A line forms for a shop opening at midnight.
                The interesting thing about this Thanksgiving was that the daughter of our host had to go to work that evening. She worked at the mall, which opened at 8PM on Thanksgiving night. I’d never in my life thought I would see Black Friday come to Thursday evening! The question went around the group as we loosened our belts after the feast, seeming to knowingly save me for last, “Are we going to go to the mall tonight?” “Do you want to go to the mall and watch the chaos?” “Who wants to go to the mall?” The questions shot around the group like if asked enough, someone would win a prize. The prize was that when finally asked, I said, “Sure, let’s go!” After all, I didn’t want to be the only ‘no’ and I’m all for watching a train wreck.
                I did have some ground rules; I’d already posted that I would not be seen in a shopping mall on Thanksgiving and hoped to keep my reputation up to par. “No checking in, post no photos of me and if anyone ever asks, I was never here.” They were in total agreement, so off we marched to join the throngs of humanity at the mall.
A line for a bra sale outside Victoria’s Secret

                The mall was much like a mall would be on any Saturday afternoon…but it was nearing midnight! I couldn’t believe all the people shopping this time of night on Thanksgiving. It was as if we have been doing this for years. Sleeping children were pushed in their strollers or sleepily clung to their parent’s hands while wearing cute PJs. My parents would never have brought me shopping at this time of night when I was 5! Groups of high school kids hung out like something from a teen movie and roamed in small packs. There were a few lines and mostly very well behaved people (we did see one fight nearly break out, but fisticuffs and weapons were not involved, although, I had my camera’s video function ready, just in case).

             
This boy kept watch over the family plunder.

   We laughed that we would make great hecklers as we observed the insane. Seeing the signs for “Doorbuster” deals, I made a comment about how it was amazing that, upon seeing some of the deals, the doors were actually still on their hinges! We commented on how some dressed, observing which stores remained closed and looked in wonder at the people eating in the food court, while our bellies were still so full.

Then, like flies, we went down. M found thermals normally difficult find, let alone for half price. C found sweaters that would make a great gift for family. But I held out. At least until I found the 800 thread count 100% Egyptian cotton sheets half off, followed by the cutest little shirts for my nephews. An $80 pillow for $25? Yes, please. Underwear for 25% off? I could use new underwear- I’ll bite.
Oh, no. What have I done?

            Dammit, my friends lured me to the mall under the pretense that I could go and make fun of those who bought into the frenzy of Black Friday on Thursday evening, and there I became one of them. In fact, after going back to C’s house, we returned to the mall for more, shopping until 2AM so C could buy a jewelry stand. You’re welcome analysts and retail giants. I’m happy to help your numbers kick off the season. I will sleep very well at night doing so- on my soft bed sheets and sensor gel pillow – that I found fifty percent off!  
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Black Eyed Peas for Prosperity

Black Eyed Peas for Prosperity
By PenguinScott
(Photos NOT by PenguinScott)
Superstition has always been a curiosity to me. Never having bought into superstition, I’ve always walked under ladders, have no issues with black cats, and don’t blindly fall for most religious doctrine, which in my eyes, is nothing but superstition. There is one superstitious practice I generally adhere to, however, and that is that I tend to eat my pie crust first and finish with the point. Yes, there are people who think eating the point first is unlucky. My reason for doing so isn’t about luck but that the point of the pie slice is the middle of the pie; the best part, if you ask me.
                Growing up, my father always made me eat black eyed peas on New Year’s Eve. It seems that in the southern United States, those who eat them are favored to discover good luck and fortune for the coming year. It’s a tradition I escaped from after leaving home and living on my own. I’ve had some really good years without my annual dose of black eyed peas; and I do like eating them!
                However, after several years in a row of what I would call…less than stellar years…I recently decided to break down and give superstition a chance. I decided that my contribution to the New Year’s Eve party I had been invited to would be the lucky legume I had avoided for so long. What could it hurt, right?
                No longer living in the south, it was not as easy to find them. Even though California has a pale-colored pea with a prominent dark spot named after it, none of the grocery stores I ventured into carried any. All right, that’s a bit of a mistruth; one did carry them, but not canned. I had been lazy and put off until the last minute purchasing any. December 31 is not the time to buy them raw and deal with cooking them. Not when the recipe calls for mixing a variety of canned beans to marinate overnight. Who knew it’d be so hard to find them?
                The party was starting in a few hours. I still had time to try a few more stores. I could make it when I arrived, let it sit overnight, and the next day, when we prepared our brunch, ta-dah, magical good luck for all!
             
   At this point, I had searched the shelves of five grocery stores. Then I thought about the Asian market a few miles out of my way, but surely to have them. After all, they have been commercially grown all over Asia much longer than they’ve been growing in the south.
                The Asian market is one I enjoy going to from time to time. They have a variety of items any local store would have. The bonus is the wonderful selection of Asian items; from kitchenware to frozen and fresh dishes normally only ordered at a restaurant. They also carry cans of black eyed peas. I think I even heard a heavenly choir as I finally found it on the shelf; tears spilling out of my eyes. Finally, the bad luck of the past few years with health issues, financial issues and death would be washed away with a few spoonful’s of lucky peas looking in all directions with those dark eyes of theirs.
                It was New Year’s Eve and the store, including the other restaurants and shops of the complex, all Asian, was bursting with patrons. Why, the parking lot was so packed that I wound up parking a full two blocks away on a neighborhood street. I was certainly determined.
Armed with my one can of peas, I found the line that appeared shortest and stood behind a young woman busy on her phone and began to look over the impulse items of Chinese cookies and treats. All of a sudden, a woman approaches with about a dozen items and plops them down on the conveyor belt. I realized that the teenager in front of me had nothing to purchase. She had been standing in line only to save a place for her mother. I tried to ignore it.
I failed.
                “Hi,” I started casually, “I think it’s rather rude of you to have your place saved in line like that.” She regarded me casually, in her black sweater and pants and well coiffed hair. “I’m her mother,” she replied simply.
                “I don’t care if you’re if the president of the United States, what you did was selfish,” I replied back. I know. I feel horrible about it. But I’d been to five stores, walked two blocks from my car, and had been standing in line for over five minutes. Looking at the people behind me, I continued, “We all chose a line based on how quickly it was going to move. We all have plans. Then you come along with all these items and now we have to wait. It’s selfish of you to have your daughter hold your place in line while you shop.”
                At this point, the woman starts into me, that I’m selfish, and she begins to raise her voice. I retort, “I’m selfish? You do something wrong and you blame me? That’s not how this works. You’re the one in the wrong. I’m simply calling you out on it; and you thought you’d get away with it.” She continues yelling at me and the effect on me was to raise my voice in return.
A security officer who was nearby approaches and inquires as to what is going on. She continues yelling at me and he asks her to calm down. The officer suggests that I move in front of her with my can of peas. I declined. If she feels it’s so important to cut in front of a group of strangers, by all means, let her finish her business. I simply want to let her know it’s wrong.
                A young man in the next line over shouts out to me that I should let her be, and then he tells me I’m in an Asian market. Now I assume what he meant was that in Chinese tradition, one wouldn’t argue with a woman in line. Maybe he even meant that I should respect my elders. I looked younger than this woman, but I feel pretty confident that she was about my age. Surely, he wasn’t trying to infer that being the only non-Asian meant anything special.
                I look around me mockingly and reply to the young man, “Really? I’m in an Asian market? Well, I had no idea. Thank you for getting involved and helping me out.” He makes a snide comment and leaves the debate.
                The poor cashier had no idea how to handle it. Where she had been friendly and warm and talkative, she was now silent and sullen. She rang up the woman and placed her items in bags. The officer stood nearby. As she gathered her bags, she looked back at me, almost triumphantly. So I took the opportunity to get one more dig at her, “Good luck in the new year, you’re going to need it!” She almost looked shocked.
                Her reply is something I don’t feel comfortable in writing in this story. There was a certain word that most people try to refrain from using in conversation in public. I asked if that was the proper example to set for her young daughter. She repeated a portion of her first retort and huffed off, the daughter still engrossed with her phone.
                The cashier, still silent, rang up my can of black eyed peas and I paid. As I started to leave, the officer approached and warned me to beware of the young man from the other line. He and a friend were now standing in the lobby watching me and he was afraid for my welfare. I let him know in a voice they could certainly hear that I wasn’t concerned and that I could take care of myself. This was a lie. That young kid probably could have really put me in a world of hurt. But I’m a pretty good actor and know how to carry myself.
                As I walked out of the market, I did so with my head held high and the can of peas firmly in my hand. Maybe they’d make a good weapon. I didn’t look back and started towards my car a few blocks away. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous. But I had stood my ground and made my point to everyone in the store that day. I was a mix of emotions. I was ashamed that I behaved so poorly and let this woman’s moronic behavior pull me down to her level. I was proud that I stood my ground. I was terrified this young punk was going to accost me and force me to try out my fighting skills, rusty from, oh, I don’t know, 25 years or more of non-use?
                At the New Year’s Eve party, I recounted my tale of the black eyed peas as I made my superstitious dish. I concluded by stating that I bet it’d be a long time before that woman ever cuts in line again. My host said she doubted that. I don’t know. I did make a big scene, intentionally. I just hoped I hadn’t cursed my magical peas. I needed to make 2012 a good year, after all.
                The following day, we ate the dish I had lovingly prepared for my friends in hopes that we could all experience prosperity and good fortune. It was a huge hit with everyone, even though none had realized that eating them was good luck. I guess it truly is a southern tradition; perhaps one that I should revisit and make my own on an annual basis. I’ll just try to get them a little ahead of time and avoid the Asian market on December 31st.