Black Friday

The escalator lowers me deeper into the heart of the beast: Forever 21 the day after thanksgiving. Most people refer to this day as a holiday of it’s own right, Black Friday, a day of alleged deals and discounts, when for some reason everyone feels compelled to hoist their bloated post-thanksgiving bodies into the driver’s seat and gun it to the nearest shopping center. Why? The reason is beyond me. Yet today I am one of the crowd.

People, like herds of cattle, mill about the store, chewing the cud of the corporations who lured them there in the first place. Suddenly even the most outlandish of merchandise become must-have items. A woman in her late forties dangles a pair of plush green elf slippers from her fingers in deep contemplation. Teenage boys previously happy to defer the chore of clothing shopping to the nearest woman buckle under the weight of the jackets and flannel shirts draped from both sides of their skinny arms. I watch two young women quarrel over the last pair of Fry-inspired cowgirl boots that stand between them in solidarity like two guard dogs refusing to choose sides, no doubt mourning the recent departure of their fellow mass-produced shelf-mates.

Thanksgiving has barely passed in yet Christmas tunes are sped up, overlaid with upbeat techno tracks and blared throughout the store, serving the dual purpose of whipping the shoppers into a frenzy and providing the allusion of the "Christmas spirit." However, there is nothing generous or Christmas-y in the eyes of the women lined up en mass for the fitting rooms. They are not yet ready to play Santa Claus. After all, they've had such a trying last few weeks. Surely that 10-page report they managed to churn out in between extended bouts of Facebook "browsing" is grounds for splurging on those red, sequin undies. So perfect for the holidays, and you-know-who. After all, they're marked down a whole $2 from their original price of $10 for a fabric that costs almost nothing.

I wonder how long it will take all this stuff to end up at Goodwill, or, more likely, splayed atop the burgeoning heaps of a landfill. No doubt these novelty scarves will go through the same process that almost every cheap textile goes through: born at the fingertips of some exhausted, underpaid foreign laborer and then shipped overseas to bask in the frenetic but short-lived affection of some thoughtless consumer before being relegated to the cool depths of their closet. So, what better way to celebrate the holidays than by perpetuating this vicious cycle? I think, as I hand over my credit card. Happy, happy holidays :)