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Posts Tagged ‘Vince Wilfork’

“Black Friday.”

Dum-Ti-Dum-Dum…Dah!

It sounds like something invented by God to scare little kids into being good…or else, they will be sent to the Black Friday. I know; I know; it’s supposed to be the day when retailers turn their red balance sheets into the black, but it just sounds so…so….icky!

I did a Black Friday schtick just once in my life; got rammed in the back by some guy who looked to be the size of Vince Wilfork or some other 380 pound NFL tackle as we were getting off the elevator in a Boston department store; stabbed in the toe by a four foot nothing little old lady’s umbrella – so that’s what’s wrong with my foot – and lost my wife in Jordan Marsh – the predecessor of Macy’s. I wound up on a friggin’ up escalator and by the time I got off, I looked down and saw my wife at the candy counter – never a good thing – looking around desperately to see where the hell I was. By now it was about ten o’clock in the morning and my sole desire was to have a double scotch in one hand and a cigarette in the other. I stopped smoking on September 17th, 1998 and stopped drinking shortly before that, so you can see just how ingrained this memory has been implanted on my brain! Even my late wife, gone now for half a decade, admitted that she would never, under any circumstances, go through that experience again. Oh, did I mention the black eye I sustained while reaching for an electric hand mixer. While I did, miraculously, get the mixer, I also received an errant (Ha!) elbow that gradually went from red to purple to yellow over a period of several days.

Today, Black Friday means something completely different to me. It’s a day to sleep in following a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner at a local restaurant. No, not necessarily a turkey dinner, although that was my choice this year. You see, this restaurant limits its menu on Thanksgiving. Last year, my choice was prime rib; the year before that, it was the lamb. Juli sticks with their ham steaks; yes, I did say steaks – three or four. While the food is excellent, one always takes home more than one eats. Enough about the great food, however; Friday morning is relegated to watching newscasts of shoppers trampling one another to get their hands on door busters while getting their feet entangled with other shoppers and falling flat on their collective faces…it’s hysterical. I’m certain that many of these people hold important positions in business, industry, and education, but on this one day, they are turned into wild animals, released from the wild and allowed to attack store fronts, piles of merchandise, and bewildered clerks. My personal philosophy is, “F@#$ck Black Friday” and everything about it.

My Black Friday is black raspberry jam on raisin toast, a glass of Nantucket Nectar’s orange mango, a cup of hot chocolate topped with real whipped cream, while sitting by the fire, watching the television show the idiots, of which I was one – once in my entire life. And as these happy shoppers are unloading gifts for themselves and others, just now beginning to wonder why they spent so much more than they intended, I will be laying back in my recliner, possibly munching on a mid-morning snack on pecan pie, warmed in the microwave and topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Yes, the cardio workout will be a bit longer tomorrow but what the hell; I still have all of my toes; my vertebrae have not been cracked; and, both eyes are clear and open.

Small Business Saturday is tomorrow; guess what? I don’t really care. Small businesses can’t afford to offer 50 inch televisions at $199.95 [plus tax]. I prefer to shop small businesses year round anyway. Sure, my prescriptions come from Walmart, and we even buy a few grocery items there, but if a local business has something I want and it’s just a few pennies more, I’d rather support the little guy than contribute to the big guy’s millions. Remember, even the big guys were just little guys who swallowed the “greed pill.” While that may not be altogether the case, Sam Walton did begin with a single store, and Ray Kroc didn’t start MacDonald’s until he was 52. Everybody has to begin somewhere.

This year, all of my gift shopping has been or will be done online. I can sit in my grungy sweat pants, old t-shirt and sweatshirt; I won’t worry about not having shaved or putting on shoes and socks. I can be the slob that I am and sit at my computer with my list and my budget. If the budget runs out before my list is completed, well, too bad Uncle Harry or Aunty Julia, you get the coal lump this year; that’s just the way it goes.

 

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