Secret Family Recipe for Black Friday Revealed
Much like my mom’s treasured gravy recipe, our family recipe for a perfect Black Friday took years to perfect. It’s been sweetened by surviving years of parking lot warfare, mixed with narrowly escaping hypothermia a few times, and garnished with a full eight-hour shopping shift before the sun comes up. And, like the best recipes, there’s a secret ingredient. Ours is timing.
The nuts show up at midnight. The novices show up at 7 a.m. We’re there are 5 a.m.
That’s the sweet spot.
Step One: Preparation
The night before Black Friday – what most people call Thanksgiving – is our prep day. We perfectly portion out carb-heavy snacks, strategically-timed 20 minute naps, and a healthy dose of rationalization.
“Well, we will be walking all day,’’ always excuses that extra cookie.
The kitchen table is home to Best Buy flyers, a collection of Christmas lists, and a highlighted chart of the stores to assault. You have to know your spots. My family likes The Wrentham Outlets, The Burlington Mall, The Merrimack Outlets, and every Marshalls in New England. We remind each other to focus on the experience, nut just the shopping.
Mise en Place – All of Us in Our Places
The alarm goes off at 3 a.m. We awake and dress in the dark. With a feeble attempt to look decent, we pile into my aunt’s red Chevy Suburban, nicknamed “The Fire Truck.’’
The group includes about eight women, and whoever’s girlfriend is trying to impress their boyfriend’s mother. (We have all been there). If they survive to have lunch at 7 a.m., there is a 90 percent chance they’ll be marrying into the family within the year.
Last year, my aunt – well-known for setting off the smoke detector when her rolls burn every year – mixed up her eyeliner and lip liner. A quick case of 24 hour ‘pink’ eye wouldn’t stop her. Eye makeup remover now lives in the emergency kit.
Our shopping ensembles offer a perfect balance of warm layers and button downs to ensure quick dressing room changes, although, we’ve been known to construct makeshift jacket tents for in-store try-ons. Patent pending.
The Main Course
I annually question my consumer sanity. Then I hear the sweet sound of “50 percent off plus 10 percent off and another 5 percent for using your Macy’s card.’’ We keep shopping. The only thing heavier than our eyelids are the 15 bags slowly cutting off the circulation to our wrists. But, then you find that sale. That Christmas gift for your Dad that is finally not socks. That tale of a sale you will regale long into the New Year. (Pro Tip: Always consolidate. Never take unnecessary baggage. That sweater doesn’t need its own bag – it should get to know those pants anyway.)
The Dessert
I wonder if it started as a funny thought. A thought that arose after too many glasses of wine, too many years of paper Pilgrim hats with the kids, or if it successfully excused the girls from the obligatory family bowling outing (another Cracker Jack idea). However it happened, we now have an unavoidable yet enjoyable tradition that no amount of questioning or sleep deprivation can disturb.
More than anything, the early rising, the horn honking, the crowd-dodging frenzy we voluntarily subject ourselves to really isn’t just for the thrill of the deal. It’s for the “Oh my god, my shirt has been inside out all day’’ kind of laughter that only occurs during the most ridiculous of circumstances.
And what if we leave empty handed? Making the two-mile trek to our parking spot with nothing to show for it? (It has happened to me.) It was still another year of twisted family bonding in the books. A year of watching your mother dance in a parking spot to save it for the car, of laughing hysterically at your impulse purchases the next day because how could you not buy it at that price, and of the celebratory Styrofoam clinking of Dunkins’ cups to mark another year. And we burned off the cookies from the day before (well, most of them).
Note to self: less carbs next year.
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