The 100%: A Tale of Black Friday

Thanksgiving dinner was a fried chicken dinner deal from Gerbe's including a drumstick and a thigh, mashed potatoes and gravy, and macaroni & cheese. On top of that, I added sides of stuffing and jellied cranberry sauce, as well as a 2 liter of Coke. It was a good enough meal.

I'd slept for 7 hours since getting off of work at 3 a.m. that Thanksgiving morning. I have worked at a Target store in Columbia, Missouri for over 6 years, and had started the shift at 4:30 p.m. on the previous day, Wednesday, working into the early hours of the next morning, preparing for that annual shopping feast or famine, Black Friday. My tiredness was blanketed by the alertness and positivity which comes from the adrenaline of pushing through an unusually up and down schedule. I feel the same way right now.

After purchasing my meal, I started watching It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, a show I've only recently picked up. The Christmas episode, from season 4, will go down as one of, if not the favorite of my adult yuletide entertainment traditions. Toward the end of the episode, the gang rips their surrogate father Frank, played by Danny DeVito, to pieces in a wonder of stop-motion animation. Hooked on watching, I didn't go to sleep after that for several hours.

Waking up at 9:30 p.m., I'd only been asleep for a few hours, but I was ready to get moving and I'd always known I'd never get enough sleep that evening before heading into work for the midnight opening. I dressed, packed and headed out.

It's a Wonderful Life, that Frank Capra Christmas classic starring Jimmy Stewart, has developed in my adulthood into one of my favorite movies. I love quoting from this scene on the bridge:

Bert: [shouts] Hey, George! George! You all right? Hey, what's the matter?

George Bailey: Now get outta here, Bert, or I'll hit you again! Get outta here!

Bert: What the sam hill you yellin' for, George?

George Bailey: You... [suddenly stunned]


George Bailey: George... Bert? Do you know me?

Bert: Know you? Huh. You kiddin'? I've been looking all over town trying to find you. I saw your car plowed into that tree down there and I thought maybe you - hey, your mouth's bleeding. Are you sure you're all right?

George Bailey: What the... [licks the corner of his lip and checks his mouth with his hand]

George Bailey: Ha, ha, ha, ha! My mouth's bleeding, Bert! My mouth's bleeding! Zuzu's petals... Zuzu...

George Bailey: [checking his pocket] There they are! Bert, what do you know about that! Merry Christmas!

I do a great Jimmy Stewart, by the way. The movie, considered a commercial flop in its initial release in January of 1947, is about a man, George Bailey, who must set aside his own dreams for the good of his family and hometown, never fulfilling his true potential. As a grown man, a father and husband, he succumbs to regret and remorse for this unlived life. He comes to a bridge and approaches the edge of that steel and the limits of his life, only to be swept away by a man claiming to be his guardian angel. Clarence, as the angel is called, takes him on a journey through his past, present and an "alternate" future, very similar to A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens.

George comes back to that bridge and, in the scene quoted above, gets a second chance at the life he's chosen. He runs through the main street of Bedford Falls filled with the Christmas spirit, wishing good tidings on even his worst enemy. In the end, the town which he has cared for and for which he has sacrificed so much, saves him as much as Clarence did. He is again a good husband, a doting father, and a human being generous with his kindness and love.

I suppose I find it so appealing because it is what I, like so many other adults long past their youthful dreams, aspire to.

Living less that two miles from work, I decided to walk there. Target was going to open at 12 a.m. and several other stores two hours earlier, so I anticipated heavy traffic on the roads and decided it wasn't worth navigating in my car. I crossed the most trafficked road easily, stopped for coffee at the gas station and made my way past Macy's and Old Navy and McDonalds and Sears and Dillards, each with a line or no line proportionate to their opening time.

At Target, the line had begun roughly halfway through the Thanksgiving holiday. I drove past earlier in the day -- I'll pause here to note that keeping track of what day it was became very difficult considering my strange schedule -- and at noon there was no line, but not long after, the first shoppers arrived.

They had chairs and sleeping bags, thermoses of coffee, energy drinks, pillows, magazines, cell phones, tablets. Their moods fell on opposite sides of the same spectrum, either rummaging around at the depths of crankiness or riding high in the night sky on their second or third wind. The line wrapped to the side of the building and by the time we were ready to open, it had stretched all the way around the back. Upon appearances, it was calm.

Over the course of 6 years, I've worked Black Friday in several locations within the store. I was on the flow team, unloading the truck the morning before open; in the cash office, responsible for collecting and counting money throughout the day; at the restaurant, watching the first wave of shoppers rush in and selling them soda and coffe; and on the salesfloor, where I actually closed so I missed the "madness" entirely. This was my first year in the middle of it all, on the front line you might say.

I arrived at 10:30 p.m. and almost immediately started working. I am a manager on the checklanes, working with several others. We'd planned pretty well, but I still had to rely on a strength of mine, an ability to record details for a limited period and immediately prioritize and execute several tasks at once. That's not to say that any of my coworkers aren't equally skilled or were prepared for the day.

I'm a man of relative calm. Whereas others would jump and holler around that night, trying to drum up excitement before the grand open, I was more resigned to pace my moood and approach the whole thing with ease. We were prepared where we needed to be and in everything else we would adapt. I like to think of myself as supportive in this manner of thinking and acting.

We got extra change for the registers, we reviewed competitors' ads, we high-fived the cashiers. We held a huddle and talked about which channels on the walkie-talkies were for which departments. Balloons were inflated to mark the ends of the lines, Target Redcard applications were passed out to the people waiting to get in, and police officers were stationed at potentially difficult locations. We were ready.

And it went well. I'm proud to say that my store performed excellently as a whole and as individuals. Problems were minimal and dealt with swiftly, shoppers were generally satisfied.

At the checklanes, I only had to handle a few delicate situations. A woman, severely agitated, picked up the wrong coffee makers because of our signing mistake, couldn't get to her mother outside the store, and needed help, so I adjusted the price. It was more than I'd do on any other day, but we were going to do several hundred thousand dollars in sales this Black Friday. In comparison to those figures what I did was negligible, as long as I didn't do it too often. Another guest was upset about the way we controlled the massive line of guests, threatening to call a local newspaper, and was dealt with swiftly and appropriately by our store manager. Like I said, everyone did a great job.

At about 3 a.m., I took my first break. The initial rush was done and I found myself drained from lack of sleep and the downward slope of an adrenaline high I picked up from managing on the checklanes, in jewelry, the restaurant and anywhere else within a range of 20 feet. There were donuts, chicken and soda in the breakroom and after grabbing some, I settled into a quiet space, away from the throng of coworkers and blaring television. I relaxed, emailing a woman to whom I enjoy talking and tried to forget where I was for the next 15 minutes.

No one knew what opening four hours earlier, at 12 a.m. that morning instead of 4 a.m., would do to the flow of shoppers. What happened, at least for our store, was that things slowed down significantly between 4 a.m. and 8 a.m. I imagine people were either looking for the next deal somewhere else, or going home to sleep. It was a golden opportunity for us to prepare for the next couple of days and to reset. We straightened and refilled product, put away barriers that had been used to control lines, and adjusted the level of shopping carts within the store. We settled into a more normal, albeit busy, day.

After returning from break, I sequestered myself to a downstairs office and make a schedule of breaks for the next two days, as well as preparing other paperwork for the next month of high sales and packaging equipment that would need repairs. There were other people to watch the checklanes and I happily let them do so.

I ended up working until 11 a.m. this morning, spending over 12 hours at work. The last things I did were to add HDMI cables to a display on the checklanes and help shoppers looking for movies and games in the electronics department, which we ultimately didn't have. I did processed an application for an store-connected credit card, a task heavily driven in ours and most retail stores.

I felt successful in contributing to the prosperity of our business. Long ago I realized that although I don't love my job, I will only feel good about myself in doing it if while I am here, I recognize the part of myself I put into it and try to do my best. I don't think anyone could survive otherwise.

At the end of my shift, I changed back into my civvies, took a quick look around the store for anything I wanted to buy, and then headed out. The walk home was much more difficult, but only for my own lethargy. Crossing through the parking lot, I was stopped once by a guy in a truck, asking if I'd be leaving, freeing up a space. I told him I hadn't driven that day, and continued to cut between the cars, through a field and the next shopping center, until I found myself home. I couldn't believe I was there. I checked the mail, said "hi" to the cats and laid down in my bed, falling asleep easily.

I woke up two and a half hours later. I just woke up. I needed to be up anyway. I have to get back to a regular schedule or I won't survive opening tomorrow, Saturday, and the day after that. I've got my coffee and internet courtesy of Barnes & Noble and am doing exactly what I wanted to do as I scanned the perimeter of Target at 10:30 p.m. last night, writing.

As I walked around the mall toward Target last night, the evening of a day reserved for giving thanks, I thought I wouldn't look at the people in line. I felt like it would be awkward. But as I got there, I looked. I wanted to see them.

It made me sad.

We had deals on video game systems, televisions, iPods and other items costing several hundred dollars. Lots of little things at lower prices, but priced to move. And all these people, despite the protests of consumers and employees alike in previous days and weeks, criticizing in their living rooms, the media and papers of protestation, had amassed to get that thing, that possession, that chunk of complicated metal, glass and plastic assembled for a cheap and temporary thrill.

We live in a world where people need. They need food, shelter, medicine, jobs. They need a reason to live, trapped in a system designed to squeeze them out. We're seeing it rise up in our hearts and minds, in our streets, on college campuses across the United States and the world. There is injustice and inequality everywhere, but still, as is witnessed and reported upon, so many have chosen to line up and contribute to the problems, rather than lining up to change them.

I'm no better. Despite my feelings and desirse, I haven't gone out to make a difference. In fact, I contribute to the problems, by working as a part of this system. But I'm a victim, too, dependent on the greed and consumerism to provide myself with the things I and anyone need.

George Bailey had the same problems. He stayed in Bedford Falls because his family needed him to run the business and the town needed someone within the system that could cut them a break. Help them get a house when they didn't have the credit, help them hold on a little longer when they couldn't pay thire bills. And he made that happen for a little while. Until Mr. Potter, the oppressive financial institution in that small, any-town, forced him almost into ruin. In his life, George couldn't explore, he couldn't love who he wanted, and he never got to choose. His choices were limited by the system in which he was forced to function.

And he was never freed from that. Even though he staved of death and depression, he only returned from fantasy to the same system, the same lack of freedom he'd known before.

What he wanted to achieve and what we are inspired toward achieving through watching the movie was that to which we all aspire. The cooperation of our loved ones and neighbors, the support of our fellow man able to raise us up and over. It's why this movie appeals to us, because it allows us to feel like if we can all just get along, if we work together and sacrifice mutually, we can save each other.

We forget that. We line up on both sides of the wall between commerce and politics and religion and think we only have ourselves on which to depend. We forget that we aren't the 99% and we're not the 1%. We're the 100%. We can choose.