I've never been a huge fan of shopping, with the exception of groceries, which I love beyond reason. I do like looking at stuff, but somehow poking around with the intention of buying things is a special ring of my personal hell.
Which is why the very concept of Black Friday makes my head spin. For a girl who likes to take late night walks because I can pretend there's no one else in the city, being jammed into aisles with dozens of other people is positively claustrophobic. I dislike being stuck in line with those radically inefficient types who sigh and shuffle and hurrumph at how long it's taking but begin the inevitably long, arduous search for their wallet only when they hear their total. I dislike cranky, snippy people. People in lines are cranky and snippy. I dislike being cranky and snippy. I become cranky and snippy. Enough. The particulars aren't important, but you get the idea. I'm petty and precious and sad, and I can't hack it in the fluorescent lit jungle of Retail Land. But actively seeking this experience on a day when you're guaranteed the biggest, most aggressive, adrenalized crowds of the year? How does anyone find that appealing?
Well, sales, stupid. Crazy sales intended to satisfy the already crazy and induce a sense of urgency and madness in those not yet over the edge. And in a bad economy, the siren song of the discount flat screen gets turned up to eleven.
This is old news, but it's worth examining this year maybe more than others because of...yes, Occupy. I realize I'm probably starting to sound like an Occupy zealot, but bear with me here.
