Dearest Rachel –
One of the holiday traditions that we’ve dispensed with now that you’re gone is that of hitting the stores for their Black Friday deals. You would go through the newspaper and the various mailings after Thanksgiving dinner, trying to ascertain if any of their offerings would meet the needs of the Christmas lists we’d been given from various family members; especially for Daniel, and later Jenn’s kids, since toys were among the highlighted offerings on these advertisements. You would even make a point of getting to bed early (well, sometimes – other years, you would just stay up until we got back from hitting the stores and then take your rest) so as to get up early enough to be there when the places you most wanted to go to opened their doors – Half Price Books was a particular favorite, as they offered coffee and donuts to those who were waiting outside, and a gift card for the first hundred patrons to show up (which you always wanted to be among).
It wasn’t always this way, of course; your childhood home of Macomb didn’t have stores big enough to hold such doorbusting sales, even after the big box stores that would make that a thing came to your town. Even when you married me and moved up here, that really wanted much of a thing right away; or if Black Friday as a concept was one at that point, we didn’t really pay that much attention to it at first.
It wasn’t until one of my relatives got married over the Thanksgiving holiday – and we had to leave to drive down to Nashville early Friday morning to attend it on Saturday – that you decided that “as long as we have to be up so early anyway, why not take the opportunity to do some of that Black Friday shopping we’ve heard so much about?” Besides, this was when computers were starting to become a consumer item, but were still plenty expensive, so if we could get our hands on one of the deals on offer, that would really be something.
I don’t recall whether you just stayed up, or joined me for a relatively short nap, but we did manage to get out there. On the other hand, I’m pretty sure we didn’t snag any truly enviable deals – I still recall at least one Black Friday where the store was handing out chips, allowing people access to such a deal, and they ran out before they got to us in line (at which point, we abandoned the line and the store, since that’s all we were there for; I recall thinking it was nice of them to do that, so we wouldn’t just be standing there waiting for no reason), but I can’t recall if it was that first venture into the practice. We must have found at least a thing or two worth our while, though, because you made it a tradition for years thereafter, even going so far as to stop at a Target that was open one Thanksgiving evening to see if they had a video game our nephew Will was asking after.
But those days are behind us, I’m afraid. There’s very little of the thrill of the hunt for me anymore. None of the family is asking for the latest toy or appliance these days; most of the requests on the Christmas lists I have actually involve gift cards, which almost by definition never go on sale – as the line from Dilbert goes, “It’s just like cash, only more restrictive,” but at least it shows you made the effort to go to the place the recipient loves and get this for them. But as far as Black Friday goes, why take the time and effort to rush out today, fighting the crowds and the traffic, when there’s no bargain to be snagged by doing so? Besides, so much shopping can be done in the comfort of one’s home, sitting in front of one’s computer; why put oneself out in the chill of a late November morning when you don’t have to?
You can probably tell that, in some respects, I don’t really miss not getting out there, lining up in the cold, and wondering if we’re even going to get our hands on what we came for. There’s a reason why the shopping ordeal is a mainstay of Christmas movies; the drama involved in finding just the right thing for this or that person (or, at other times in both our personal and national history, wondering if we have enough to obtain that thing) is just so relatable that it makes for great box office. Ironically, usually by the end of the film, the typical discovery is made that the real gift was time spent between the shopper and the one they were shopping for.
And if I could spend more time shopping with you, I would be more than happy to do so once again on Black Friday. You weren’t always out for this or that thing, after all – indeed, the whole point of the secondhand bookstore, in particular, was that you might find a treasure you never would have considered otherwise – the fun of the day was the experience. Even the traffic, the cold and the jostling crowds were part of the moment that you relished taking in; the chance that we would find something for your folks, or my sister or her kids was almost an extra. After all, we still had nearly thirty days to accumulate (and wrap, which I still don’t enjoy, either) everything for those on our shopping list; the point of Black Friday was to take in the moment. It was an odd form of capitalistic tourism, a moment in time to visit and take in… and you made it enjoyable, because you enjoyed it.
But… that’s no longer the case for me. If I had you (or, I suppose, Megumi, although there’s no knowing how much she would be like you in this way) by my side, it might be fun again. As it is, I got enough questions from the folks as to whether I’d be in the “office,” that I decided to take the hint and show up to “work” instead – something I never would have done when I was actually part of the workfarce itself. Oddly enough, it was a really productive day, with me creating fake money templates for all the photographs I received (I’ll show them to you once I get agreement as to who goes where) and a couple of new T-shirt designs (well, techinically, only one, but two separate color schemes for dark and light clothes). So in a way, I felt a similar sense of accomplishment as I would on a good Black Friday back in the day.
It’s just that… it’s not the same as it used to be. Nothing is, honey, nor will it be.
Letters to Rachel 