Black and Blue Friday

If I watched TV, I would probably know why today, the day after Thanksgiving is called Black Friday, but I don't so I don't. Wikipedia informs me the term has been traced back to the '70s, and apparently referred to the heavy traffic on the nation's streets this "first day of the Christmas shopping season."

Was that a reference to the air pollution, that back in the leaded-gas days, turned city air black?

Or is it referring to the hope of retailers that they will be "in the black." as opposed to the "red," the first being profitable, the latter headed toward layoffs, bankruptcy, and ruin.

I've never been tempted by retail business as a career. The sales cycles seem impossibly dependent on an ever-expanding consumer economy, whereby we, the hapless consumers, buy ever more and more junk that promises to break down or become obsolescent well before the next hyped-up sales season arrives.

Nevertheless, and I reveal this in a somewhat chagrined and embarrassed state; we got up slightly early today and drove out to Daly City. There, a confluence of chain store outlets promised sales on many desirable items, none more coveted in this household than a $299 computer. We have three operative computers, and around five non-functioning ones here, but these days, we have five computer users most of the time.

Besides one of the two Macs has a Japanese keyboard and only one of us is fluent in that language. (One other, Julia, aged nine, can write every family member's name in Japanese, however.)

I am not going to name the chain store that held out hope that we might purchase a $299 computer, because I hate the store. By the time we fought through an unbelievable maze of cars unable to find parking (in suburbia!) and my peripheral vision revealed a tiny spot just right for my compact car, I had already developed a bad feeling about all of this.

Why was I driving here, in the meaninglessness of malled America, relatively early on a beautiful sunny winter's day, in search of a "deal?"

Not to worry. We soon got our comeuppance. Walking to the store in question, we encountered a giant line, probably 75 people, waiting to be allowed in one by one. Sales at stores like this one started as early as 4 a.m.! The worst part is, some people camped out and brought their port a potties with them!

Seeing the crazed mob, with lather on their lips and capital hunger in their beady eyes, brought us to a sudden stop. No way we were going to stand in line. As we retreated, I heard a security guard tell a guy near the front of the line, "No way, man, you had to be one of the first five in line to get one of those, dude!"

I'm quite sure he was talking about the computer we (and so many others) had coveted. We returned home, empty-handed, and freaked out by the number of drivers who cut us off, flipped us off, and wagged us off, as we struggled to extract ourselves from this maddened crowd.

***

I've been around long enough to know that a day that starts as this one did is going to get worse before it gets better. Restless, in early afternoon, I suggested we take a walk to the lower Mission. We eventually landed in Thrift Town, where I bought a robe for my little girl. Then, we crossed the street to peruse the merchandise in a one-dollar store.

If it sounds like we were trying to act like consumers, I won't deny it. It's just that we downgraded our search from middle-class appliances to working-class castoffs. There were a few things in our basket when my cell phone rang with one of those messages a parent never wants to receive.

My 13-year-old had fallen in a park and was in terrible pain. His wrist might be broken, and he was holding his head, which had hit the cement hard; also his lips were bleeding. I caught the first taxi home, jumped in my car, and raced to the Emergency Room.

Aidan still seemed dazed. He couldn't remember what had happened, but he said his headache was horrible, he was drowsy, nauseous, faint, and feeling confused. If this was the first time I'd raced to an ER in response to news of a head injury suffered by one of my children, that would be one thing. But this was somewhere around the eighth time for me as a father.

A number of hours later, after a wrist X-ray and a cat scan, the doctor emerged with good news -- his wrist is only sprained, and his concussion does not appear to be serious. We have to watch him closely for a few days to be sure, but for the first time since somewhere in the one-dollar store, I feel like I can breathe deeply tonight.

Aidan will wake up very sore tomorrow, but he should be okay. Hopefully, he will not again try to leap over tennis nets, which is what led to these injuries. His feet got tangled in the net and he slammed headfirst into the cement below.

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