For the last four years, this evening has been a night without sleep for me, a dreadful prelude to the most hectic, mind-numbing day of the year for anyone who works in retail: the day after Thanksgiving.
You can’t fully appreciate the insanity of American retail until you’ve huddled in the trenches at a Best Buy or Circuit City on the first “official” day of the holiday shopping season. Everyone knows that the crazies start lining up as early as seven the night before, huddling in the cold and fashioning a crude shantytown of tents and bonfires in order to be the first to score a cheap DVD player. These people are often ridiculed, their greed placed on display as a perfect example of American consumerism. I can see the allure, though, for those who enjoy the wait and the temporary friendships that can result, as well as their makeshift modern American version of “roughing it” in the bitter cold. In fact there was always, for me the employee, a certain adrenaline rush as the opening hour approached as the flood of employees and waiting customers coupled with the early hour created an almost anticipation of the madness that only come once a year. It’s a unique experience, and no matter how unorganized and randomly horrid the morning can be, how can you not, to at least a small extent, not want to get a taste of this?
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Then the clock turns five, and the people start running at you…and all anticipation starts retreating, replaced by the desire for all of this insanity to be over.
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Not everyone is rude. Not everyone disregards the fact that most employees got little-to-no sleep the night before and came into work between three and four in the morning with no break offered until close to noon, and no promise of leaving for home until more than twelve hours have passed since their shift began. But those that do, while perhaps the minority, are the ones you remember for years and years. They take it upon themselves to be whiny, selfish bitches just because they didn’t get their free camera that the ad clearly listed as “limited time, limited supply,” or they feel it necessary to shout at a manager because “there aren’t enough cash registers open” even though every single till in the building is currently being used. As the day unfolds and all of the no-margin doorbusters quickly disappear, there’s nothing wrong with asking if a product is still available. You never know. But complaining, screaming and yelling when you’re told all of them are gone is a different story.
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The weariness is the worst, especially because Friday isn’t the end of it. Saturday comes, and the store opens again at 8 AM and you’re barely recovered from the Shift From Hell the day before. Worse still is the absence of any leeway granted to the staff on The Day After, where customers are crabby and bitching right and left and a little bit of slack is given to employees who don’t feel like treating each and every Sue and Sammy Shopper as if their every need is our command. On Saturday, though, things slow down again and the level of respect shown towards customers is expected to rise. Unfortunately, the opposite in the relationship is not necessarily true, and with Sunday still to come the early hours on Saturday can be just as horrid – if not moreso – than the day before, where there is a quickness and an art to the madness. Saturday is just a dull, slow roar.
No longer in retail, I can sit back and relax this weekend, but a certain part of me is tempted to join the fray early in the morning, even if it’s on a more reserved scale at the local Rural King. There’s something quite American about the whole ordeal, as if someone who hasn’t experienced it all – at least on one side of the battle – isn’t a “real” consumer. I’ve done both, though, and if I venture into a store tomorrow it’ll probably be past noon before I do.
It’s not like anything on sale tomorrow is any good anyway.
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