Chasing Black Friday: A Tale of Hope, Hype, and Regret

American Threads

Image made with KLING AI

“Oh mio Dio…” was all I could manage to whisper when we arrived at the closest Best Buy on Thanksgiving. It was 10 pm, two hours before the doors would open to welcome Black Friday.

Our mission was clear: snag a 55” Samsung TV for $199 instead of $450. Ambuj had been talking about it for a week, his eyes sparkling with excitement, partly because we needed a new TV, partly because of the thrill of getting an excellent deal. I agreed to go—even though the thought of spending the night shopping annoyed me. I would have much-preferred playing cards, chatting, or doing just about anything else.

Still, part of me was curious to experience the infamous Black Friday hype firsthand—it felt like a quintessentially American event for someone who had moved to the Bay Area from Italy two years ago.

The term Black Friday, I Googled on our way there, originated in 1960s Philadelphia, where police used it to describe the chaos of traffic and crowds caused by shoppers and tourists ahead of the Army-Navy football game. Retailers later adopted the term with a positive spin, linking it to profitability, as it signified a shift from financial losses (“in the red”) to gains (“in the black”).

As we approached Best Buy, I realized the line to enter was already snaking around the massive one-story building that housed every technological gadget America had to offer.

Several employees had meticulously constructed a maze of tape throughout the vast parking lot to guide the crowd. One ushered us toward the end of the line, ensuring we didn’t cut in.

Several people walked briskly alongside us after quickly exiting their cars. We were all casting sidelong glances at each other while subtly quickening our pace, each contending for every possible inch of advantage. No one wanted to give up a potential spot in line, but no one dared to sprint for it, unwilling to reveal their true cutthroat nature.

At the last second, we passed a middle-aged woman with bright orange hair and claimed our place in line, watching as it rapidly grew behind us.

“This is intense,” I said sharply, glancing at the several dozen people ahead. Ambuj mumbled something I didn’t catch, my attention already drawn to the family in the front. The five of them were sitting in a circle within the confines of the tape, equipped with camping chairs, a small foldable table, playing cards, thermoses of hot beverages, quilts, and a few board games.

These people knew exactly what they were doing and had come fully prepared. If they waited in line for hours for a TV, they might as well made it comfortable—and maybe even a core memory. I couldn’t deny that I was impressed and it was some next-level planning for $251 off.

I looked behind us, and the line had doubled since we arrived just 30 minutes ago. Still, an hour and a half awaited us. Great.

My patience was wearing thin as time passed, and the cold started seeping into my bones, when I noticed the family of overachievers sprint into action: 10 minutes to midnight. They began folding up the chairs and packing away their camping gear. Two of them left the line, hauling everything toward a truck parked nearby in the lot. Of course, they had a truck.

I spotted a Best Buy representative handing out what looked like pink coupons, the last one going to the couple directly in front of us.

“Excuse me?” I called out to the young man as he began trotting back toward the entrance.

He turned, frowning. “Yeah?”

“What are those coupons? Do you have any extras?” I asked, trying to sound casual but feeling a sudden urgency not to miss out on any essential Black Friday maneuvers.

“Sorry,” he shrugged. “We only have a limited number of the best TV deals, but plenty of other offers are inside. Good luck.”

Before I could respond, he turned and jogged off, leaving me staring after him, my right eye twitching at his comment. Ahead of us, the couple giggled and beamed at the pink coupon: 55” Samsung TV for $199. I felt like a kid in the candy shop while Charlie unwrapped his Willy Wonka golden ticket.

Ambuj stood dead silent next to me, knowing full well that the Earth might crack open beneath us if he dared utter a single word. I narrowed my eyes at that coupon, channeling the pure, unfiltered rage of someone who had just spent two hours in the freezing cold—and may walk away with nothing.

“Hey folks!” Another representative’s voice boomed through a megaphone. “We’re about to open the doors; please be mindful of your fellow patrons.” In its infinite wisdom, the universe decided to turn my attention to the announcement and save the people around me from my wrath.

The crowd fidgeted, inching closer together like a herd of buffaloes as the doors were about to open. The air buzzed with electricity, and chaos erupted as soon as the entrance opened. People bolted inside the store, and the pressure from the crowd behind pushed me forward.

I reached the door, and for a split second, I had no idea where to go or what I was looking for.

Ambuj took off to the left, I sprinted to the right, frantically scanning the aisles, my mind all over the place. I spotted more than five stacks of TVs, but I needed to figure out which one was the right model. I saw a $399 price tag. Nope, not that one. I turned around and saw a $299 tag, still not the one, but cheap enough to hold on to. I leapt, but before I could get my hands on it, the bright red-haired woman from the line swooped in, grabbing the last box.

She looked over her shoulder with a little smirk on her face. Gollum and her treasure.

I grabbed the only one I could reach, the last TV in the stack with the $399 price tag. My fingers wrapped around it, claiming it with every ounce of determination. But now, I was stuck holding this giant TV in the middle of a chaotic storm of people rushing, running, grabbing, and yelling. I pushed it forward, trying to navigate the madness while desperately scanning for Ambuj.

“It’s gone,” Ambuj said, his face painted with a defeated smile as he rushed towards me without holding a TV.

I pointed to the massive pack between my legs. “I found this one.”

His eyes met mine, a silent message flashing in them. That wasn’t the one. And we definitely weren’t about to spend $399 on a new TV.

Irritation simmered beneath my skin as the reality sank in—we were going home empty-handed. I left the TV right there, abandoned in the chaos, and stormed off further into the store.

“Sorry!” A kid collided with me, juggling an assortment of gadgets in his hands. Even children were walking away with something. I shoved past the aisles of USBs and thought about picking up a couple for my camera; at least I would walk away with a small consolation.

I reached the cashiers, slaloming between people, and it didn’t take long to realize the line to pay was yet another taped maze snaking through the store, and judging by its length, it would take over an hour just to check out.

Ambuj appeared beside me, taking my hand as I silently placed the USBs on the nearest rack—definitely the wrong one. We exchanged a glance, an unspoken agreement passing between us. Without a word, we turned and walked out of that chaos, leaving behind the storm of deals, crowds, and disappointment.

As the cold night air hit our faces, we knew one thing: this was our first and last in-store Black Friday experience.

With a receipt full of regrets,

Simona