It's been a restless night and my eyes pop open at 3:44 a.m., a minute before the alarm is set to go off.
The idea is to be out of the house by 4:10 a.m., in search of the deals to be had on skinny, flat-screen TVs. Enough with cathode ray tubes.
Though we've shopped the day after Thanksgiving before, always following the typically crazy early-morning rush, this will be our first true Black Friday experience. We -- my wife and I -- plan to jostle for the choicest doorbuster deal on a 32-inch LCD high-definition television, even if it means arriving before dawn, before supplies run out. Being frugal at heart -- a cheapskate, my wife might say -- this is the time to pounce.
Already, though, problems pop up. The neighbor who's supposed to watch our 2-year-old doesn't answer the door when I knock, so off go the three of us, the girl still in pajamas.
We arrive 20 minutes before the planned 5 a.m. opening of the Super Target in Mishawaka. That's where the cheapest TV in our category -- $246 -- is to be had, according to our perusal of several pounds of ads in Thursday's Elkhart Truth. My hopes dwindle, though, on seeing the line of people -- two football fields long and growing -- already waiting.
They fade even more after striking up a conversation with some of the people at the front of the line. Two of the three people I talk to, there since 11:30 p.m. the night before, also want the $246 TV, a Westinghouse.
Thankfully, we won't have competition at the end of the line. There, Clint Stamatovich of Elkhart, not entirely sold on the notion of Black Friday, explains that he made the early-morning foray at the prodding of his girlfriend in search of three DVDs that she wants.
"It's really unfortunate this happened," he says.
***
At 5:08 a.m., Penn High School student Kyle Schneider of Granger is leaving the store -- Westinghouse in hand -- and we have yet to get inside. He'll put the TV in his room and use it for gaming. "It looked like there were a lot going for that one," he offers.
By 5:15 a.m., we're in the store, but, not surprisingly, the Westinghouses have been snapped up. Next to the spot where they sat are some $378 Sonys, and my wife -- partial to the more expensive model -- couldn't be happier. Words are exchanged over my suggestion to hold out another day for something cheaper until I grudgingly put one in the cart.
Foiled! Visions of dollar bills with wings flying into the sky fill my head. I jealously eye the people I keep seeing with Westinghouse boxes in their carts as we finish our shopping.
***
Our daughter fixates on Candyland, the children's board game. Seeing that it's for kids ages 3 and older, I quickly do the math -- she's only 2 -- and see a way to keep from spending yet more money. I'll humor her, let her carry the box around, and when she's not looking, put the game aside.
We're getting her some blocks, I reason, and the TV is going to cost more than we, I, hoped. We can get Candyland next year.
"Look what I found," my wife later says, producing a $15 fleece jacket marked down from $30. "I can wear this one around the house."
I ask her about the coats she already has. What's wrong with those? Having won the TV battle, she backs down.
***
After waiting a half hour in an impossibly long checkout line, I go scouting and find something shorter. Even there, it takes an hour to finally pay for the goods.
Meanwhile, our daughter gets antsy and my wife takes her to the car to wait it out, crying and kicking.
"I would never go with mine," I overhear a woman further up the line saying. "They're bad enough on a regular day."
I haven't seen any fisticuffs or cross words among the mass of shoppers, despite all the elbow bumping and the rush to snap up the best deals. Yet on overhearing the snipe, I suddenly feel an urge, which I silently keep in check, to lash out.
***
By 7:21 a.m., we're in the car, leaving. The sky is still dark. I need a coffee.