NOVEMBER 2019 / SOUTHERNLIVING.COM
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surrounded by the people you love,
vanish into a deep sleep.
The next minute, you’re tugging
on one end of a flat-screen TV, trying
to wrest it from the grip of a rabid
grandmother who, teeth bared, is
calling you names that should never
be uttered on the cusp of the Yuletide.
Or so I am told.
The truth is, I’ve been too afraid
to see it all for myself, even if you
can buy a refrigerator for $17 with a
clip-out coupon. For days, the mailbox
has been crammed with circulars that
promise seasonal savings on every-
thing from pickup trucks to printer ink
to pistachios, and I think that a real man
would just gird his loins, sharpen his
American Express card, and do battle.
But then I imagine the shoppers—faces
all aglow, clashing through the toy
department and all the way out to their
minivans, each with half a teddy bear
held aloft in grim triumph—and I lose
my nerve. I find myself a sturdy chair
and a stack of catalogs and shop from
the safety and comfort of home, even if
I do have to pay full price and a $10,000
delivery fee, even though L.L.Bean is
almost always plumb out of size XXL
double long.
I’m told that there is a far safer
method, something called the Internet,
but I hear they can be a rough bunch
too. So I’ll stick to the catalogs. I think
the operator at The Vermont Country
Store genuinely likes me.
Now and then, my kinfolk, who
are braver and tougher, shame me.
They get me a present they fought for,
suffered for, in the melee and misery
of a Black Friday, and I think that, next
Christmas, I will be brave.
So watch out, Grandma. I’m coming
for you and that bargain flat-screen,
and you’d better not get in the way of
my Christmas shopping, if you know
what’s good for you. å
I
HAVE BEEN SCARED of a few
things in my life, but, across the
years, I’ve tried to cowboy up and
get over them. I used to be afraid
of heights; even a barn loft or the
roof of a Winnebago made me
dizzy. So I hitched myself to a
rope and rappelled down a rock face
on Chandler Mountain from so high you
could look down and see the hawks
circling. I don’t think I screamed once,
except maybe inside my own head. I
used to be afraid of copperheads, till
I watched an old woman go to town
on one with a hoe handle and then go
make me some tea cakes. I am not a
squeamish man, mostly. The only thing
that terrifies me still is what they call,
ominously, Black Friday.
It sounds like something from the
Dark Ages, from the plague years. I’ve
never actually experienced one, but
I’ve heard the awful stories.
One minute, you’re saying grace
around a Thanksgiving turkey, grateful
for all the good things in your life—
like hot biscuits, cornbread dressing,
candied sweet potatoes, and (oh, yeah)
friends and family. Full, tired, and
happy, you slip into a soft chair and,
A Hard Bargain
Avoiding the buy-one, get-one free-for-all on Black Friday
by
RICK BRAGG
ILLUSTRATION BY JOHN CUNEO
