My Black Friday Brush with the United States of Consumerism

It’s that time of year again, Exeter. Everything is merry, snow is on the ground and all the shops are decorated in tinsel and lights. No, I’m not talking about Christmas. I’m talking about everyone’s favorite season: consumerist season.

You smell that in the air? No, it’s not the smell of cookies. It’s not the smell of gingerbread. It’s not even the smell of fresh baked ham. It’s the smell of pure, unadulterated capitalism. Yum.

We all know there’s nothing more jolly than the use of a religious holiday to enhance one’s company’s own capitalist ventures. So to partake with caution in this classic American tradition, I, Emily Green, went Black Friday shopping. And somehow, I emerged victorious, having not been made another pawn in the cruel consumerist game of Christmas shopping.

It all started on Thanksgiving. While my mom cooked dinner, I looked through the Black Friday leaflets, circling the best deals and things I wanted with a Sharpie marker while the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade played in the background. (Some bonus capitalism). Suddenly, I came across a coupon in the Boston Store leaflet. It was a coupon for $10 off any item $10 or more. What an incredible deal! (So I thought). I could get a free item. (So I thought).

Once I’d eaten until I looked five months pregnant with a food baby and took a turkey-induced nap, I was ready to roll. I got up, put on some winter clothes and jumped into the car with my family. I was a woman on a mission.

After hitting up Kohl’s for an incredible deal on sweaters, we made our way to Boston Store. I clutched the coupon in my chronically sweaty hands. Upon entering the store, I read the back of the coupon to figure out the exclusions. Turns out, most of the store was an exclusion. In fact, for the first twenty minutes of my quest, I couldn’t find a single item that wasn’t excluded. The shoes I liked were already on sale: excluded. The blouse I liked was a name brand: excluded. The makeup I liked was makeup: excluded.

Eventually, I gave in and asked someone who worked there for help finding something–anything–that the coupon was applicable to. She pointed to a single pair of hideous old lady shoes. I asked if there was anything else, and she told me to look for any rack marked with a purple tag that said “Use your coupons here!”

With that knowledge, I continued my search, now a scavenger hunt for purple tags. There were purple tags on some overpriced Birkenstocks, but $10 off of expensive is still expensive, so I kept looking. In the back of the store, I found some ugly scarves, hats and bags with the purple tags that were about $20 each. But that wasn’t good enough. I was determined to beat the game. I needed to find an object I could get for free.

After about an hour of searching, I found a clothing rack with nice, simple blouses. It had the purple coupon tag on in, and some of the shirts were $9.99. Success! I would get a blouse for free! I grabbed a navy one and brought it to the cash register, then triumphantly handed the cashier my coupon. Except she didn’t take the coupon. She just stared at me, a confused look on her face.

“That coupon doesn’t apply.”

I was shocked, “Why not?”

“The coupon applies to things that are $10 or more. That shirt is $9.99.”

I generally think of myself as a strong person, but never in my life have I been closer to sobbing in the middle of a department store.

“Nevermind,” I said. I felt completely defeated.

“Please don’t cry,” my mom said impassionately. But I wasn’t sad. I was angry.

I turned around and walked towards the door.

On the way out, I saw a cute jacket that wasn’t included but was on sale. I tried it on. It fit perfectly. But then my mom made a good point.

“You realize that if you buy the jacket, they win.”

She was right. I took off the jacket, hung it back up, and stormed out of the store.

I may not have won the game of capitalism, but at least I didn’t become a pawn in it.