Well, Thanksgiving is over, and although I enjoyed it with
friends and family, and had the usual amenities, this year there was an empty
spot in my memory bank. For the first time in years, there were no Black Friday
activities. My daughter and her family moved to Mesa—and with no players—no
team. We had been, for years, a well-oiled team and veterans of many Black
Friday battles. Our playbook was well put together, and through years of
skirmishes, victories and defeats, we were almost unstoppable. After the usual
dinner and football games, we would gather at the dining room table. We split
into four teams—Alpha 1, Alpha 6, Sky Hawk 3, and my team, Delta 1. The whole
mission was called “operation-enduring shoppers.” Missions were chosen
carefully. Coupons were passed out along with money and credit cards. Watches
were synchronized, cell phones were preprogrammed. We would stat at 0-400 and
return to base at 0-600. The younger members of the team were sent where speed
and agility were a must. The older members were sent where stealth and
craftiness were essential.
In 2010, my
son-in-law Rick, and I, drew the short straw and were sent to a big box
store—that will remain unnamed. This is to protect the innocent. We would
arrive at 0-200 with the doors to open at 0-400. Our goal was a 32-inch
television, with only fifty per store. When we arrived at the scene, there were
about 75 people already in line but our sources said, “Not all of them were
after televisions.” We had a good shot at success. Our preplanning showed us
the TV’s were in the center aisle, just south of the bras and panties, and were
on a pallet. I would lead the charge, and Rick would create a diversion, by
heading for another aisle screaming, “Give me that big screen television.” At
0-400, the doors clicked open and the rush was on. I survived a hip check from
a large lady that would have flattened Adrian Peterson. Rick went down in the
doorway screaming, “Save yourself, Chief!” I vaulted over a chain and sprinted
for the center aisle. My hamstrings were tightening up but I saw the target
ahead. Now I don’t know if you readers knew this, but I was an old baseball
player, so I slid into the pallet with a headfirst hook slide, and got the last
one. With the box in my arms, I dove under a display of thongs, saying a silent
prayer. Mission accomplished
I suffered a hernia, and chipped a tooth, but emerged with
my television. Later, Rick would be diagnosed with a torn hibiscus. Hey! Look
it up—that’s not just a flower, my friends. At 0-600, we returned to home base
victorious. One thirteen year old member of team Alpha 1 broke her retainer,
and the sixteen year old from Sky hawk 3 lost a shoe and tore her designer
jeans, but otherwise, we were left unscathed.
It’s been two long years since that memorable night in
Burnsville. I had my tooth capped, and I wear that hernia like a red badge of
courage. Rick says his hibiscus feels better in the warm desert air, but he
does mist up talking about it. There is talk of Alpha 6 being reactivated next
year, but nothing for certain. I have no idea where that television is. Now, if
you will excuse me, I have to go adjust my truss.
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