It was 3:50 when the horn sounded. A.M.
What the hell was Wilson doing laying on the horn at this hour?
I raced to the front door frazzled, fumbled with the lock, and finally got the damn thing undone. I opened the door and yelled into the darkness like a madman.
“Enough with the horn.”
Wilson jumped out of the car, and in the street light I could see him waving his phone above his head and pointing at it like it was a new device he was showing off.
“You see the time?” he yelled back.
I stopped myself from responding. At the moment, we appeared to be two crazy people screaming in the dark. One more exchange and we would be a disturbance and worthy of a call to the police.
I waved my index finger at him hoping he understood the universal sign for, give me a minute. Inside, I double-timed it into the kitchen and poured myself a cup of to-go coffee, and grabbed one of the kid’s snack bars.
Ahhh, Black Friday.
The most infamous of America’s unofficial holidays.
Seconds later I was in the passenger seat wondering why I agreed to go with Wilson on his usual Black Friday rounds. And this year of all years. He had asked before, but this time it seemed like a cry for help.
“You were supposed to be ready at a quarter of,” he said, agitated.
“Put your mask on,” I said, lowering the window for ventilation.
He did at the stop sign, then kept yapping.
“Do you have to have the window all the way down? You know how loud it’s going to be on the highway?”
“Yes, and take local roads,” I said.
We drove on in silence for a moment, at least externally. Internally, I was having a pretty good conversation with myself about judgement and decision making. Both needed to be fine tuned to avoid agreeing to do anything with Wilson in the future.
“I read last night that stores had done away with doorbusters this year,” I said.
“I didn’t see that,” he said, taking the on-ramp to the highway at too high a rate of speed for my taste.
“Yes, apparently retailers are shying away from having maskless multitudes gathering in front of their doors,” I yelled, screaming to be heard above the din of the highway noise. “You know, the pandemic is a bit of a concern to them,” I said, as Wilson got the car up to warp speed and we passed a string of eighteen-wheelers.
Wilson yelled right back, as if we were having a normal conversation on a normal Friday morning.
“I can’t break my streak. I’ve bought a cheap TV every year for seventeen straight Black Fridays. In-person. I have to find a doorbuster. I’m not going to let the pandemic end the streak.”
The man was mad with consumerism. I waited until we slowed down to leave the highway to save my vocal cords the extra work before responding.
“You could have bought a big, dirt cheap TV a month ago online. That’s when the stores started their holiday sales,” I said.
“It’s not the same thing.”
“The TVs they sell online have pictures too,” I said.
“You don’t understand, it’s about the streak, not the TV. The streak. It’s who I am,” Wilson said. “I’m the guy that goes in person every year to get the best deal on a TV on Black Friday.”
“Have you thought about being a different guy?” I asked.
Wilson didn’t respond. We approached the complex with the big box stores and sure enough, there were empty parking lots at four a.m. Go figure.
Undeterred, Wilson drove straight for the entrance of a big retailer, and pulled into one of the six-thousand available spaces.
“Look, you’re wrong,” he said, pointing at the store. “People are waiting.”
And indeed there were a couple of shadowy figures milling around in front of the store.
“I’m not quite sure what they’re doing, but I don’t think its door-busting,” I said.
Wilson was already out of the car and on his way to the store. I hustled to catch up and tried to talk sense to him.
“Okay look, as a friend I’m telling you, you have a problem. Maybe there’s a support group out there for you. Black Friday Anonymous, or something. But I’m telling you, you have to break this cycle right here, and right now.”
It was like talking to a tree. No response, nothing. He was in the zone and heading to the front doors where three guys in hoodies were talking. They stopped as Wilson approached.
“You guys here for the doorbusters?” Wilson asked. “Do we need to stand six-feet apart, or can we gather? I’m okay with either.”
The guys peered at us from above their masks, not sure what to make of us, or the questions.
“Uh, Wilson,” I said, noticing the men were carrying thermoses, and little lunch pail type things. “I don’t think they’re here for a sale.”
“No, no,” one guy said. “No door busting this year.”
He made a little typing motion with his fingers. “Internet only. Maybe you buy on your phone.”
Wilson turned to me, leaned in a low voice said, “He’s lying. They just want to be first.”
It was then I realized Wilson needed professional help. There was only so much a friend could do, no matter how well-intentioned.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “Maybe they’re the cleaning crew on their way out, or some other workers.”
“That’s what they want us to believe,” Wilson said. “Back in oh-seven some guy said he was a fireman and needed to get inside. Cut the whole line. I’m not getting duped again.”
I though about maybe slapping him, like in the movies, to try and snap him out of it. Before I could say anything the men left, walking past us. One guy looked back and said, “Door busting is over. The pandemic, you know?”
Wilson stared at him in disbelief, shaking his head.
“No…it can’t be,” he mumbled. “It can’t be. He’s lying. I’m not going anywhere.”
The man was in denial. I knew there was only one thing for me to do at this point. I turned and started after the trio, yelling as I caught up to them.
“Hey, guys, how about a ride?”