A True Tale From Black Friday, My Best and Worst Nightmare

If you know me, then you know that there’s a lot I’ll do for a bargain. I’ve driven hundreds of miles to scour some of the country’s best outlet malls. I spent the better part of my youth buying designer gowns at Loehmann’s for those events I was sure I would one day be invited to. (Still waiting.) While on vacation in Italy, I even forced my dear mother to hire a cab to take us to an outlet mall in the middle of nowhere (Umbria? Tuscany? Who remembers.) where I tap danced all the way back to Milano in my bargain Ferragamos. And while I’ve been to many a sample sale, I had never before taken part in a trample sale, otherwise known as “Black Friday.”

Black Friday. Even the name brings to mind a horrible disease that could easily wipe out half of the English population. Black Plague Friday. To the uninitiated, a quick explanation: After a gigantic Thanksgiving dinner, retailers open their doors in the middle of the night with “unbeatable” deals, which sends usually level-headed people into a gnashing tornado of grabby hands and cash.

Black Friday is not a joke. There were people camped outside of my parents’ local Miami Best Buy on Wednesday in order to save a hundred bucks on a television. And we’re not talking tents. Someone had a futon, desk, and working flat-screen TV installed. As is now a Collins family tradition, we made sure to drive by the gigantic Best Buy line on Thursday night and wave at everyone while laughing. Surprisingly, we only got 2 middle fingers.

But this year, this was my year. And so, I made an Executive Decision starring Steven Seagal to venture to Sawgrass Mills, South Florida’s premiere outlet mall, at 12 midnight, when they planned on opening their doors to reveal bargain basement, unheard of prices. This would be my Oprah’s Favorite Things moment. I made sure to change into an outfit I didn’t care for, lest it be torn to shreds, and descended upon the outlet mall at around 11:45 PM.

The highway was smooth sailing. I thought “Wow, maybe people have decided that family is more important than some stupid clearance sales. Good on you, America. Good on you” as I juggled three silver dollars while laughing maniacally.

Then I got to the exit. Here is an artists portrayal of that moment:

It was panic mode. There were a MILLION CARS all clamoring to make it in time for the bargain$$$. Thankfully, I was well-versed in layout of this particular mall, so managed to save about an hour going through back roads. But the parking.

Ohhhh. The parking.

Parking was nothing short of Discovery’s Planet Earth levels of stalking. Thousands of cars all moving at 2 mph in an effort to find that one golden spot. But those spots did not exist. There were zillions of parking spaces full of cars. And much like a date rapist on the Jersey Shore, one would pull out every 10 minutes or so. Until I saw a driver pull a genius tactic. He found one of these rare specimen shoppers who were leaving the mall at around 12:15 am, invited this man into his car, and physically drove him to his spot, thus ensuring that his car would be the one to replace it. No stalking needed!

This was the only way. So like a pedophile with a suspiciously sized lollipop, I waited patiently by the mall exit til a nice woman with arms full of bags hoofed it outside. Cue me rolling down my window, Hookers At The Point style:

“Hi there, do you know where you’re parked?”

“Yes, not far away.”

“Can I ask you a weird question?”

“Do you want me to get in your car?”

It was like BUTTER. Is this why people tell children not to get in the car of strangers? Because seriously, this could not have gone smoother. Except for the part where I said “I promise I’m not a serial killer,” which is word for word what serial killers certainly assure their prey moments before they’re slow dancing with their corpse on the beach.

I drove my new Outlet Shopping BFF to her car, where her boyfriend was patiently awaiting her arrival. This was my Parking Oscar moment. As millions of cars looked on with envy, they pulled out of their spot, and I glided my dad’s sensible Mercury Milan right on in. I have never, in my life, experienced this sensation before. Victory. Pure American F**king Victory. This feeling was so pure, so unrefined, that honestly I would have gladly dropped $1,000 on a Wertzel’s Pretzel. The money didn’t even matter anymore. I HAD WON.

Now I was inside the mall. It was Insanity & Colmes. If you’ve ever seen episodes of The Amazing Race where they go to Bangladesh and the roads are pure and deadly chaos, this is the closest thing I could compare the packed aisles of this mall to. There were all kinds there: Tourists, locals, elderly people, babies, a TON of BABIES, happy couples, unhappy couples, a TON of UNHAPPY COUPLES. Really, ladies, if you’re ever looking to pick up someone’s extremely miserable boyfriend, Black Friday Shopping is “The Place”©. (Men, I imagine the line at any electronics store would be “jump off” paradise for you.) There was even a man on crutches, an injury I’m certain was sustained while waiting in line at Starbucks.

In my exhaustion, I went to the first store and just started grabbing things at random in Supermarket Sweep fashion. After about 10 minutes, I checked out my haul: A fur vest, some goggles, one shoe, and a paperweight. I turned my shopping cart over in the trash and started all over.

Did I mention the mayhem? The line to get into the Coach Outlet and Juicy Couture was about 4 solid blocks long of bad highlights and pristine manicures. It was truly a glorious cross-section of South Floridian Americana, a veritable stroll in the Museum of Consumerism that makes us one of the luckiest and deservedly most hated countries around.

I hit up a few more stores — Ralph Lauren was offering 30 percent off everything, which was great, if you were willing to wait on the check-out line that was longer than Cisco Adler’s ballsack. (Really long. Fact check this 2007 news item at your own risk.) Michael Kors had some killer deals, literally, offering 50 percent off chloroform-soaked cloths. It should be mentioned that my Mother now refuses to buy anything from him after he made Gretchen the winner of Project Runway.

My shopping remained light (a pair of sunglasses and classic Collins tunic dress), and frankly, most stores were offering the same discounts from the previous Wednesday, when, yes, I went to the outlets with my parents. One of the only stores that seemed to offer some truly salivating bargains was the Burberry Outlet. By 2 AM, the store still wasn’t open, but giant signs with 50 percent off runway bags plus an additional 25 percent off the entire store were enough to get my attention. A girl at the store next door claimed they were opening at 4 AM, nary 2 hours away. Oh, and I would return.

That gave me 2 hours to elbow my way through fellow deal hoarders and kill some time. No complaining here. The people watching was Stellar McCartney, hence I was in my element. It was then I saw a mirage of such proportions I had to see how many acid tabs I had dropped to make sure I hadn’t OD’d. There it was….

GLAMOUR SHOTS.

Mother. Effing. Glamour. Shots. Was. Open. I mean. I had waited my whole life for this day. I frantically tweeted to my adorable followers, asking if it was worth the humiliation of being made up, tarred and feathered in front of thousands of people for the glory of that single, delectable shot.

And they answered with a resounding: OBVS. But, if this plan was to work, I would have to wait until I was at my most pass-out tired in order to get pics. Eyes bloodshot, feather boa carefully wrapped. I was born for this moment to happen.

To ensure maximum exhaustion, I decided to line up outside of the Burberry sale about an hour before the doors opened. It was here that I became BFF with a bunch of Brazilian people, whom I will now call “The Best People At The Mall.” They were HILARIOUS. Something about the fact that we were all shopping at 3:30 AM made most everyone at the mall extremely gregarious, like being at a nightclub full of bargains.

Now it was 4 AM, time for the doors to open and a mad dash to the “Perfect Bag” that would make this entire ordeal worth it. Only, no one came. By this point, I was about 10th in a line made up of 200 people, a line that stretched back for at least 3 blocks. 4:15 AM. No one came. Now people were getting rowdy. By 4:25, folks were calling security to find out, and I think I’m paraphrasing here, “Why the F*CK aren’t the doors open?”

Eventually, the head of security apparently woke up the manager of the store who was STILL ASLEEP IN HIS BED. The store wouldn’t be open until 10 AM, regular time. At this point, my feet looked like this:

And my eyes looked like this:

In other words: GLAMOUR SHOTS TIME.

I dragged my nails through the linoleum and flung my lifeless corpse through the storefront, fingers bleeding. Time? 5 AM.

“I’d like to have my Glamour Shots taken please.”

A solitary man playing Freecell on a giant Mac slowly turned around in his seat. Picture the chef at the Overlook Hotel in The Shining. His gaze slowly traveled downwards to me where I lay sprawled, dead, on the ground before him. And he said:

This. This thing that he said to me. I could swear I heard this playing over the mall’s intercom:

This was it. My end of the road. No deeply discounted Brit trash purse. No Glamour Shot. Barely a purchase made. Thankfully, on my way out, I was so exhausted I managed to snag 8 prom dresses and lose my virginity all over again and again in the Taco Bell parking lot. Just like that dream I once had!!

Moral of the story? Said in the style of Kanye West: Michelle Collins hates Black Fridays. Next year, I’m going to celebrate Black Friday the American way: By renting the Indian movie Black Friday and stuffing myself with Indian food. (Ed. Note: And now, to nap. Goodnight.)

Anyone else have a similar Black Friday experience? Get any good deals? Brag about it in the comments. Or tweet me about it!