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Editorial See other Editorial Articles Title: The Bleak Future of Black Friday Underwire Taking the Pulse of Pop Culture Previous post Alt Text: The Bleak Future of Black Friday * By Lore Sjöberg Email Author * November 25, 2010 | * 11:55 pm | * Categories: Current Affairs * The year is 2084, and it is Black Friday. The previous day, families all over the Incorporated States of America gathered to give thanks: Thanks to their housing conglomerate for the roof over their heads, thanks to their contracted grocery supplier for the food on the table, and thanks to the ISA for providing them with Voluntary Work Assignments to pay for most of their needs, and with a Voluntary Credit Account to cover most of the rest. bug_altextMany of those at the Thanksgiving tables could remember a time when the holiday was a pleasant gathering, the family warm and happy as the naturally formed turkey entree was popped open and the nutrient-grown enriched vegetable packets were activated, releasing clouds of fragrant, sterile steam. However, ever since the Great Plateau, when federal corporate growth flattened for three years in a row, it’s been hard to enjoy the meal, knowing that Black Friday is only hours away. It’s Black Friday, and the Hendrickson family is waiting in the cold outside the local AllMart, along with hundreds of other families. Up near the door are the rich families, wealthy enough to afford state-of-the-art padded armor and expandable batons. Behind them are the Neighborhood Watches, groups of middle-class families from gated communities banded together for mutual support and protection. The Hendricksons aren’t completely at the back, but they’re on their own, kicked out of the local Watch when young Nathaniel was taken away by the collection agency. In truth, Nathaniel was probably targeted for advocating against Black Friday, but the papers read “foreclosure,” and he hasn’t been seen since. Everyone’s here except Grandma Alisa, who is still in bed with the injuries she suffered last year on this day. Everyone is bundled up and armed with the free shopping truncheons being given out, each one bearing a prominent brand name and logo. The kids are nervously playing videogames, the adults checking their feeds compulsively — anything to keep from thinking about the ordeal to come. “Is that a gun?” says Randy. “That guy up front has a gun! That’s illegal!” “No,” says Father. “Weapons that damage merchandise are illegal. The Binding Arbitration ruled a couple weeks ago that rubber bullets and coma rounds are legal in the appliance and clothing departments.” Randy unconsciously rubs his shoulder, remembering a wound from a previous Black Friday. “OK, remember,” says Father. “Just get what you can, go where the crowds aren’t and take what’s left. Food, mostly, but if you can safely grab some clothes and toiletries, go for it.” “The toiletry aisle is never safe,” says Randy. “Just keep an eye out.” “We’re going to end up eating mushroom soup until March again,” complains Ann. “We’re going to end up safe and back at home,” snaps Father. “We don’t have to do this,” says Ann. She’s 14, just entering the dangerous years. Not enough sense to keep quiet, not enough credit burden to fear the collection agency. “Hush!” says Father. “We do.” “No, we don’t!” says Ann. “I read it. This is all voluntary.” Father nearly loses his temper. He practically barks at her. “This is our last chance to buy food and clothing for four months!” “And gifts,” he says carefully, eyeing a security guard walking past. “To keep the economy strong.” “I’d rather eat grass than another four months of mushroom soup,” says Ann. “Oh, and what are you going to say when the social service officers come and inspect our cupboards?” says Randy. “They’ll put us on welfare!” Grandpa Hank moans. He spent 10 months in a welfare camp during the Great Plateau. From what Father understands, they’ve only gotten worse in the ensuing 30 years. “We’re not going on welfare!” he says. He softens his tone. “It won’t be just mushroom soup, honey, I promise. I’ll … I’ll get some fruit for you. You like pear preserves, right?” Ann nods sullenly. Father looks off over the crowd. There’s more restlessness, more tense anger running through the families than ever before. Getting to the preserves won’t be easy. It won’t be painless. But he’s going to try. It is the holidays, after all. - – - Born helpless, nude and unable to provide for himself, Lore Sjöberg eventually overcame these handicaps to have recently read The Hunger Games.
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