Black Friday: Bad dream... turkey sandwich

I have a dream.

No, not the iconic, soul-stirring dream that Dr. Martin Luther King shared with hundreds of thousands of people in 1963.

For one thing, I was just a wee lad back then.

(Feel free to take that “wee lad” reference with a pinch of salt. Sometimes columnists just have to add something for their own self-esteem.)

Anyway, back to my dream, which is far less historic — unless it actually comes true, in which case I would be in massive trouble.

See, I’ve been training for months to carry out a Black Friday mission, something I’ve avoided since it first appeared on American shoppers’ calendar.

This time around, though, I am tasked with camping out at the Walmart Supercenter in Post Falls.

I don’t know what exactly I’m supposed to buy. Supposedly I’ll learn by phone from The Boss, who I think will be elbowing people during that same general time frame at Best Buy in Coeur d’Alene.

I’VE BEEN told to turn up at the Walmart on Mullan Avenue by noon — which seems a bit excessive since they can’t ring up a Black Friday sale item until 6 p.m.

But I’ve been told to get in line and wait until the hot items are unveiled.

The good folks at Walmart say that all of us frantic shoppers will be given a map of the store — color-coded to let us know where each type of special item can be found.

Not only that, but we can look for dozens of hanging balloons (also in specific colors) to make sure we’re in the right part of the store.

Other than the sheer cattle-drive feel of the thing, it seems like a simple task.

I’m nervous, though, about a warning from our friend Donna Wilder, who is pretty business-savvy — she runs an Airbnb in Post Falls — but won’t go near these Black Friday events.

“I want nothing to do with a bunch of crazy women,” she said.

Hmmm...

SO BACK to my dream.

Each time I doze off, I imagine myself in a foggy state. I’m waking up, checking my watch to see that it’s not quite noon yet on the big day.

All should be well, but I have this vague sensation that something is very wrong.

Still, in the dream I dress quickly and bolt to the store, ready to take up my station.

But there are no balloons, and no jostling crowds.

In fact, if there’s a sale at all, it’s at a very sad end and some unlucky buyers are checking out with tears in their eyes.

I don’t get it.

I thought I was on time.

“What were you thinking?” says the woman at a customer service desk. “You’re a day late!”

What?

“You’re so silly,” she says. “Black Friday isn’t on FRIDAY. It’s the day before.”

“You mean on Thanksgiving?” I say.

“Of course. Where have you been all these years? Look, we have one staple gun left for a dollar off if you’re interested.”

And that’s when I wake up from my dream.

I remember once again about the icy cold reality: Black Friday is on Thanksgiving, and that we’re celebrating the holiday with a turkey omelet at IHOP before our shopping spree.

Yikes!

I fall back to sleep and endure the dream again.

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Steve Cameron is a columnist for The Press. Reach Steve at: [email protected]