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Thursday, March 28
The Indiana Daily Student

Shop ‘til you drop

Once in a while something comes to light that challenges a long-standing paradigm. Upon recognition of such shattering information, many people react in the manner that neo-conservatives approach international relations: regressing into fits of adolescent temper tantrums.\nFor example, many people associate after-Thanksgiving-meal sleepiness to tryptophan, an amino-acid found in juicy, oven-roasted turkey and John Madden’s sweat.\nYummy.\nIn reality, however, our annual tradition of Thanksgiving poultry gorging and promptly going comatose has little to do with tryptophan and more to do with our general overeating and slothfulness. At least that’s what a bunch of “doctors” doing “medical research” recently reported. \nAre you upset over this information that is contrary-to-common thought? Pounding the floor while screaming? Condoleezza Rice is, but that’s her job. Cranky neo-con.\nSimilar to the tiresome-turkey conspiracy, there’s another myth out there ready for debunking. And like the tryptophan twaddle, it has everything to do with Thanksgiving gluttony. \nThe day after Thanksgiving, affectionately known as Black Friday for reasons of capitalistic quandary, has nearly become as scared as the previous day’s turkey feasting. In fact, national law mandates evening newscast dedicate 90 percent of their air time on Black Friday to wacky stories about the day’s inevitable crowded malls and huge retail sales. And every year the stores open earlier: 5 a.m., 4 a.m., some even at midnight, thus interrupting several precious hours of non-tryptophan induced sleep. \nThe perception of a Black Friday outsider such as me is that the shopping frenzy is reserved for the most desperate among us: overzealous yet well-meaning housewives.\nThis year, however, necessitated first-hand observation to test the theory. What I found shook my preconceived thought to its misguided core.\n5 a.m. – Dark and cold, the outside air gives way to the welcome site of a portly security guard unlocking the store’s large glass doors.\n5:02 a.m. – On the ground, reeling from the stampede of feet that has just given me an unwelcome back massage, I look up in time to catch a glimpse of a young child no more that 6 years old laughing and pointing. The little girl tells her mother, “Look at the funny dumb guy.” The mother responds in kind. “He’s a weakling. Go find the DVDs.”\n5:13 a.m. – Reaching for the last copy of “Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman, Season 4,” I’m blindsided with a backhand to the face. My assailant screeches, “Back off, bitch! My girlfriend loves this show.” To my surprise, there’s not a butch lesbian standing above me but rather an obviously metrosexual male of about 30.\n5:35 a.m. – Returning home, I stitch my bleeding face using frontier medicine techniques gleaned from Dr. Quinn. \nDespite notions to the contrary, the Black Friday phenomenon is not localized to a group of ravenous adult women. There are young children and well-polished men who also become caught in the ferocious consumerism of the day. They represent all of us, a country that, on the whole, becomes more obsessed with the shop-‘til-you-drop mantra with every passing year.\nShocked? Go ahead, throw a fit. The neo-cons are right there with you.

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