Levity breaks the ice for first frozen shoppers

The alarm sounded at 2 a.m., and I rolled out of bed and began to dress and dress and dress and dress.

Two pairs of socks, four shirts and two pairs of pants.

It was Black Friday and I was committed to joining the frozen masses outside Nebraska Furniture Mart, where shoppers swathed in blankets and sleeping bags stood in the morning darkness and dreamed of $200 laptops.

I had prepared carefully for this morning, even debating the pros and cons of coffee. I eventually opted for dehydration over frozen port-a-potties.

Today was all about digging deep and finding the insanity within.

I arrived at The Mart a little before 3 a.m. My heart sank when I saw the tent city that had formed outside — a line wrapped around the building. Too many people, I thought, not enough laptops or discounted televisions to go around.

For Black Friday novices, the “voucher” is the Frozen Grail at the Nebraska Furniture Mart.

The store hands out vouchers — based upon your place in line — for a limited number of goods. For example, only 150 vouchers were being given for the laptop I coveted.

I quickly did a cap-and-scarf count and figured I was about the 220th person in line. No guarantees.

I also quickly figured out there are two types of people who stand in lines outside stores — the insane and the truly disturbed.

Many of those in line had arrived after midnight, but there were at least more than 50 who had arrived the day before, pitching tents and cranking up propane heaters.

These were the heartiest of the hearty. They had come armed with crockpots filled with chili, layers and layers of blankets, and playing cards to while away the hours.

Some even came with a wingman. People like Jonathan Grindstaff, who ferried hot water and blankets to his brother and his brother's friend throughout the night.

“I'm just making sure they're still alive and no one's gone Donner Party,” quipped Grindstaff, after dropping off another round of supplies about 3:30 a.m.

After finding my place in line, and introducing myself to my newfound friends, I decided to find out who held the honor of “first in line.”

It wasn't that easy. It was a pack of people that included Robert Anthony, an experienced Black Friday shopper.

And it appears that early-bird shoppers are a little like some fishermen. Anthony initially refused to tell me when he had pitched his tent, saying he didn't want to give any other shoppers advance notice for next year.

His friend, however, coughed up the time — 4 p.m. on Thanksgiving Day.

“It's been fun,” said Darryl Ziegler. “We all hung out, played cards and ate chips and cheese.”

Of course, all that fun came with a price. Ziegler had long since lost all feeling in his toes.

I returned to my place in line, where those around me were discussing whether mittens trumped gloves, and whether yelling “killer bees” would — it was hoped — cause a panic and thin out the crowd, bringing us closer to those coveted vouchers.

After one hour in line, my feet and fingers stung.

“Everybody, don't move. I'm missing a toe,” announced Dan Benigno, 35, of Omaha, who was out to get a $99 Wii for his children.

“If it stays frozen, maybe we can reattach it,” quipped Adam Marr, 35, of Omaha.

After two hours in line, the discussion turned to pneumonia. Specifically, how much would it cost to treat?

“We just saved $100, but we could pay $2,000 in medical bills,” observed a very thoughtful Marr, as we all nodded our frozen heads in unison.

After three hours in line, I cheerfully announced I had no feelings in my fingers and it was a good thing.

About an hour before the store opened, a cheer went up near the front of the crowd. It was voucher time, time to find out if the toes we had lost were for nothing.

They weren't.

Benigno got his Wii, Marr got his laptop, and I got mine.

We smiled, clutching our vouchers.

We could have left the line at this time. Climbed into a warm car and claimed our prizes when the store opened in an hour.

But what fun is that.

We stayed. And when the doors opened we surged forward with the crowd, into the warmth and the chaotic madness that is Black Friday.

Contact the writer:

402-444-1309, [email protected]