I still remember the first time I truly understood what Black Friday was. It was the mid-90s, and I was standing in line outside a Walmart before the sun had even considered rising. The air was cold, my breath visible, and the parking lot was already packed with people bundled up like they were preparing for battle. And in a way, they were.
Back then, Black Friday wasn’t just a shopping day. It was an event. A test of endurance and reflexes. You didn’t casually stroll into a store after breakfast. You camped out. You strategized. You circled items in the newspaper ads like a general planning an invasion. And when those doors opened, it was every shopper for themselves.
One year, the big prize was Tickle Me Elmo. That fuzzy red monster from Sesame Street had somehow become the Holy Grail of holiday shopping. I wasn’t even shopping for one, but I saw the madness firsthand. Grown adults sprinting through aisles, diving into toy bins, tugging at boxes like they were pulling Excalibur from a stone. I saw a woman clutching one Elmo to her chest while fending off two other shoppers with her purse. It was like watching a nature documentary, only with more flannel and less dignity.
Another year, it was all about video game systems. The Nintendo 64 had just come out, and it was the hottest item on every kid’s wish list. I wasn’t one of those kids. I convinced my buddy to drive to the mall at 5 A.M. so we could watch the craziness. We waited in line outside KB Toys, sipping gas station coffee and listening to the muffled sounds of other shoppers plotting their routes. When the gates lifted, it was a blur. People ran. People shouted. They grabbed at the few consoles like it was a winning lottery ticket and held onto it for dear life.
There was something electric about those mornings. The adrenaline. The camaraderie. The shared insanity. You’d swap stories with strangers in line, compare notes on which stores had the best deals, and bond over the absurdity of it all. I once saw two dads high-five after each snagged a Playstation bundle. They didn’t know each other, but in that moment, they were brothers in arms.
Of course, it wasn’t all fun and games. There were arguments. Shouting matches. I saw a guy get escorted out of a store for trying to snatch a camcorder from another shopper’s cart. But even the chaos had a strange charm to it. It was part of the experience. Part of the story you’d tell later over leftover turkey and pie.
Today, Black Friday feels different. Online deals, digital carts, and free shipping have replaced the early morning stampedes. And while I appreciate the convenience, I miss the madness. I miss the thrill of the hunt. I miss the feeling of walking out of a store, victorious, clutching a plastic bag like it contained the crown jewels.
So give it up to the Black Fridays of the 90s. To the Elmos and the Nintendos. To the long lines, the cold mornings, and the unforgettable chaos. It was wild. It was ridiculous. And it was absolutely glorious.
Thank you for sharing these memories. Every Thanksgiving I can’t help but think of Thanksgivings of the past and with that hand-in-hand is always the strategic Black Friday’s of the 90’s. I remember back when even some stores would open late on Thanksgiving night or the people camped out in the cold some even with tents to get the latest video game console or the chaos that ensued at the local Toys R Us for Tickle Me Elmo. Truly was glorious, what a time to be alive.