A particular event takes place on the day after Thanksgiving; they call it "Black Friday," a practice long held among the American people. A day to give into all of your worldly desires and purge yourself upon countless discounted goods and outrageously cheap deals provided by the unseen hands of the market. My family rejoiced upon the arrival of this long awaited day.
My mother, a woman who doesn't partake upon herself to waste any opportunity to save money, strove great lengths to plan ahead for these precious events. My father, a strongly religious man, succumbed to his docile nature, willingly obliged every year to my mother's endeavors. Of course, I was always dragged into these schemes.
"You will learn this precious trade, and soon be as great as your very own mother!" She took great pride in what she did.
The following morning, my house erupted into chaos as 2 a.m. blared on my alarm clock. My mother and father were already downstairs, ready to go. I quickly got dressed. By 2:30 a.m., we arrived at the market.
What kind of supernatural forces drove these people to shop during those early hours of the morning, I will never know. Nevertheless, my mother was one of them. A ferocious monster hidden behind the skin of a human, ready to pounce at the mention of a 1% discount. She soon had me by the wrist, and was dragging me throughout the plaza, telling me about all of the family-owned tips and tricks in finding the right products to buy. Speaking in break-neck speeds, I hardly digested a word.
She was particularly interested in the produce auction. A single, unwavering podium held aloft by a team of four pillars and a monolithic slab of wood. A plump man in a black suit stood before the podium, taking in offers and buyers from all directions. Slowly letting go of my hand, my mother turned towards me.
"Watch and learn, my dear child. Let me demonstrate how to get the good deals." She dove into the crowd, leaving me to stand in her waking dust.
I'm not sure how long it was until people started panicking.