For generations of Americans, the fourth Thursday in November has been a day reserved for family, obscene amounts of food and a dose of gratitude.
For more recent generations, the preceding Wednesday has become a night full of old high school friends, awkward encounters and lots and lots of booze.
Somewhere along the line, some evil and/or brilliant entity decided it would be a good idea to preface a day of bingeing on turkey with a night of bingeing on alcohol. And thus, Black Wednesday (also known as Blackout Wednesday or, my personal favorite, Dranksgiving) was born.
The concept behind Black Wednesday makes sense: Thanksgiving is one of the few times a year that friends who have scattered across the country all return to their hometown at once. Plus, there's no work the next day. Combine these factors, and you suddenly have one of the biggest bar nights of the year.
But when put into practice, I have mixed feelings about Black Wednesday. (As does my stomach, because my ensuing hangover has ruined more than one Thanksgiving meal.) I love nostalgia as much as whoever created #throwbackthursday, so I love to reunite with my old high school friends. But Black Wednesday is a whole different animal than an innocent catch-up coffee date.
You're not just going to see that tight-knit group you still keep in touch with. You're going to run into all of the vague characters from your hometown past, and you're probably going to be drunk when doing so.
And that means things can get weird.
Now, I went to a small high school in small suburb, so my experiences could be more extreme than those of the average Black Wednesday reveler. But regardless, the chances of running into your ex, your friend's ex and your friend's ex's brother who you maybe made out with once are disproportionately high.
In college, Black Wednesday seemed like the perfect night. Everyone from home you wanted to see (plus a few extras) was conveniently packed into one sweaty bar. It provided a chance to show off how much better a drinker you became in college, and to take some cute pictures of your "original gang" to hang on your dorm room wall.
But as I've gotten older, I've started to see Black Wednesday less under the dim bar lights and more in the harsh Thanksgiving morning sunshine. If I only see most of these people once a year, do I really want them to remember me as a drunken mess until next November? Is it actually that important to take a selfie with those people from junior year English class I haven't talked to in years? It's much more dignifying, and hilarious, to sip (not chug) a drink and watch other people's Wednesday blackouts from the sidelines.
I'll be working this Thanksgiving (the news never sleeps), so I won't be home to partake in the Wednesday night festivities. Part of me is grateful for the excuse to skip the awkwardness, but another part is slightly sad that I'll miss out.
Because despite its many, many flaws, Black Wednesday is undeniably entertaining.
Ellen Fishel's column appears regularly in b.
twitter.com/ellenfishel