Black Market, Black Friday: What $20 gets you at the 16th Street BART plaza

Black Friday seems to have become a ghost of its former self. The orgy of Walmart tramplings and riot-adjacent runs on major appliances appear to have gone the way of the plasma TV, amid a wave of big box bankruptcies and a growing distaste for aggressive crowds swiping KitchenAids from each other’s carts.

Retail may be struggling, but the thirst for deals is eternal — especially at BART plazas in the Mission, where unlicensed vendors sell all manner of stuff for cheap. It’s not always pretty: While some folks sell homemade handicrafts and enterprising home cooks hawk empanadas, it’s likely the vast majority of what you’ll find at the plaza is stolen. But many of the people there — buyers and sellers alike — struggle to make ends meet, facing city crackdowns, threats and exploitation. So I spent Black Friday outside the 16th Street station, buying from vendors and getting to know their stories.

Gadget’s demeanor may be nervous, but his approach to his trade is zen. When I ask if he’s having a good Black Friday, he says, “Every day’s as good as you make it.” 

Fair enough, but will he walk away with more cash than a typical Friday? The unhoused San Francisco resident of two years shakes his head. “I think people are buying less here and more at corporate [places],” he said. On strong days, he can net between $80 and $120. If it’s really busy, he can earn $300. Gadget doesn’t like to linger, though. “I expect to be in and out of here as fast as possible,” he said — which is to say before the cops show up. His array of goods may look random, but it isn’t. “The items that I acquire or I accumulate are ones that I think will sell immediately,” he said. “That’s the goal.” 

Gadget has a lot of Nerds, prepackaged sweets, and gold-foiled Ferrero Rocher chocolates encased in Christmas tree-shaped boxes. These tug at my heartstrings, because the woman who lives behind my parents always paid me and my brothers in Ferrero Rocher to shovel her driveway when it snowed. I officially start my holiday shopping by picking up two boxes for $5 each.

“I like your jacket!” a woman called out, so I walked over and said hello. Her name is Cassie, she lives in the East Bay, and she’s just keeping an eye on a friend’s merchandise while he buys her a soda and butane for the fentanyl pipe she’s holding. No, she won’t let me take her photo, because she has too many outstanding warrants.

With items displayed atop a rolling suitcase, Cassie’s selection feels more random than Gadget’s set-up. She’s got hair clips, colored Paper Mate pens, Nush Nush gift bags, plus a pair of black jar-lifting tongs used for canning. I’m her only customer. How’s business on what’s supposed to be the busiest day of the year?

“Slow. Slower than normal,” she said, adding she was hoping they could make between $150 and $200. Only after I pay $5 total for tongs and pens does she confide she’s planning to score more stuff tonight. “I haven’t gone to Marshall’s. I haven’t gone to Macy’s. I wait till nighttime for those.”

A 23-year-old named Morgan squatted on the sidewalk, doing brisk business selling nail polish, tinted hydration creams, and other cosmetics on a broken-down cardboard box that had once contained iceberg lettuce. “Me personally, I hate makeup,” she said. When I pointed out her false lashes, she smiled. “Yeah, eyelashes. But makeup’s too much! I be sweatin’.” 

Born and raised in Oakland, Morgan tucked fives and ones in her cleavage while taking puffs off a joint. “I don’t do this often,” she said. “Just when my friend gets some stuff like this. Today’s been kind of fast.” Right now, she works at a mall in the East Bay, making her the only person I spoke to who works both ends of the retail hustle. She, too, demurred when I asked to take her photo, but I bought two four-ounce bottles of Eucerin Daily Lotion with SPF 30 and Walgreens stickers still affixed for $5.

Morgan has attempted to apply for one of San Francisco’s $471 vending permits but didn’t get far. “It’s really a long-ass process,” she said. “There’s more to it than what they make it seem.”

I biked to 24th Street BART to check on the vendors there, but a cop car spent the afternoon parked on the plaza, scaring folks off.

Not every unlicensed Mission entrepreneur works near a station, of course. On nearby Capp Street, the barriers installed to deter sex work have created de facto free parking for residents — and at least one makeshift car wash. Eduardo charges $50 to wash and detail sedans and other smaller cars and $60 for an SUV at the corner of Capp and 20th streets. On a good day, he says in Spanish, he’ll wash six cars, but recent rains have cut into his business. By 2 p.m. Friday, he’d only had one customer.

In all, I spent $20 from three vendors (I decided against a bike wash) and I already know who it’s all for. At least one box of Ferrero Rocher will be put out at a holiday party. The lotion is going to a cycling buddy who, like me, has a permanent tan line on his forehead. I’ll probably hang on to the pens, but the canning tongs are destined for a friend in Oakland whose new house has fruit trees in the yard and who’s keen to preserve next year’s bounty.

Yes, I will tell the recipients where I got this stuff. In the meantime, say what you want about these items’ provenance, but the people who sold them were the first three people I’ve said “Happy holidays!” to this season — and who said it back to me.