Dear Lord, It’s Christmas
Jesus Christ. It’s Christmas and the roads are fucking swamped. You’re scared to leave the house. There are too many people and you don’t think any of them are jolly.
But due to over-procrastination, you still have to buy stuff for people. Time to go shopping. To bad, since you realize anyone in the malls (which is most everyone, at this point) is pissed off because they have to spend money and they have still have to find something for someone they forgot. Or they are like you and are pissed off because they still have to buy something for everyone. Either way, no one is actually that pleased to be in there, except for the mall-addicts. And you’re be willing to bet that even they are displeased that their holy sanctuary is so full.
Now you’re trying to check out. The laborious part is done and you’ve found something that someone might like. Unfortunately, you’re still going to be in the store for at least another hour and half at the check out. Chances are the store you are at is understaffed because someone called in sick because they didn’t want to deal with all of the customers. Chances are, as a result, someone who was supposed to be working one of the many registers is on the floor helping people or cleaning up toddler vomit. Chances are four of the six registers are now closed and the two remaining registers are congested with single mothers with all their children, old and confused people, and someone with a maxed out credit card. As a result, you will be waiting in line to pay for the one item you have. Even if you pay in cash, it still takes forever because the cashier has to ask if you are a member of their secret club and then will offer to wash your car to get you to join. Naked. You decline, thinking it is Christmas after all, and walk out, after declining a bag because you don’t like to waste.
Finally. Out of the store. You still have to get through the mall and back to the car. This is more difficult than it sounds since while you were in the store, an elementary school has begun singing Christmas carols in the middle of the main plaza. They, of course, are out of tune, not in time, and half of them are forgetting the words. The accompanist looks half drunk. Even still, the parents of all 50 children are videotaping the experience and some merry onlookers have stopped to watch. Everyone in front of you is slowing down to see what is going on and so you are stuck in ass to ass pedestrian traffic. The old man in front of you is confused and his wife doesn’t seem to notice. Eventually, you get around them.
The door is so close now. You almost start running. Upon reaching the double doors, you throw the first pair open. Hardly caring about the Red Cross, you hip-check the angry, bell wielding Santa and run out the final door.
You are outside. The air is cold but that’s fine, since you never took off your coat and started to overheat. You look at the ocean of cars and promptly forget where you parked yours. The present you didn’t a bag for is starting the get heavy and you silently curse the environment. You’re glad you drove the half mile to get here. You start walking down the sidewalk and finally see something that resembles your car. When you get there, you breath heavily as you noticed someone has dinged it trying to park a Hummer in a spot made for wheelchairs. You briefly consider keying the behemoth, but decide against it. It still is Christmas.
You unlock the car, throw the now cursed present in the back, and get into the driver’s seat. Upon closing the door, you sit for about three minutes, just breathing. You’re out of the store and there isn’t a poorly designed PA system playing crappy carols in the background. It’s a relief just to sit down. You turn on the car, put in a good rock CD, strap yourself in.
Behind you, there is someone who sees your reverse lights and they are waiting to take your spot. They haven’t given you any room, though, and you have to a K turn to get out of the parking lot. It takes ten minutes to get out, due to twenty-seven people cutting you off as they blindly back out from spaces.
But you’re out of the store and it’s starting to fade away. It’s all right, you’re finally out. The fact that you are twelve spaces back at a red light doesn’t bother you, nor does it that when it turns green you still can’t go because the roads are over-packed. The accident up that is slowing everyone down is fine, too. You’re going home.
Just in time to wrap presents, realize you forgot to take the price tags off, and have to do it again.
And if you’re lucky, you didn’t forget anyone. But you probably aren’t lucky.
Whatever. You don’t like that person anyway.
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