The holiday season is upon us...
I always experience mixed feelings of joy and melancholy during the holidays. I sing along with the relentlessly cheerful Christmas music; and then tear up over the lone string of twinkle lights, and the sad little sock snowmen on my mantle. For an artistic person such as myself, it’s a pitiful display of non-creativity. However, after years in retail, it’s the best I can do, because by the time I get home in the evening...I’m just over it...
For all of you non-retail people, I know that's hard to understand. "But Christmas is so much fun!" you exclaim. "I adore the bustling crowds! The gaiety! The decorations! The glitter! The festive music!"
Yeah...spoken like a true civilian. But if you had to cope with those crowds daily...the people who walk in thirty seconds before closing with a shopping list as long as Santa's beard...the glitter in your hair, your socks, and eventually your underwear...
If you had to listen to nine hundred truly dreadful versions of The Twelve Days of Christmas...ten hours a day...seven days a week...beginning the day after Halloween until the end of the year...
For every giddy, power shopper out there in a tacky "HO!HO!HO!" sweater, covered with jingle bells and gaudy plaid ribbon, there's a guy with dead eyes, working in a big box store, wearing felt antlers and a blinking red nose, feeling like a reindeer in the headlights.
You know how Bing Crosby's rendition of White Christmas brings a nostalgic tear to your eye? Well, that's a great warm and fuzzy moment...three or four times during an entire holiday season; but three or four times a day, for two months, can get really depressing.
After years of saying "Merry Christmas," retail workers are now expected to greet customers with the more politically correct, "Happy Holidays." I consider myself to be an open-minded person; and I appreciate and acknowledge the holidays and customs of all cultures. However, I grew up in the fifties and sixties when people said "Merry Christmas." I don't say it with any sense of exclusion, bias, or malice; it's simply the way I was raised. I'm a Christian; I celebrate Christmas. Sometimes, I slip up and say "Merry Christmas." So sue me...
And then, a few questions...
Why do people assume that, if they saw something in a store last year, or six months ago...it's still there? It's a store. Stores sell stuff. Other people buy stuff. It's not a museum...
Why do people with children think that retail workers are obligated to watch their kids while they shop? Are they really unaware that Junior is racing through the store...screaming at the top of his lungs...climbing on shelves full of heavy, breakable objects? No, I don't want to spank the kids; I want to smack their parents. I want Mom and Dad to stand in the corner with their nose in a bulls-eye...like I had to do for most of my elementary school years...and re-think their parenting skills.
Why do people look at store hours posted on the door, see that the store has just closed, and then rattle the door and mouth, "Are you closed?" Yes! Yes! If the sign says they close at six...and it's five minutes after six...and the doors are locked...they are, in fact, closed. And here's another newsflash; they have a life too. They make plans for after work, just like you do. So while you're poking around after closing time...picking up every item on the shelf...asking if it's on sale, even though you have no intention of buying it...they're another minute late for dinner with their family and friends.
However, at the end of the day...It's cold outside. I'm sitting by the fire...wrapped up in a blanket...admiring my minimally decorated mantle. I'm watching White Christmas, with a cup of Earl Grey, and a box of Kleenex; and I'm experiencing mixed feelings of joy and melancholy as I sing along with Bing and Rosemary and Danny and Vera. I love Christmas...
For all of you non-retail people, I know that's hard to understand. "But Christmas is so much fun!" you exclaim. "I adore the bustling crowds! The gaiety! The decorations! The glitter! The festive music!"
Yeah...spoken like a true civilian. But if you had to cope with those crowds daily...the people who walk in thirty seconds before closing with a shopping list as long as Santa's beard...the glitter in your hair, your socks, and eventually your underwear...
If you had to listen to nine hundred truly dreadful versions of The Twelve Days of Christmas...ten hours a day...seven days a week...beginning the day after Halloween until the end of the year...
For every giddy, power shopper out there in a tacky "HO!HO!HO!" sweater, covered with jingle bells and gaudy plaid ribbon, there's a guy with dead eyes, working in a big box store, wearing felt antlers and a blinking red nose, feeling like a reindeer in the headlights.
You know how Bing Crosby's rendition of White Christmas brings a nostalgic tear to your eye? Well, that's a great warm and fuzzy moment...three or four times during an entire holiday season; but three or four times a day, for two months, can get really depressing.
After years of saying "Merry Christmas," retail workers are now expected to greet customers with the more politically correct, "Happy Holidays." I consider myself to be an open-minded person; and I appreciate and acknowledge the holidays and customs of all cultures. However, I grew up in the fifties and sixties when people said "Merry Christmas." I don't say it with any sense of exclusion, bias, or malice; it's simply the way I was raised. I'm a Christian; I celebrate Christmas. Sometimes, I slip up and say "Merry Christmas." So sue me...
And then, a few questions...
Why do people assume that, if they saw something in a store last year, or six months ago...it's still there? It's a store. Stores sell stuff. Other people buy stuff. It's not a museum...
Why do people with children think that retail workers are obligated to watch their kids while they shop? Are they really unaware that Junior is racing through the store...screaming at the top of his lungs...climbing on shelves full of heavy, breakable objects? No, I don't want to spank the kids; I want to smack their parents. I want Mom and Dad to stand in the corner with their nose in a bulls-eye...like I had to do for most of my elementary school years...and re-think their parenting skills.
Why do people look at store hours posted on the door, see that the store has just closed, and then rattle the door and mouth, "Are you closed?" Yes! Yes! If the sign says they close at six...and it's five minutes after six...and the doors are locked...they are, in fact, closed. And here's another newsflash; they have a life too. They make plans for after work, just like you do. So while you're poking around after closing time...picking up every item on the shelf...asking if it's on sale, even though you have no intention of buying it...they're another minute late for dinner with their family and friends.
However, at the end of the day...It's cold outside. I'm sitting by the fire...wrapped up in a blanket...admiring my minimally decorated mantle. I'm watching White Christmas, with a cup of Earl Grey, and a box of Kleenex; and I'm experiencing mixed feelings of joy and melancholy as I sing along with Bing and Rosemary and Danny and Vera. I love Christmas...
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