It’s no secret that I’m a bit of a
curmudgeon. Being pleasant for extended
periods of time is simply exhausting to me.
So it’s not a surprise that avoiding human interaction is a huge
priority during the holidays.
While I have friends that
absolutely adore shopping during December, I find the whole experience about as
joyous as a prison cell in Guantanamo. The
obvious solution would be to do all my shopping online, and early. Nice buzz.
I’m not nearly organized
enough for that. This year I ordered my holiday cards on Thanksgiving and
practically gave myself a high five because for a change they would get mailed before
Christmas. Or New Year’s. Or Martin Luther King, Jr. Day.
As far as gifting goes, I try to
give my friends something simple for me that they’ll also enjoy and use. That
is, booze. There are a million liquor stores around and they’re not usually
crowded. Alcohol: the perfect gift.
Except when it isn’t.
There are a few people on my list
who are either age challenged, i.e. children, or don’t drink. Since I understand that giving a child or a
non-drinker a bottle of Makers Mark is considered rude and disrespectful, I find
myself going to the mall at least once a season.
Naturally, I postpone this excursion
as long as possible, which just makes the whole process even worse. The thing is, even during the non-busy
season, say, in June, I hate malls. They make my skin crawl.
There was dark period in my life
when I actually worked at a mall. I’d been summarily dismissed from my record
label gig, but still had bills to pay. It was during the holiday season, so I
took a deep breath and applied to work at a bookstore - they still had them
then. I got the job, but was assigned
to handle the store’s calendar kiosk, which was located in the middle of the
shopping center.I still have nightmares.
It wasn’t
just the inane shoppers who purchased dozens of Robert “Miracle of Light”
Kincade calendars to give to all their friends, or the non-stop holiday music,
though it ruined many a Christmas Carol for me. It was the sheer numbers of
people that I had contact with everyday.
Since the kiosk was positioned in smack in the
center of the mall, there were always people pushing and shoving around it. And talking to each other at the top of their lungs. I’m
sure it was a prime position for sales, but to me it was akin to being in Hell.
You know the phrase ‘hell is other people?’ Times ten. I’d drive home after
every shift whimpering and shaking.
Hanukkah begins tonight and ends on
Christmas Eve. No matter how much I’ve trimmed my gift list;
there are still a few people I need to reward for remaining a part of my life.
So, without even so much as a
Xanax, I’m girding myself for a trip to the mall. I don’t live far from a shopping
center (does anybody anymore?) so in theory it shouldn’t take more than ten
minutes until I’m plunking down my credit card and heading home.
That, however, doesn’t take into
account the MMA-like exercise that it takes to obtain a parking space. I don’t mind ditching my car a million miles
from the stores. I could use the exercise, particularly around the holidays. But even in the distant outskirts of the lot it takes quick reflexes and fast thinking to park. The fact is,
people drive like brain damaged maniacs at the mall this time of year. Especially the ones that are leaving.
Apparently they have been so wounded
by their experiences inside the building that they’re beyond reason. Like the
animal that will chew off its own foot to get out of a trap, these folks just
want to get away from the stores. And they will do anything to make that
happen.
This makes the half-mile from the
car to the stores a little adventure, but I suppose like Darwinism, it weeds
out the weak. Eventually the strong, the
survivors make it inside. Of course that’s where things really go bad.
Smart people walk into the lion’s
den knowing what they want. They quickly pick it up, pay for it and run for the
hills. I am not one of them.
Not me. I wander around blindly around looking for
inspiration. Invariably I become dazed
and confused. Everything is so shiny, and pretty and so that I can no longer
see or think straight. Inevitably, after a few hours I’ll stagger out to my
car. Having bought nothing.
This year I’m going to make it easy.
Everyone is getting a box of candy from Mrs. Sees. Maybe those cute chocolate Santas for the
kids. I’m sure their parents won’t mind that they are hopped up on sugar all
Christmas morning. Right?
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