The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Christmas takes a lot of shit from people for being overcommercialized, for taking over the stores months before its actual celebration, and for ostracizing those who do not have the appropriate religious beliefs. I agree with all of those things: it has become a marketing holiday, it does emerge in stores about five months before it's really necessary, and those who don't believe in Jesus can find themselves on the sidelines of certain traditions. However, with all of this in mind, I can safely say that Christmas is still my absolute favorite time of year.

I begin getting the Christmas itch in mid-September. Because I hate cold weather, I distract myself with the thought that Christmas is around the corner the first time a cool breeze whips past. As I write this, it occurs to me that this will be the first Christmas season I won't be working retail since I was fifteen years old. Many of my jaded coworkers groaned at the first sign of a holiday planogram, but I always got a shot of energy.

After all, Christmas was coming.

There are two types of last minute in-store Christmas shoppers, the psychos and the mellows. The psychos know they want THIS size of THIS shirt and THAT color of THAT appliance. They MUST have it, or WE'RE CANCELLING CHRISTMAS. This may make me a traitor to my sex, but psychos are usually women. They come into my store just after the deadline for guaranteed Christmas delivery.

"What if it doesn't show up by Christmas?!" they screech. "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU WOULDN'T HAVE IT ON THE SHELVES! WHAT ABOUT THE CUSTOMER? THE CUSTOMER IS ALWAYS RIGHT!" Psychos might be the only thing about Christmas and its associated events that I dislike. They often threaten to tell my manager ("Yelling about me to Mike won't make the fourth season of Everybody Loves Raymond appear on the shelves any sooner, but I can call him over if you'd like."), go to a competitor ("And never come back? Promise?"), or just look at me and simply let their judgment of me as a simple store employee radiate from their beady little eyes. I've always been proud of what I do, but I'd be lying if I didn't have fantasies of stomping on their throats while wearing ice skates.

It's difficult to tell them apart; psychos look and behave like mellows until you say those magic words, "We don't have it." It doesn't matter if you follow it up with: "But I can show you something similar," "I can call another store to see if they have it," or "Would you like my firstborn child instead?" The magic words set off a chain reaction that spells doom for the next ten minutes of my life.

I love the mellows, though. They're usually men, and they come in at about the same time that the psychos do. Again, that's why they're not always easy to discern. They're usually browsing in a single section for a while, sort of looking for something they maybe saw on TV but aren't exactly sold on getting it just yet.

"Do you need help finding something?" I ask, as they hurriedly put a book back into its correct slot. It would do all bookstore patrons well to know that I am a humble customer service employee and not their seventh grade librarian who, evidently, beat them for misplacing books. I am not a violent person; I simply think less of you. But I digress.

"Yeah... well, I need something for my niece. She's fourteen now, and I heard about those Gossip Girl books--"

"Dear, sweet Jesus, don't."

"..."

"I'm sorry. That was abrasive. What I meant to say is that the Gossip Girl books and their wannabe imitators are not only poorly written and demeaning to young women everywhere, but they're also way more expensive than they ought to be. Can I show you something that won't turn your adorable fourteen-year-old into a pregnant fifteen-year-old?"

I may exaggerate on my wording, but I have no problem admonishing people from buying shitty books. If they insist, I do my job and try to move past it. But many people are not only relieved that I have warned them about the dangers of those disgusting books, but they're also impressed that I can recommend a replacement. Although I do often get "How young do they hire here?" from customers, so maybe they think I'm fourteen, so I'd know what they like.

I'll explain that the Everworld series is great for both boys and girls who like fantasy and/or science fiction while something like Break, Blow, Burn is a fantastic way to get people interested in poetry. Got a guy who's got a good sense of humor but doesn't like to read much fiction? Let me show you to the Bill Bryson section, and especially check out A Walk in the Woods. Want a mindblowing mystery that will absolutely blow you away? Brian Freeman's Immoral is the way to go; I couldn't put it down, and the ending was not only legitimate (all of the clues were there), but it totally blindsided me. Your wife will love P.S. I Love You, but if she's wants a dash of humor and mystery with her romance, check out Carl Haaisen and Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum series.

It depresses me that this year will be the first year since I was fifteen that I won't be working retail. I work in a tiny little office with no windows, often on weekends when there's no one even in the building. I get paid more, I get to sit all day, and I can choose my hours, sure, but it's lonely. It's not in the Christmas spirit of helping each other, reminding your loved ones how well you really know them with a perfectly selected gift, and seeing the smiling faces of those whose skating competitions, choir concerts, and art shows you've somehow missed the rest of the year. It's not snuggling by the fire, watching heart-warming television specials, sipping hot chocolate or apple cider, and having an excuse to kiss in the snow just like they do in the movies.

So as much as I hate the cold, I do love Christmas.