The Delayed Spirit Of Christmas

This is a bit of a a cheat as I had written this some time ago, but with all of the hustle and bustle of Christmas and all the other Johnny Come Lately holidays in the world at this time of year, I am hoping no one noticed.  Besides I did re-edit it a bit, taking out all references to gratuitous nudity, cussing that would make longshoremen blush, and anything having to do with my endorsing gratuitiously nude people swearing a lot.  But I did subtract enough old words and add enough new ones that it really doesn't change a thing lengthwise.  The omission of the phrase "Darn these darned socks!" also occurred during this re-edit.  Enjoy!

 

The bell ringer's bell ringing left much to be desired.  She only started ringing when she saw that people were approaching the store entrance.  As soon as she made eye contact with someone, she wearily plastered on a fake smile.  Then a listless "Merry Christmas" came out of her mouth staccato-like, if I can use a made up word.  The whole scene became so cheerless that some enterprising members from the local synagogue set up a booth nearby just in case any passersby wanted to convert to celebrate Hanukkah.

This was the scene that was set before me as I entered that palace of consumerism, that den of bargains known as Shopko.  If you are unfamiliar with Shopko, allow me to explain: this store is the true representation of everything on the planet that is good and pure and wonderful.  That being said, the store only suffers in comparison to Target in that it doesn't have the neat optional Target (Tahr-zhay) pronunciation.  (Although I'm doing everything I can by lobbying for Shopko to receive an umlaut in it by 2018.  Shopkö.  See what I mean?  It just adds that air of Teutonic authority that is altogether lacking in many western shopping establishments.  By the way on a page-filling note, one day when you’re feeling brave and you want to see what it was like to shop in the former East Germany, check out Aldi as a reference.)

The only thing giving a pedestrian even more chills than the brisk winter air was the spectacle of this person ringing those silver bells.  Given her lackluster expression, I am certain she was out there only because she lost a bet.  Perhaps this was under court order and when the judge was sentencing her to community service, he was stumped for a civic duty to hand out.  “It is the judgment of this court that you be taken from this place and uh…placed in front a… shopping establishment with…um…a pair of bells…and a red pot!  Yeah, that’s it!  Bells and a red pot!  Bailiff!  Bring on the next case!” 

Of course in playing the part of “concerned citizen interested in the welfare of my fellow man”, I quickly passed her by, avoided eye contact, and gave nothing save an indication that it was cold outside to anyone who was watching.  I also was on what some would call “a feeble mission” to get a laundry hamper as soon as possible.  (These same vague people would argue that one could definitely wait to purchase something as inconsequential as a laundry hamper, but I disagree if for no other reason than it serves my interests to do so in this tale.)

The bell ringer could tell I was not going to give her anything.  Apparently she had divined from my pretend look of purpose and furrowed brow that I had need of some kind of laundry containment device so I obviously could not be held up for anything.  However, unlike the legions of other charity minions that I have noticed in my holiday travels, she stopped ringing the bells immediately, shrugged, and went back to staring out at the frosty nothingness of the parking lot. 

Now here is where unreasonable indignation on my part rears its ugly head.  Why did she give up so easily?  Did I not look like a man of means?  After all it was a Shopko I was going into, not a Wal-Mart!  Heavens, that alone must show that I have some extra cents to burn.  Obviously I was pegged as someone that was not worth the effort.  So that means that I don’t have money to give, which implies that I am dirt poor.  Therefore with that as a basis for a conclusion, you should have started emptying out your little red bucket into my needy coffers!  Such hypocrisy!

As a side note, here’s an actual tip if you want money from yours truly.  Trying to instill guilt within me by blankly staring with a pathetic smile as you swing your little metal bells will not get the job done.  I suggest you work for it!  Do a dance.  Start reciting the entire "Twas the Night Before Christmas" backwards in German with a Spanish accent.  Above all else and here lies your best bet: stop ringing the bells.  All of these efforts can get me to plunk down a mildly earned drachma or two from my tight sweaty fist into your bottomless crimson pot.

I believe that the bottom line is this: What hope can the Salvation Army give others if they can't even save this poor sad bell-ringer’s soul? 

I have a fond memory from high school in which a friend of mine told a story in class concerning how Salvation Army Santas were roughing people up for money on the street.  He was very convincing to the point of having several classmates shaking their heads in the disgust.  The nicest girl in the class, “nicest” meaning the”most naïve”, thought this tale was a true tragedy.  Meanwhile I was chided for failing to stifle the giggles that were leaking out of my quivering lips in reaction to this incredible fictional social travesty. 

Of course he had made it up.  The only truth in the presentation was that it was written out on paper and he probably spelled his name correctly.  After that the report’s accuracy waned dramatically.  But the image of Santas on street corners pummeling citizens with their bells for coins has fortuitously never left me.  It has also left me wary of scurrilous holiday beggars because every false story, no matter how ludicrous, has a moldy core of truth somewhere in it.

After what I believed was a long enough time, I left the Shopko.  Unfortunately I was hamperless because the ones they had for sale looked like they had were shipped in straight from Chernobyl’s laundromats without the necessary 16 day scrub down they required before being placed on the shelves for the massive pre-Christmas hamper sales.  As I left the building I got caught up, some would say purposely, in a crowd leaving the store in order to avoid the bell ringing disaster in the entryway.  The mindset here of course is: "Of course you understand I cannot give you any money for you see I am surrounded and impeded by other human beings!”  (Look at all the great social responsibility avoidance techniques I’m sending your way!  And you’re welcome!)

 

While I was pretending to look for my car, which was parked right in the front row, I caught a glimpse of the bell ringer’s face.  She showed another tired expression because I'm sure she sees that little crowd maneuver on an average of 564 times an hour.  Muttering about going to Target because they understand me there, I got into my car and drove off still in search of the elusive hamper.  As I left, I turned on the stereo and the CD player started warming up.  Soon I would be enjoying the smooth non-sober tones of Dean Martin’s Christmas album.  The CD switched to a new track.  What song will Dino grace us with now?  Why Silver Bells, of course.

What else would it have been?