Saturday, December 24, 2011

Death of the Spirit of Christmas


Normally it opted to embody the body of a sweet, innocent child. It preferred one that was no older than seven, but no younger than five. This was admittedly a very narrow window, made even more difficult by the growing lack of well-behaved children thanks entirely to the precipitous decline in society.
Nevertheless, it always managed to find a child. It liked the ones that were stricken by hard times and/or poverty. Fortunately, this criterion was increasingly easy to fulfill. Better yet, they had even more pathetic looks, looks that were especially pathetic during this time of the year once the realization hit that there’d be nothing for them and that special dinner mom and dad promised them would be turkey TV-dinners bought at the amazing price of ten for ten dollars before the twenty-five cents off four coupon.
Yes, it, the Spirit of Christmas, normally loved to embody a sweet, pathetic looking child, but not this year. This year it embodied a cashier.
*                                  *                                  *
The holiday season started, well, in mid-October. The stupid billboards announcing their good deeds were still decorated with pumpkins, spiders and ghosts when the first inkling of the holidays began to rise. It started simply, with condensing of the already well picked over Halloween decorations and candy for autumn-ish baking goods. No one could argue against a good pumpkin pie this time of year and surely, some people made their own chocolate candy for Halloween so the melting chocolate chunks were just good advertising.
However, the arrival of far too jolly renditions of “Jingle Bells” and “Here Comes Santa Claus” the nanosecond the clock chimed midnight on November 1st was simply too much.
By the time she heard the sixth different rendition of “I’ll be home for Christmas” played for the twentieth time in a mere three days, she wanted to whack the fancy bottle of brandy she’d just run over the scanner. The sound of the shattering glass and feel as it hit would be both satisfying and invigorating. And maybe it would allow her to continue in peace for the remainder of the day, or even just the hour. Even for the next minute would be beneficial.
She held off though, summoning the strength to do so from some deep reservoir that she was unaware that she possessed. As the days passed, her anger and annoyance grew. Soon the reservoir was empty, sucked dry. Next came counting to ten, then twenty, then in a foreign tongue, then another. When the hordes of savings-crazed shoppers were finally let loose from their cheap fabric barricades, she was up to counting to fifty in each.
*                                  *                                  *
“That’s not the price listed here in the ad,” a middle-aged woman stated adamantly as she thrust said ad in the face of Christmas.
“But, if you’ll read right here it says only the games pictured in the ad are on sale.” Christmas had already explained the ad to her twice, each time with the utmost patience. That, however, was beginning to wear as the lady refused to read the clearly stated red explanation.
“But it says this brand is on sale. It has this brand listed.”
“I’m sorry ma’am,” Christmas began, barely checking her annoyance, “the ad says right below that it is only on these specific games, not on the brand.”
“Well, I don’t want any of them then,” the lady huffed. “Just take them all off.”
“Okay, just give me a moment to clear them out.” Christmas worked quickly so as to not anger the lady any further. She didn’t want this witch going to talk to the manager. “Okay, they’ve all been taken off.”
“No they’re not. I still see them there.”
“No, I voided them. See the line through them and the zeros next to them?” She pointed to the large screen.
“That’s not how it’s done. Now, I’ve cashiered just like you, I know how they’re supposed to look when they’re taken off. They’re still on there.”
“No, they’re not. Our system crosses the item out. See your total here; it reflects the lower price as I’ve taken them off.”
“I’m telling you. I’ve worked retail. They should be red and subtracted from the total.”
“That’s not how our system works. Here, it crosses them out. I assure you, I have voided them from your bill.”
“If I find out they’re still there, you can guarantee I’ll be speaking with your manager about this and I’ll be sure you’re brought up on whatever disciplinary charges they have. I won’t be cheated out of my hard-earned money.”
“I can assure you, ma’am that the items have been voided off as you requested.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Everyone’s out to cheat you today,” the lady muttered as she slide her well-worn credit card to make the payment.
Christmas smiled at the lady’s cynicism as the transaction concluded.
“Have a good day,” Christmas said, handing the woman the receipt. The woman left without another word, her cynicism following her like an ever-faithful mangy stray.
Christmas allowed herself a breath before dealing with the next customer, an old lady with more wrinkles than a well-used sheet of paper. This day was never going to end.
*                                  *                                  *
Five and a half eight-hour shifts later found Christmas barely holding back curses at the holiday aggravation. Her lunch was well overdue and her line backed up clear into women’s apparel. In fact, she was unable to see where the end was. They were shorthanded today and none of the floor employees were cashier trained.
“I’ve been waiting in line for a half-hour,” her current customer, a middle-aged women, complained. That was the response Christmas got when she asked how the woman was doing.
“I’m sorry, but we’re a bit short-handed today.”
“It’s the holidays, how can you be short handed?”
“Sometimes it happens.”
“But this is unreasonable. Thirty minutes is far too long to wait. I do have other places to be.”
“I’m sorry for the wait. We’re working the best we can to get every customer through the checkout as quickly as possible,” Christmas explained. She knew the woman hadn’t been waiting thirty minutes. Perhaps ten, fifteen tops. It was not ideal, of course, but considering the situation, not terrible.
The woman huffed, clearly upset.
“I can call the manager for you, if you’d like,” Christmas offered.
“Yes, I’d like that.” The anger was evident in the woman’s voice. Christmas would be glad to get this one out of her hands.
“Just give me a minute to call him up. He’s likely in the back supervising stocking.”
“Well, it better not take much longer. Remember I have other places I have to go to.”
Of course, Christmas thought and naturally, I don’t have somewhere else I’d rather be. She’d much rather be in her apartment, lying on the couch watching a re-run of something so long as it was not holiday related. By now, just the sight of red and green paired together in a joyful display of the season was enough to make her want to strangle something. This desire, however, she held in check because she didn’t really want to strangle something, it was just the natural progression of her anger and annoyance. She wasn’t homicidal in any respect.
Two shifts later, a snotty-nosed kid came through her lane, his parents in tow. Shyly he placed his purchase, a five-dollar construction kit on the belt. He never said a word, not even as she greeted him and told him his total. His mother coaxed him into putting his money up on the belt, a couple of wrinkled dollar bills and a bag of change. She held back her inward sigh. Obviously the kid had been saving up for this and really only a kid could get away with this without earning comment that barely concealed the annoyance.
A kid could only be so old to get away with such payment. Proof followed him in the case of two college-aged girls proved when they came in to buy a few groceries and paid with a combination of dollar bills, quarters, nickels and the few spare pennies they found at the bottom of one of their gigantic purses. Christmas checked her anger though, knowing that she didn’t want another mark on her record. Even more so, her shift was nearly over for the day meaning she could go home, grab a bag of chips, sit on the couch and stare blankly at the TV until she decided it might be best to get some sleep so she could get up for work tomorrow.
That moment when the kid paid was enough to hold her for the next week, until the nineteenth of December. It was just after coming back from lunch that her anger surged once again, coaxed from the deep cavern in which it had hibernated for the previous week. The cause was a family with too many young kids that had little sense for the others in the store and with parents that cared more for whether they would be able to buy the Twinkies and Ding Dongs than with what their children were doing.
A strong, nearly over-powering desire to kick the little brat of a girl when she walked past the metal gate placed as a subtle notice to keep customers out of the cashier area overwhelmed Christmas. But she couldn’t, even as the parents debated over the processed, fat-laden pastries without noticing this little girl or the slightly older boy screaming and running around in the busy walkway.
“Excuse me, ma’am.” Christmas tried to get their attention to no avail.
Apparently, Mister Don’t-Care-a-Lick-about-my-Kids felt he’d worked hard enough this week to get the Ding-Dongs because he loved how they looked like hockey pucks, not to mention the chocolate-y goodness when you bit into one, while the mom-who-didn’t-know-she-actually-had-to-teach-children-to-have-them-behave argued for the surprise gooeyness of the Twinkies.
Her leg was just about to mysteriously take on a life of its own when the mother miraculously noticed her wayward children. Hastily she called them back, but was forced to resort to physically grabbing them when they, not surprising, turned a deaf ear to her pleas.
The woman gave a multitude of meaningless apologies to which Christmas politely nodded because she couldn’t trust her mouth to remain under her control. In the meantime, the father bought his coveted Ding-Dongs, handing the receipt proudly to his wife, who huffed as she turned to leave dragging the two brats beside her. The husband followed with the processed food full cart and a far too happy smile that even Christmas wished she could smack off.
The rest of the shift was no better. It was filled with irate customers demanding price checks, alcohol- buying college students protesting the strict card-checking policy and a plethora of stubborn customers who refuted the clearly advertised prices in the ad.
She left the store at the end of her shift grateful the retail gods had graced her with two whole days away from this hellhole. Her plans included nothing more than sitting on the well-worn couch in her pajamas eating potatoes chips interspersed with the occasional batch of French fries watching whatever appealed even in the slightest. Not once during those days would she leave the sanctity of her apartment, nor would she utter a single phoneme to anyone.
The blissful coma she’d slipped into during those two days shattered into dust when she returned to work on the 22nd during the final holiday blitz for those idiots who either hadn’t done their shopping earlier or wanted to see who would max out their every credit card by the 25th first. Not only was it a disgusting sight, it was worse than a mad house, a pre-school, and a pigpen combined. Nothing compared to the chaos she witnessed upon her first step into the store. Why had she agreed to work an extra long shift today? Was it really worth the pithy extra she’d see in her paycheck? 
Upon being told to clock in early, she decided it most definitely was not. Everyone was in a rush, determined that if they didn’t get out of the store in the next ten minutes their extravagant holiday plans would be permanently ruined.
Then there was the crazy coupon lady who picked tonight of all nights to come out to do her shopping. Her excuse was that the deals were best in the few days right before the holidays and the coupons would expire soon and, gasp, that could never happen. Her cart full of at least ten of each item turned into thirty-one transactions, each one monitored closely by the crazy coupon lady. The register or perhaps Christmas herself committed the greatest sin five times, a coupon never doubled. Christmas didn’t see the big deal, it was only another twenty-five cents and as she’d explained, the coupon would only double twice.
“Okay, then take off it off and we’ll do it in another transaction,” Crazy said frantically.
We? Christmas thought. There’s no we in this. The crazy woman was clearly on another planet right now. Thus, thirty-one transactions became thirty-two, then thirty-three. The final total was forty-two in a grand total of an hour and a half because she checked everything three times. If this woman wasn’t OCD, then Christmas didn’t know what was. She was glad to see the crazy coupon lady leave as were the customers that stood behind her. Most had left twenty minutes into the epic order, but in the last twenty minutes, she’d gained a number of new customers, all eager to complete their shopping ventures.
Christmas apologized profusely to each customer, but none responded kindly. Instead, they had a look of annoyance and impatience. One even had the audacity to complain as if it were all her fault.
“This is just ridiculous. I’ve been waiting in line for twenty minutes just to check out.”
“I’m sorry,” Christmas said. “We’re very busy today and I had an order that took quite a while to complete.”
“Yeah,” the customer huffed. “She probably bought half the store.”
“It seemed like it, but I’m sure we have plenty in stock. The store is prepared for the busy holiday season.”
“Sure. I came out to buy the last things I needed for my family get together and you’re out of half the things I need. How can a store not have flour! I need flour. I have to bake cookies or our get together will be ruined. Absolutely ruined!”
“I’m sorry there was no flour on the shelves. I can call to see if they have any in the back.”
“Don’t worry,” the customer snapped. “It’ll take you lazy asses far too long to find it. I’ll just go to Wal-Mart for my shopping needs now.”
“I’m sure it won’t take long.”
“You know what call, your manager up here. I want to talk to him.”
“Sure. Just give me a minute to call him up here.”
Once her manager arrived, the customer was thankfully out of her hair, though she was sure it would be tangled with the requisite discipline from the “discussion” the customer was currently have with her boss.
The twenty-third of December picked up where the twenty-second had left off and it was getting worse with each passing second. She’d already dealt with numerous holiday-crazed customers and she hadn’t even made it to her first break. If one more of these people came through she wasn’t sure if she was going to be able to contain her rage. It was the holidays for pete’s sake.
The final straw came on Christmas Eve when the store was closing, a novelty for customers and employees alike. Her last customer of the evening was a small group of young couples. They were purchasing their holiday feast complete with a thirty-pack case of beer.
“I need to see your IDs please,” she told them after scanning the beer. The woman gladly handed over his license. “I need to see theirs too,” Christmas informed them.
“Why? I’m the one purchasing the beer.”
“In groups we have to card everyone.”
“Some of them are under twenty-one, they’re not purchasing the beer,” she said adamantly.
“I can’t sell it then.”
“What!” she exclaimed. “I buy beer here all the time with any of them and this has never happened. None of them has ever been carded.”
“I’m sorry, but it’s store policy.”
“What if,” one of the young men leaned forward, “those of us who are underage, just go out to the car, then those remaining can buy the beer.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t. I can’t ethically do that.”
“Damn your ethics. Are you going to sell me that beer or not? ‘Cause I come in here with them all the time and I buy beer without a problem.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t. It’s store policy.”
“Stop it with that fucking line, you crazy bitch.
“I’m just explaining the reason.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me on,” she said, slamming her hand down on the check-writing stand. The whole stand and her screen shook from the force of his movement. She grabbed the case, her arm moving back as though she were winding up for a throw.
“I’m sorry, but it’s store policy. I’m required to card everyone in a group. I can call my manager if you’d like.”
“Yeah, I’d like that because this is fucking unbelievable. Fucking unbelievable.”
After making the call, she continued scanning the order of party goods, minus the alcohol.
“He’ll be up shortly. He’s working on closing the store.” The woman didn’t respond, at least not to her. Instead, she spoke to the man next to her. Christmas focused on the order, but could hear her numerous curses and angry remarks towards her and the store. When her manager arrived, he confirmed what she’d explained to the woman. And the woman stuck by her word that she’d done this before and never had a problem.
Fortunately, her boss stuck around until the order was complete, but mostly to try to calm the customer. It wasn’t working in the slightest. Christmas was sure the woman snarled at her when she handed her the receipt and wished her a good day.
In a final act of anger, she grabbed the case of beer, which had been set aside and flung it at her. Lucky for Christmas, it only nicked her back before hitting the register. The unlucky part was the dramatic explosion of beer that nearly drenched her and the few cans of beer that hit her in the process of exploding.
While the woman was properly dealt with, statements taken and the mess cleaned up, it was still the final straw for the Spirit of Christmas. Her drive home was the longest and worst of her life. She was both angry and sad, angry at the madness the holiday wrought on people and sad at the people’s fanaticism about the holiday. She was obsolete, cast aside like an unwanted plastic bottle. Her use was gone; they no longer recognized the existence of the Spirit of Christmas.
The past two and a half months conversing and dealing with people had taught her that. Their attitudes had slowly sucked the life from her until she finally realized what had to be done. If she was not wanted, then there was no longer a point to her continued existence.
At the stroke of midnight on December the twenty-fifth, the last breathe of life seeped from Christmas. Some would call it selfish, but Christmas called it justice. After she was gone, the cashier’s body grew cold with death on the floor of the living room beside the Christmas tree, no longer lit with bright happy lights. The Spirit of Christmas forever vanished, replaced now by nothingness.

Looming Salvation?


I am Atlas and Tantalus
Both their plights are mine
Yet I’ve done naught to deserve
Is this karma?
Ought I color myself Job as well?
Athena refuses my plea
Who shall save me from my fate?

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Apples and Everything

She left him standing at the checkout.  It came as a surprise to everyone.  He was the apple of her eye, he the cherry on her milkshake, the flame of her candle.  He was her everything.  And she was his entire world.  She was beyond his everything.  She was much more.  And she left him at the checkout.  She left him with their groceries as she went to get her wallet from the car.

I think

I think
my mind thinks,
I think.

Subtle, dull void
Stationary thoughts
Mind's eye vacant

I think
but do I exist?

Sunday, December 18, 2011

The Playground

Sleep and Creativity are playing together.  They get along swimmingly, except neither really can swim.  Creativity pushes Sleep on a swing because Sleep has short legs and can't get the proper movement to start the swing.  Sleep is not fond of the teeter-totter, but he gets on because Creativity likes it.  They conclude their day wtih the merry-go-round.  Each takes turns being the master, trying to get it going faster than the previous spin.

Pumpkin Head

Cars continues in blissful unawareness, long after their tires had pummeled the pumpkin pulp into the small cracks and crevices in the road.  Did it cry out at the first tire whack?  How many did it take before it realized the cars would keep coming without thought?  Or did it expect such disinterest?

Would anyone ever ponder a reason?

Would they ever be right?

Fate

“Murder by Millions”

As I sit in the hallway waiting for something I don’t really want to wait for, I find myself wondering what the kid who just sat down across from me is listening to.  Does he listen to the same music I do?  Are we listening to the exact same band and perhaps even the same song?  Sure, it sounds far-fetched, but then what is the use of coincidence?
  Or perhaps it may be better termed fate.  Like, was I fated to get rejected from grad school, go back to school, become depressed and wind up in a no-brainer class because I need an easy class and it just happens to fit into a possible switch in majors.
Is it fate that this is the one day I choose to be bold and discover that we just happen to be listening to the same band and miraculously the same song.  Our conversation is only interrupted by the professor with her odd twang standing out among our own drab accents.  We continue right where we left off when class ends.
I never talk this much.
But it’s true love.
I dump my cat for a real person and the cat is only slightly miffed.
He proposes before we graduate and we’re wed a week after graduation with twins two years later and another kid on the way.  By all accounts it’s a happy marriage and family.
The kids are all honors students and attend Ivy League schools.  The youngest becomes the first female president and the twins earn a nobel prize for curing cancer.
We have a terrific home and plenty for a nice, early retirement.  We travel the world, seeing everything we ever dreamed of seeing.  We both die peacefully in our sleep a few weeks after our grandkids finish college. 
They never discover who went first, but they do discover something else.  Something that shattered everything; a body littered with scars and painfully deformed limbs.  No one can testify to the cause.  There’s speculation.
But only we know the truth.
As fate would have it, however, we weren’t listening to the same song, not even the same band.

Burrell the Squirrel, Ted the Gnome and Grog the Frog

Yes indeed the squirrel teamed up with the frog, whose name was Grog.  The squirrel didn’t have a name because squirrels don’t have names, so Grog the frog called him Burrell the Squirrel because frogs like things to rhyme, especially Grog the Frog, and they’re not terribly original.  Not like the gnomes, who had all sorts of weird names like Ted and Fred and Frank.  There were no women.  Unlike dwarves, however, gnomes do not sprout out of the ground.  No, they fall from the sky and those who do not break upon impact are considered the lucky ones.  Now Burrell the Squirrel had a long lasting feud with Ted the gnome, but Ted was much smarter than Burrell for Burrell had run in front of the wrong car a couple summers ago.  After that he was never quite the same;  there were times that he thought he was a chicken with his head cut off.  That annoyed everyone the most.  However, they liked it when he thought he was a chipmunk because he’d tell funny jokes ‘cause everyone knows chipmunks are the funniest creatures on earth.  Grog the frog was smarter because he stayed away from cars, although he did jump on the windshield of one once, though he’d mistakenly eaten some bad mushrooms and thought the car was a giant lily pad.  It was not, it turned out, but the ride had been truly exhilarating.  Grog the frog’s plan was to trap Ted the gnome in a pile of melted peanut butter and marshmallow cream because he, unlike Burrell the squirrel, knew that gnomes loved melted peanut butter and marshmallow cream.  To Grog the frog’s delight, the ploy worked and soon they had Ted the gnome trapped in the peanut butter and marshmallow pile.  It didn’t work out too well for this was a time when Burrell the squirrel believed that he was a gnome named Geoffrey and claimed to have fought in the Fourth Crusade and well we all know how competent those Fourth Crusaders were.  Needless to say, Ted the gnome got away again, Grog the frog got mad and Burrell the squirrel now thinks he’s Clovis.  He’s hosting a party tonight, all relatives are invited.

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Darkness

What is darkness?  It's terrifying; its the unknown.   It destroys all rational; you know when you turned the light off, there was nothing in the room, but now there is something lurking in the darkness.  You don't know what it is, but its there and its going to hurt you.  The darkness is a monster that eats things.  Yesterday it ate a little boy in your house.  Who the boy was you don't know, but he was there and now he's gone.  Darkness loves to eat people; he's always hungry.  He can never sate his hunger.  No, you cry out.  Your grandmother is going down the hallway, she's coming close to Darkness, but doesn't know he's there.  Darkness stays quiet, yet Grandmother still doesn't hear  you; her hearing aid must be turned down.  Trying to save her, you run down the hall, but Darkness takes both of you.  All around you is darkness, you can't feel anything; you have no senses.  And then in an instant everything comes back and you hit rock bottom, but the rock gives a little.  Next a rhythmic beeping penetrates the darkness and you open your eyes in curiousity seeing strips of artificial, yellow light above you.

Odor of Distrust

There was a distinct smell in the air; he couldn't quite place it, but it disturbed him.  It put him off his mark like something was out of place, but try as he might, he couldn't figure out what it was.  Sighing, he tried to turn his attention back to the blank sheet of paper before him, but he couldn't get himself to focus.  After a few minutes of staring at the blank paper, he threw the pencil down in disgust, muttering a curse.  Biting back a yawn, he set his head down in his hands.  Maybe he was just tired; he'd been working a lot lately.  Pondering the thought, he decided it wasn't his tiredness; it had to be something else.  Maybe a break was what he needed.  Standing, he stretched as he glanced around the room.  It was quite a mess; books were everywhere, papers littered the floor, and his clothes lay strewn in an uneven circle around the laundry basket.  Maybe, he thought, it was the mess.  He liked to be organized and he hadn't been.  No, he thought after a minute, it wasn't the mess; he sometimes liked a mess.  Walking into the kitchen, he went to the fridge where a picture caught his gaze; his fiancee and then it hit him.  The odor was one of distrust.

Consistency in Inconsistency

Mercurial instants
Purple jubilation
White fall
And back again
Stability steers clear
Crafty, angry, conniving,
Vengeful, scared?
Consistency in inconsistency

Bipolarity of Being

Duality of a single coin
Flips, twists, and twirls
Anticipation oblivious, but ferverous

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Ebb and Flow

There's a pressure growing within
An ebb and flow
It pulses a beat of its own.
I feel it from time to time
And it hurts.
Robs both breath and life.

Please come home

Where oh where has my creativity gone.  Where oh where could it be.  I need it back- I'll beg and plead if only you'll return.  My mind, I know, maybe chaotic and dreary from time to time, but I'm working on it.  I really need you back.  Please, creativity, come back home.

I deleted the whole page


I deleted the whole page.  It didn’t even mount a good defense or offense for that matter.  It said I sucked, so I said that it did and that it was crap.  After that, it went into the corner and I, like the coward I am, deleted it while its back was turned.  There was no blitzkrieg or kamikazes, just a cowardly use of the delete button.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

I was at work when it happened

I was at work when it happened, when the world ended.  It came without much fanfare; just a flash of light that illuminated the night sky.  I caught it out of the corner of my eye as I went about my customary cleaning.
Only I took notice of the light as only I stood near a window.  The others, my co-workers, continued working in oblivion.
The light didn’t startle or stun me even thought it was unexpected.  I found it all quite normal.  A feeling of comfort flooded my body.  I never ran to tell anyone.  What would be the point?  The world just ended.