Tis the Season

I drove to Wally World to pick up a few grocery items. I needed only eggs, but who goes through the checkout with only a dozen eggs? So I picked up a few other items I don’t need now but will surely use. Eventually. The checkout girl was young. I’m not. She was also black. I’m not that, either. The name printed on her tag was “Nadeea.” So I greeted her.

“Hi, Nadeea”

“Hi.”

“Can I call you shawty?”

She laughed. “I think I prefer my real name.”

“Ok, Nadeea,” I said.

“You’re only the second person to pronounce my name right,” she said.

“The first was your Mom?”

“Okay, you’re the third. Most people want to pronounce it like it’s spelled ‘Nadia’.”

“The double-e is a giveaway,” I said.

It must be a tiresome job — ringing up groceries for 8 hours. It only takes a few seconds to be nice to someone and maybe break the tedium. Of course, there are a few people who seem to enjoy their misery and refuse to accept someone being nice to them. I don’t encounter those people often. When I do, I try not to allow them to ruin my mood. Ironically, it’s often the Christmas season when people seem to be at their most irritable. Maybe it’s the hoards of shoppers, the extra traffic, and the packed parking lots. And that’s on top of the usual holiday angst: what should I buy for so-and-so, what meals should I prepare, do I have enough gift-wrapping paper, and so on.

I’ve heard old-timers say Christmas used to be a time to celebrate the birth of Jesus, sing carols, and “roast chestnuts by an open fire”. On those long ago Christmases, family would come together for no other reason than to enjoy each others’ company. And they would watch movies like “Miracle on 34th Street” and “It’s a Wonderful Life”.

But enough about olden days that may or may not have existed. Now we live in modern times and we don’t have to indulge in old-fashioned foolishness. We have online shopping, Christmas sales at Thanksgiving, and aluminum Christmas trees that can be pink or blue or silver or even green. Or all of those colors, depending on how the tree is programmed. (“Hey sweetheart, have you seen the remote for the tree?”) We don’t need an open fire — for a “low, low price” we can have the illusion of flames dancing over plastic logs inside of a plastic stove.

Perhaps Nietzsche misspoke when he declared, “God is dead.” Maybe he meant to say that the somebody who was dead was — but no, I dare not continue that thought. There are too many young children for whom Christmas has not yet lost its magic and who know that Santa sees all. I would not want to disillusion them. They’ll learn the truth soon enough.