Christmas Shopping

Nothing is more demoralizing than Christmas shopping.  Every year, society asks us to leave our inhibitions at the door and head to the mall, with no idea of the shitstorm we are about to run into.  Every year I pray to God (ok, no I don't, since I don't believe in that, but let's pretend I do), that my dear family and friends will say to me, "Oh, BB, why don't you just buy something for yourself in my honor, and I will do the same?"  WOW!  What a genius idea that would be!  But instead, we're forced to buy gifts for our family and friends and fucking hope they'll like it enough.  If not, that's what they made gift receipts for I guess.

Speaking of which, the concept of a gift receipt is terrible to begin with.  You give someone a gift, and provide the receipt in case your taste sucks so bad that your gift is completely unacceptable.  But, the "gift receipt" doesn't show the price you paid.  Fantastic, so when Grandma decides the lingerie you got her just doesn't bring out her figure as well as she wanted, she can return it.  But guess what happens when Grams presents the gift receipt to the pimply-faced customer service rep at Target?  The asshole tells her EXACTLY how much it costs!!!  So now Grandma is taking your $26.00 and buying Depends and candles.  Christmas is so awesome.

I was at the mall this weekend, finishing (read: starting) my Christmas shopping.   Going to the mall on the weekend before Christmas is basically a death wish.  I would totally put on chain mail and carry one of those spiky-ball-on-a-chain things like Gimli in Lord of the Rings if it was acceptable by society.  Unfortunately, it's not, so I listened to "You're the Best", got pumped up, and headed to the mall.

I don't even try to fight for a parking spot at this time of year.  I'm a single asshole and I don't need to worry about dropping off my wife and kids at the door so they don't freeze to death.  My move is to head immediately for the parking garage and drive to the top level.  I'm out of shape anyway - that walk down the two flights of cement stairs is the best cardio I'll get until around April or so.

Once you walk into the doors of the mall, it is worse than any Halloween haunted house you will ever visit.  If you make your way through the disgusting Goth kids smoking cigarettes outside the door, you are immediately subjected to the "I-used-to-be-a-high-school-jock-but-now-I'm-a-Best-Buy-security-guard" dude.  This prick looks you in the eye and asks how you're doing...and you're forced to acknowledge him.  If you don't, you fear you'll be stripped down like some TSA screening.  Does this guy really think anyone is going to walk out of here with something like "Eat, Pray, Love" on blu ray?  Shit, the damn security alarm goes off pretty much every damn time someone walks through it and they just wave your ass on - "Go ahead!" - I could walk through with the codes for North Korea's nuclear weapons, and I don't think Mr. I-impregnated-my-prom-date-and-now-I'm-attempting-to-duck-child-support is going to stop me.

So I make it into the mall.  Now I'm dodging rednecks rubbing cologne samples on their body, and grandmas consulting stoned-out high school age employees on what the most popular sweatpants with "juicy" written on the ass would be the best for their granddaughters. Finding your way through the department store entrance is like some fucked up version of Pan's Labyrinth.  Next thing you know, you're stuck in the women's hosiery section trying not to get caught staring at the mannequins.   At this point, I'm already sweating between the balls (did I mention I'm overweight and lazy?) and wishing I left my jacket in the car.  However, just like the troops storming Normandy Beach, it's too late to turn back.  After dodging some screaming kids waiting for their mom to pick out a cheap sweater, and a dude in a Dale Earnhardt jacket helping his son pick out a John Deere t-shirt, I'm finally out into the actual "mall".

Now it's every man for himself.  My move is to tuck and run, speed walking against the grain and dodging middle aged moms sipping the Orange Julius they bought in the food court.  This is the hard part.  I have no fucking clue where I'm going.  At this point I'm just a zombie wandering through the mall.  I have showed up with no game plan, no list, and no real idea what I should be buying.  I spend the next hour aimlessly wandering in and out of stores and generally pontificating about how happy I am that I don't have to push some demon spawn child around in a stroller.  By the time I leave, I have bought a shitty sweater my mom will probably hate, a random video game for my brother, and a hat for myself (to hide my receding hairline).  My only thought is the cold beer awaiting my homecoming in my fridge.

On the drive home, I think about how little I have accomplished.  These feelings of despair are instantly washed away once that first sip of beer hits my lips.  I try to salvage some of the Christmas spirit as I sip my PBR and sloppily wrap my presents.  Who gives a shit...I am a lonely asshole who shops for three people.  I have somehow purchased everything they want, and the things I missed are later purchased as I drunkenly input my credit card number on amazon.com.  Another year down...

To wrap this story up - I truly love my family, and I know they feel the same.  As generic the gifts are they asked for, I know they'll appreciate them.  The feeling I enjoy the most is enjoying a spiked Egg Nog on Christmas morning with my parents and brother as we trade stories of how crazy the holiday shopping season truly is.  Don't let anyone tell you different...the true meaning of Christmas is getting sauced with your family.  Merry Christmas, assholes.