A Weary Christmas and Holiday Jeer

“I hate Christmas. I don’t know how people can call it ‘the most wonderful time of the year.’ It’s the most dreadful time of the year. It’s too cold to go out and do anything. I’ve been locked up in my room all month festering away at my computer screen. I swear, my eyes are on the verge of melting right out of their sockets from how much time I’ve been spending staring at this stupid, white glowing box. Every minute I spend here I can feel my brain cells slowly frying one by one like an egg in a pan. I petition that we get rid of this folly holiday for good. Who’s with me?”

And with a few clicks of a keyboard and a touch on the mouse, my spread of Christmas jeers had been shared with my fellow internet lurkers. I had been waiting for someone to finally speak up and admit that Christmas was the most inconsiderate, unnecessary holiday to exist. Nobody wants to go out in the dead of winter to a mall where hundreds of angry shoppers hollow out their wallets that were filled by their minimum wage jobs to buy their brats a plastic piece of junk that will be forgotten about in 2-3 weeks.

A bell sound emitted from my computer, notifying me that someone had replied to my truth-revealing post.

Catlover!123 had responded:

“How could you say that? Christmas is the best holiday of the year! There’s nothing better than exchanging presents with your loved ones under a lit up tree with a cup of hot cocoa with whip cream and sprinkles on top!” 

I physically recoiled upon reading that. “That sounds like diabetes and rotten teeth, plus the unnecessary litter from all that wrapping. Christmas is just a materialistic waste of time, money, and resources.”

Ding! Cat lover replied again. “Well, if you view Christmas as a materialistic waste then that’s what it’s going to be. If you don’t like the Christmas norms then change them! You don’t have to buy meaningless, plastic, 20 dollar toys. Buy heartfelt ones that you know your loved one will utilize and appreciate. If you don’t want to spend money, then make one yourself! You don’t even have to use wrapping paper if you don’t want to. Christmas is yours to create.”

Hmm, a gift that isn’t plastic and will be remembered after a month that’s also heartfelt and cheap?

“And pray tell, what gift do you suggest that has all of those wonderfully redeeming qualities?”

Within a minute, a response had already been formed. “A pet! You can get one at a local animal rescue! I’m sure any of your loved ones will absolutely adore one! Take for example, my cat Butters! My older brother got him for me 2 years ago for Christmas! He went from a sad, shelter cat behind thin, metal bars to the most loved member in our family! Butters has been able to help me and I’ve been able to help him! He’s a (non-plastic) present that I’ll forever cherish and love!”

Butters: that’s the most horrendous name a cat could have. 

I brought out my phone, typed in a few digits, and listened to the monotonous ring of the 21st century version of communication.

“Gerald, hello?”

“Hey, mom. It’d be best to place one more setting at the table this year. I’m coming home for Christmas.”

___

Who knew that a sickeningly sweet cat lover on social media would have thought of the most perfect gift for Sally, my little sister? I wasn’t even planning on going to my parents’ house for the holiday. I knew I would have to bring presents for them, and there was no way in hell that I was going to spend money on one of those creepy looking plastic blonde dolls that children love so much. 

But a cat: now that was something I was willing to invest in. It would be a mutualistic relationship, just like cat lover said. Little Sally could provide the cat a home with food, water, and comfy pillows. The cat would provide for Sally, well, whatever cats provide their humans with.

I chuckled as I drove down the snow covered street. This would be the third time I left my apartment this month and the first time I showered this week. As I gazed out upon the suburb houses sprinkled with powdered sugar, I felt somewhat cathartic. I hadn’t thought about how beautiful nature’s wool blanket would be: I only focused on the cold that it brought. Yet, the cold wasn’t even that bad against the forces of my car heater. 

The silence was deafening. There was no quietness compared to that of which snowfall brought. It was just me, the snow, and the guy I had just ran over.

My car came screeching to a halt, sliding onto the other lane as I pushed the brake to the car floor. I had been so distracted by the snow that I didn’t even see the person standing in front of my car; I only heard the thud, by then it was already too late.

Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.

I scrambled out of my car, running to the front to set eyes upon my victim. However, everything was white. There were no adornments of red among this sea of milky fabric. I dropped to my knees, rummaging through the snow for a body that may lay buried. I found nothing, except for an orange carrot and a red scarf.

I had indeed ended a man, but not one of flesh.

Furious, I spun around, scanning the area for the hooligans responsible for this dilemma. Who the hell builds a snowman in the middle of the street? 

In one of the houses, two small boys peeked their beady eyes through a window, quivering with absolute delight. I began my march over there, stomping through the frozen marsh. 

When I got to the window, the toothless grins on the boys had vanished as their eyes looked up at me, wide like a train’s tunnel.

“YOU BETTER OPEN THE DOOR YOUNG MAN! GET YOUR PARENTS AND BRING THEM OUT HERE RIGHT NOW!”

I waded to the door, banging on the wood and calling out for their parents. I wasn’t sure how long I was out there yelling at them to bring out their parents, but I guess it was long enough for one of them to dial 911 because the white stillness was interrupted by flashes of red and blue the next street over.

Shit!

I scrambled to the car, and just before the police had turned onto the street, I was off, smashing the gas pedal and venturing into the white abyss. After a short while, the sirens and lights on the police cars had vanished, and I was a free man.

I pulled over, trying to regulate my breathing and recollect the recent events and figure out what to do next. I had been driving aimlessly for the past few minutes and had no idea where I landed. I pulled out my phone, ready to open Google maps and get myself out of this mess, when suddenly the screen had gone black. 

“No, no, no!” I emitted, dropping my phone and cradling my face into my hands. Damn me and my internet addiction. If I wasn’t on it so much, it wouldn’t have died.

After a few minutes of stifled sobs and salty tears, I decided to continue driving. There had been a few cars passing me on the road, all heading the same direction. I pumped up the gas and  followed the map the other vehicles had left behind in the snow, and began my journey to an unknown destination.

___

The trail had brought me to one of my favorite stations: a mall filled with frustrated parents, empty pockets, crying children, and musty coats. Wonderful.

I traveled in, immediately heading to the electronics department. Upon buying a new charger for my phone, I began my search for an outlet where I could actually use the charger.

Despite scouring nearby shops from top to bottom and asking a few lovely employees with cold-blooded frowns if there was an outlet available for customer use, my search availed to naught. 

Screams erupting from a line of children interrupted my hunt. I looked over and saw Santa, frantically trying to tie his long white beard back onto his face. The mother’s in the ‘picture with Santa' line were bent down, some wiping tears from their children’s eyes. I truly admired their patience: a virtue I would never possess. Other mothers were dragging their children away from the line, faces red with embarrassment from their kids’ outbursts.

“Mama!” One of the children cried, “You lied! Santa’s not old!”

My eyes snapped back to Santa again, examining his facial features a little more closely. The brat was right-the boy in the costume couldn’t have been over 18 years old.

Quickly, I got into line, my solution to my charging problem sitting in front of me.

“Excuse me, you just cut in front of my dau-” 

I turned around, staring at the woman behind me.

“Oh! I didn’t even see you there! Please, go in front of me.” I gestured my hand and moved out of the way so she could pass.

She did nothing of the sort. Instead, she grabbed her daughter’s hand and clutched her purse to her side. “Come on Kelly, let’s go.” 

She backed away from the line and immediately I felt like an imbecile. No wonder they were creeped out. Why should I, a male college student, be in line to take a picture with Santa?

After about 20 minutes of waiting, it was finally my turn to meet Santa.

“Merry Christma-”

Santa stopped mid cheer just to stare at me.

“Hi,” I said awkwardly, waving my hand.

“What the hell, man? There’s people in line who actually want to meet me. What are you doing?” Santa raised his mittens into the air, shaking his head.

“I’m here to tell you what I want for Christmas.” 

“Oh my god, move out of the way.” He waved his mitten in dismissal. 

“No, you are going to listen to me,” I said, striding up to him. 

Santa gulped.

“This is what I need for Christmas: I need you to go into the employees room, take my phone, and charge it. Then, when it is fully charged, you will bring it out to me and I will be on my merry way.”

I took out my new charger, my dead phone, and a partially ripped 10 dollar bill out from my pocket and shoved it into his big, fat, ugly mittens. ”Do we have a deal?”

He examined the items I placed in his hand, and after a few seconds responded, “Hell nah, bro.”

“Did you just call me ‘bro?’”

“I’m not leaving my job for just 10 dollars. I’m getting paid 5 dollars an hour and I’ve been here for 3 hours, 17 minutes, and 53 seconds.” He plunged a timer into my face to show me his hours. “If I leave, I ain’t getting paid, and I’m not gonna give up my 15 hard earned dollars for your ripped up 10 dollar bill.”

I sighed, pulling out another 10 dollars from my pocket. “What about 20 dollars?”

“20 dollars and you take up the suit.” he negotiated.

“No.” I shook my head, my stare shifting to the red fabric monstrosity he wore. “I will not do that.”

“Take it or leave it. Now hurry up, because there’s a whole line of crying children and angry parents behind you.”

“I’ll leave it. Good day, Mr. Claus, you’ve been extraordinarily helpful,” I huffed.

“So what’s more to you?” the boy called out as I began to shuffle away. “Whatever reason you’re so desperate to get your phone charged, or a few minutes sitting down in a red suit?”

I stopped, contemplating his words for a second. If I don’t get my phone charged, I can’t find my way to the shelter. If I can’t get the cat at the shelter, then I’ll feel too guilty to go to my parents' house empty-handed. I’ll be forced to go home, alone, and spend Christmas Eve eating junk and mindlessly scrolling on whatever media platform sounds the most intriguing for the hour. Even if I did leave with a dead phone, how would I be able to get home? It’s too stormy to navigate my way there without some type of map.

“Just give me the goddamn coat.”

___

“Yo, Mr. Santa, I have your phone!” The boy ran out to me, holding up my phone as if it were some kind of Olympic trophy. 

“Thank goodness,” I breathed, turning it on. Sure enough, it had been fully charged and ready to go.

Immediately, I pulled off the red suit and took a deep breath. I had just spent the past hour and a half in utter agony. The stench of the suit gave the aroma of sulfur, and diarrhea. Every kid I had dealt with was absolutely insufferable. 7 of them had started crying as their parents forced them to take a warm, family Christmas picture with me. 

As I tore off the suit, revealing my plain black attire underneath and lack of white facial hair, every kid in the line began bawling their eyes out. A mixture of deafening screams and tantrums erupted in the mall.

“He killed Santa!” one of them cried out, pointing to the great heap of crimson clothes on the floor.

Then, I ran. Raging parents shouted at me as I pushed them out of the way. Kids shook their grimy little fingers at me as I sprinted out of the glass mall doors, stifling giggles as I ran. I mean, you’ve got to admit. ‘The man who killed Santa’ has a nice ring to it.

___

The storm was at its peak by the time I arrived at the animal shelter. With much struggle against the white flurries, I trekked inside. 

“Hi,” the lady at the desk greeted, obviously surprised someone had come in in this weather. 

“Hi,” I replied, shivering at the desk before me.

“You’re here to look at our pets, aren't you?” she insinuated.

“Yes, I am. Specifically cats. I want to get one for my little sister for Christmas.” I admitted.

“Oh, yes,” she smiled, “pets are one of the greatest gifts God has given us to give to others.”

“I’m an atheist.”

“Oh!” she gasped, placing her hand on her chest.

Waving her hand, she motioned me to go into the next room. I quickly followed. She walked up to the first cage, pointing her jeweled finger to the creature that lay sleeping inside.

“This is our first kitten, her name is Honey Dew Drop to match her honey colored fur!” 

She took Honey Dew Drop out of the cage, and placed her into my arms. She was surprisingly soft and warm.

“For such a horrendous name, this is a pretty cute kitten,” I chuckled, cradling her in my arms.

I looked up at the lady. She stared at me, her warm smile she initially greeted me with completely erased.

“I’ll take this one,” I said, gently petting the kitten with one finger.

“Well, don’t you want to look at the other ones?”

“No, this one’s good for me.” 

___

After completing pages upon pages of tedious paperwork, I was finally able to take the cat home. Just as I was about to take my leave, the lady’s monotonous crone called out to me again. “Sir, you have to pay.”

“Oh right,” I dug around in my pocket, my fingers searching for my wallet. “How much?”

“Fifty dollars.” she held out her hand, her jeweled fingers waiting to take my money.

I rummaged around through the brown, leather case. Three 10 dollar bills. That was all I had. “I don’t have 50 dollars. I only have thirty dollars.” I mumbled, feeling around in my coat pockets for extra change. 

“Where is the other twenty dollars,” she huffed, her glare icier than the storm outside.

“Santa,” I whispered, a pit of dread forming in my stomach.

“Santa?,” she clarified. “You gave it to Santa?”

I gulped. “I know that doesn’t sound believable, but listen-”

“Give me the cat.” She took a step towards me. I took a step back. The second she reached out her arms, my body went into fully fledged flight mode. I dodged her grasp, running around her and grabbing my handful of paperwork before sprinting out the door.

___

“Merry Christmas, Gerald!” my mom cheered, leading me into the living room. The house was comfortingly warm, decorated with lights and candles galore. “Come, sit by the fire.”

“Son,” my dad strided towards me, giving me a one-armed hug as the other arm rested inside his coat. “I’m glad you made it in one piece! That storm is really brewing outside. How was the journey?”

“You know, the normal,” I returned. “I only hit a man with my car, was chased by the police, killed Santa, and stole a cat.”

“Stole a what?” My dad asked, looking at me with confusion in his eyes.

“Brother!” Sally shouted, inviting me with a big hug. “We’re just about to open presents!”

Sally pulled me towards the couch, jumping up and down, eager to tear open the wrapped boxes that sat in front of her.

“Speaking of presents,” I smiled, “look at this Sally!” I took Honey Dew Drop out of my coat pocket.

Everyone went silent as Sally yipped in joy. Carefully, I set down the kitten in her arms and looked around the room .

Mom looked at the cat, with a concerned look on her face. Then, dad looked at me, as a small “mew” came from his coat pocket too.