I have worked through too many holiday seasons to ever be excited about decorations ever again. I hate buying gifts, wrapping presents, and seeing the colours red and green together makes me want to vomit. I wasn't like this before. I used to feel that festive magic in the cold, winter breeze as I enjoyed the warmth of new mittens or the unsettling prickle of a wool scarf. I used to send friends and family texts wishing them happy holidays. That was before I survived in the glitter covered, ugly garland, vulgar snowman trench of customer service at Walmart in the two months before Christmas and the two months afterwards.
People buy too many prepackaged shower gel sets (and return them all), put $20 stickers on $200 Christmas trees while trying to argue that the price is right, complain that the lines are too long (bitch, you are not in line, you are the line) and hold you responsible for the filthy bathrooms because other customers decided to pee all around the toilet but not in it (on a side note; I had one Grand Bitch actually complain and say that we should put up cameras facing the bathrooms for that purpose. And do what exactly? Confront old grannies in the detergent isle that she should go wipe her pee off the seat? Okay.)
Every time I see a holiday display in a store or not, I instantly gag. I hate Christmas. For me, it is all about people overspending and being complete assholes. Perhaps with time I can let go of that hateful symbolism for a holiday that is meant to bring families together. Until then, I will assume that every time a wreath is hung on a door, a minimum wage worker chain-smokes on their lunch break.
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