Dear Dirty America


Jingle Bells? Jingle Balls!

Jingle Bells? Jingle Balls!
December 14
17:12 2017

Perthshire, Scotland 

The time has come to once again celebrate the “festering” season. This is supposed to be a time of giving and good cheer.

So far, all I have seen are seas of miserable gray faces, poking out from the hoods of various types of winter coats.

Rain dripping off the ends of frozen noses, the herds rush from one store to the next, without the slightest care for any poor sod who happens to be moving more slowly than the rest.

The looks of abject misery are all around, as they search for the perfect gift for great aunt Barbara or whoever. Unfortunately it looks like it will be a pound of Milk Tray and a pair of woolly bed socks, as usual. There is not enough time for anything more exciting.

“Bargains” are to be had everywhere, but that’s what drives people to keep going, despite the bloody awful weather and the temptation to just fling everything up in the air and dive into the nearest bar.

But somehow, they resist this and soldier on against the tide of humanity which always seems to be coming in the opposite direction to them, regardless of the direction of their own travel.

Battered and buffeted, they are sure the last elusive gift will be in the next shop.

Walking, shivering into a high end department store, the warmth and the scent of at least fifty different types of perfume hit them in the face.

This heady combination makes them feel as if they’ve fallen head first into a vat of exotic fly killer.

Once recovered from this noxious onslaught, the next move is to try to avoid any of the young people trying to tempt them with more sickly smelling perfumes.

These young people have perma tans, rictus grins and no ability to understand humour. Their only aim is to sell people as many bottles of cloying scent as possible.

Moving hurriedly and still reeling from the perfume obstacle course, the weary shoppers are still determined to have all gifts bought and wrapped, one week before the big day.

This, of course, is wishful thinking to say the least.

The one thing which would be perfect, is in the wrong size and the correct size is out of stock.

Asking if the shop assistant could please check another branch, to see if they have one left in stock, is not something you really should do if you don’t want to commit murder.

The eye rolling and shoulder shrugging which greets this simple request, tells you, this is obviously too complicated for this individual, with so much make up on, she is unable to show any expression, other than disdain.

Eventually, this call is made, or iPad is scrolled, and you are told, yes they have one, but it’s a small. This is no use. It was a medium which was asked for.

“Why don’t you try online,” mumbles the assistant. “Can’t you check for me?” is the reply.

“Oh we can’t do that. It’s not company policy!”

A look of  triumph is trying to appear on the over made up face of the sales person, and at this point, it takes an iron will not to batter this person to death with a fibreglass clothes model, wearing the extra small version of the sweater.

At this point most people would give up, but the Christmas shopper, driven near to insanity and murder, has to pursue the last present as if it were the Holy Grail.

Smart phone in hand, rain dripping from their face, they check online for this bloody sweater. Hallelujah hallelujah! It is there and in stock.

As quickly as wet frozen fingers will allow, the order is placed and paid for, with a delivery guarantee of before Christmas.

When this story was recounted to a friend, they said, “Why didn’t you buy it online in the first place?”

“Oh,” came the answer, “I wouldn’t have had all the fun of shopping then, would I?”

Follow The Party of Common Sense on Twitter, at @tpocs


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Michael J Blair contributes political analysis to DDA, and he can be reached at: His Twitter handle is: @mmjblair

[header photo courtesy of Teemeeah; Wikimedia Commons]


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