As my super-grinchy husband will tell you, I’m a whore for Christmas (Not a literal whore, people. Who wants to be working the corner in this weather?). But the past few days have been getting me down, and I don’t like it. And trust me when I tell you that the only thing worse than a half-assed mama is a cranky half-assed mama (just ask Tibs).
It started yesterday when I took an entire carload of donations to Big Brothers/Big Sisters. I wanted to donate to Horizons for Homeless Children, but they are very specific about what can be donated, so BBBS won. Every year, we go through the things we need and don’t need. Bucket and I do it, and we do it with Tibs so that he understands that a: he doesn’t need a lot of crap around to make him happy and b: there are kids out there with nothing who would be delighted to play with the shit he doesn’t use. So we had a ton of stuff this year.
Noodle and I drive over to the supermarket parking lot where there’s supposed to be an attended donation booth. Said booth was in fact an open storage container with no one in it. I started unloading the stuff, and a car pulled up. A woman got out, walked over and started looking at the boxes. At first, I thought she was going to take off with them, but then she started loading them into the container without a word to me. I unloaded an entire car’s worth of clothes, books and toys and she said two things to me:
1. “We can only take two boxes of books.” (WTF?)
2. “Do you want a donation receipt for your taxes?”
No thank you or anything. Now look, I don’t expect to be sainted here, but I brought all this stuff to them because I wanted them to have it before Christmas, and that’s it? She did tell me to have a good Christmas when I was leaving, but that pissed me off too. How does she know I’m not Jewish? Or Muslim? Or Wiccan (which is sounding pretty good right now)?
On the way home, I put the rest of the books in a book donation bin I passed on the street, and I kept a bag of coats to give to another charity, because BBBS has annoyed me for the third time (story for another day, perhaps along with the tale of how I broke up with the Salvation Army).
Cut to today, when I drive two towns over to pick up some of Tibs’ presents at Toys R’ Us. I had bought them online, and they could only be picked up at the store. Calling the woman at customer service surly was an understatement. She snatched the receipt from me, couldn’t get the computer to work, gave me the stinkeye when she had to go use another computer (because I was clearly responsible for the faulty computer), and then, after taking forever to find them in the cupboard, despite there being about three boxes in there and mine being clearly marked with my name, thrust them at me and told me the internet printout was my receipt. She was the portrait of good cheer.
Again, I understand that working at Toys R’ Us this time of year must be about as much fun as being the UPS man at Christmastime (I swear, our UPS dude is going to need back surgery from our gifts alone). I used to work at the Gap in a Maine tourist town overrun with tourists. People suck. I get it. But this is your JOB. And you’re working under a big sign that says CUSTOMER SERVICE (although, to be fair, given how long it took her to find my bag of stuff, her literacy skills must have been lacking).
And as I was writing this, our mailman just brought our mail to the porch after coughing all over it and hocking a big loogie into our lawn.
These are the reasons that I am a virtual agoraphobe, people. You’re allowed to be dinks the rest of the year, but not at Christmas. You being dinks at Christmas just proves to me that I am unsuited to be around humankind at any time of year. So cheer the frig up. Be grateful that you have a job, even if it’s manning the donations bin at Stop n’ Shop or working at Toys R’ Us customer service. Be happy you can walk and stand and talk and breathe, because lots of people can’t. In short, stop being assholes.