Yeah, two posts in a week. I’m recovering faster. It’s almost like I’m 16 again. You know, back then I could go 8, maybe 9 times a day. Now I’m lucky if I can go 6 or 7. Getting old sucks. At least I’m going through fewer socks these days. But anyway…
It’s that time of year. The children are all smiles, the decorations are up, the fat drunks are in the malls (and I’m not referring to myself this time) dressed up as the jolly fat bastard for boys and girl (and sometimes girls that are far too old for this…) to sit on his lap and tell him what they want for Christmas. Yeah, it’s the “Christmas season”. Are you excited?
…well, fuck you.
Hoff and I were recently talking about this and, after giving it some more thought, I think he’s right. What’s up with the “Merry Christmas” shit just after Thanksgiving? Christmas is December 25th. It would be like someone saying “Hey…Happy Halloween” right after Labor Day. And for the record, I hate Halloween also. Not because of the costumes or the candy (I quite like those, especially the way girls dress up these days, lingerie and cat ears – it’s a Mean Girls thing) but because of my fucking birthday. I hate it. Hoff knows I hate it. Anyone who knows me, knows I hate it. I. Fucking. Hate. It. The only reason I even put up with it is for the offspring. This year Sai had him on Halloween and didn’t even take him trick or treating, so next year I’m going all out. Maybe matching Plonker n’ Offspring costumes that actually transform. He can be Bumblebee and transform into a Camaro, while I can be Drunkimus Prime and transform into…well…Plonker. But this isn’t about Halloween, it’s about Christmas. More specifically, it’s about reflection.
For those of you Jews reading, it’s Hanukkah (like, right now) or…I’ve seen about 1,000 spellings lately, however you want to spell it…it’s the holiday with the candles that Cartman is always ragging on. Happy Hannaker.
For those of us who celebrate Christmas, whether you do it as a Christian and just wish Jesus “Happy Birthday” (which is odd…because wasn’t it in July?) or if you’re like the rest of us who put up a tree, hang LEDs on it, and put wrapped boxes underneath it, it’s the most terrible time of the year.
In a previous life, I worked retail at Things Unnecessary, a failing, shitty little chain store, found in most dying shopping malls. In fact, the malls are getting so bad these days that Things Unnecessary, which can be abbreviated TU, is kind of…ironic is the wrong word…it’s a foreshadow of sorts. An omen. If there’s a TU in your mall, good chance it’s about to go Tits Up.
Well if you’ve ever worked retail, you’re aware of the Christmas Holiday season. The time of year where you frantically try to sell people cheap, made in China bullshit, in an effort to get your year-to-date sales figures into the black. For those of you who are morons, that’s not a race related comment. On a balance sheet, negative numbers are red (losing money) and positive numbers are black (making money). So when someone says “Black Friday”, it’s not a reference to slavery or a Supreme Court case or anything like that. It’s just about the money.
You’ve got essentially one week and one day to make this happen. You’ve got Black Friday (previously mentioned), and “Peak week”. Peak week starts tomorrow. It’s the last week leading up to Christmas. Luckily, it’s a full week this year. Well, luckily for retailers anyway. That means there are seven full shopping days. So retail employees get to sweat out six of them, while the company threatens to fire anyone who doesn’t make their sales goal numbers. Fear not, you’ve got Saturday (and no doubt you’ll be open 5am to midnight for last minute shoppers), and even if you miss, they’re not going to fire you. Know why? Because it’s expensive to hire your replacement. You are replaceable if you suck really bad, but you’d have to REALLY SUCK really bad to get replaced in retail. Seriously, it’s a dumpster fire…unless you’re in management, where things get marginally better…or unless you don’t care, in which case every job is fucking awesome. When you don’t care, you literally get paid to exist. You have to exist at work, but you’re literally being paid for it. How great is that?!?!?
So retail sucked the joy out of me for Christmas many years ago. It was just one too many “YOU RUINED CHRISTMAS” screams from customers who waited until December 22nd to buy something, only to learn that we’re sold out. Or they’d give us the wrong spelling of a name to scratch into their Chinese keychain and then come back on the 26th and scream at us because “we” fucked it up…whatever.
Since I’ve moved on from retail, I’ve actually be super fortunate. Only once have I been stuck really “working” on Christmas. Yeah, I’ve had to travel on Christmas. I had a sim session late on a Christmas Eve once, and then my “day off” was Christmas when I was on an airline flight. I’m still not sure how the FAA lets that slide, but then that company has pilots signing off maintenance logs, so I have a feeling the FAA truly doesn’t care. But yeah, it’s been nice. Most of my flying jobs, I’ve been home for Christmas. Not every aviator can say that. This year shall be no different. Home with the Offspring (until noon on Christmas when he goes to Sai), and then I’ll probably get some Chinese, rip down the tree, and go see a movie. Why not?
This time of year is also a great time to reflect on what a pathetic piece of shit you are. For me, I think the best reflection comes easy. All I have to do is consider my last three (3) years’ worth of company Christmas Parties. Let’s reflect…
- Two years ago – my first with this company. I was excited, I hadn’t had a real Christmas party. The ones at TU were always bullshit. Donuts and coffee in the mall meeting room while I did our Holiday meeting. This was the real deal. Casino, reasonably open bar (just a ‘don’t be stupid’ rule), free food, and a chance to mingle with the higher-ups at the company.Being new to this kind of culture, I asked stupid questions. Things like “what’s the dress?” and “do I need to bring a plus one?”. That’s the important one and the reason I’m telling you these stories…so remember that for later.So the first year went off reasonably well, and I even had the someone’s wife (drunk) flirting with me. It was a bit uncomfortable, him standing there in front of us while she did it, so I made sure not to drink AT ALL, and not to flirt back, but I felt a little good about myself.You still got it, Plonker…
- Last year – Second year with the company. Again, excited. I drove to the location, got a hotel room, took an uber to the party, had a few social drinks, talked with a few of the higher ups again (some of who with whom I had played golf…wait…some of whom with I who played golf? I played golf with two of them earlier in the year. There. Fucking English…) and had, in general a good time.Also, more drunk flirting. This year I was more comfortable, but still..it’s weird.
- This year – my third year with the company.
…
Let’s reflect –
Two years ago, if you recall (read up ^ if you don’t), I asked about a date/plus one. They said that was fine and that most people would have one. So I asked this girl I had a thing for and she said sure. I figured we’d just go up, go to the party, come back. It’s about 3 hours from home to my company HQ and I was going to get a hotel but that’s a bit much for a couple of friends. Plus…there’s all this Matt Lauer shit going around now and Lord knows I don’t need that.
Anyway, so plans are set and I wake up that morning and start going about my day. Sometime late morning/early afternoon I got a text “I decided not to go”.
Last year, same thing. I invited a plus one, though this one would’ve been just as a friend. We tried the date thing, it really didn’t work, and that’s okay. Shoot your shot boys! Not…not in a “grab a tube sock” kinda way. Like, give yourself a chance. It’s a numbers game. For every x girls you ask out, you’ll get x% to say “yes”. Every x dates you go on, you’l have x% second dates. Every x girls who saddle you with “the b-bomb” (“boyfriend”), you’ll have x% wives. For every x wives you have, you’ll have x% ex-wives. It’s purely numbers.
Anyway, so we had plans to go. But she got deployed. She knew it was coming up, but whatever. I’d just prefer a “no thank you”. It’s really not a big deal, ladies. We’re all adults here.
We are all adults right? I don’t need no trouble.
And as a final reflection on what a piece of shit I am, you might be wondering “Oh, God..who did he invite this year and what did she do?” That’s a fair question and one which I believe deserves an answer. What happened this year?
…I wasn’t invited to the party.
Wompwomp,
Plonker
