Disenchanted with Christmas?

Has working retail during the holidays caused you to grow disenchanted with Christmas? I feel your yuletide pain. As a top member of a large department store's sales force one Happy Holiday, I was treated to an avalanche of seasonal music including and most especially music with an upbeat rock n' roll "open you wallet" kind of sound. If you haven't heard Michael McDonald's "On Christmas Morning", get on the trolley and do it-it's breathtaking.

Resistance to the music is an exercise in futility. Even though I possess inner meditative powers that would make an octogenarian yogi jealous, I still could not convince myself that the music wasn't playing or not bothering me. What followed was a downward spiral of frustration, anger and despair culminating in an embarrassing tirade in which I overturned the sales racks and repeatedly banged shoes against myself, co-workers and display tables (in the business we call that a pulling a Khrushchev). The jingle jangle harmonies permeated my core. They were all I could think about. I neglected my family, my appearance and, worst of all, my customers. I lost my diamond star status. Sales fell like defective arches.

I barricaded myself in the stock room and frantically opened as many boxes as I could grab, deeply inhaling the chemically dye smell trying to...what...something...to feel something different...anything. Paranoia set in. I could see the shoes laughing at me and sticking out their tongues. As I lay there on a heap of opened boxes and shoes with my nostrils burning and silica gel stuffed in my ears to try and block out the sound, I knew I had hit bottom.

In my stupor I hallucinated that Santa came down a chimney that magically appeared in front of me. Except that even in my impaired state I could see that something was off about ole Saint Nick. His feet were enormous and he wore Johnston and Murphy dress shoes (Acadia style, comes in Black, Tan or Cordovan, sizes 8-13, widths D, E, EE, stock # 267707). And then I realized I knew that face, salt and pepper beard, and feathered gray hair. It was Michael McDonald!

Without a word he picked me up, dusted me off, held me close and sang to me: