The other day I dropped Bitty off for an eye exam where she was to have her eyes dilated. An hour later, I picked her up, pulling into the only space available – a blue-striped handicapped loading zone in front of the door. I remained in the car with the engine running and in twenty seconds, Bitty ambled out to me wearing the over-sized plastic shades given to patients rendered temporarily blind. Following her was a nurse. I thought, “How nice of this health care worker to watch over my momentarily disabled partner.” As Bitty opened the car door, the nurse – this angelic spirit of Florence Nightingale – turned to us both and snarled, “That’s not a parking space!”
Well, Happy Holidays to you, too, Nurse Ratched.
Remember as a child when Christmas was all presents and bright lights? Or Baby Jesus and manger scenes? Or holiday music and stop-motion cartoon specials?
Yeah, well, now the holiday season seems increasingly to be a reflection of the American middle-class: over-worked, underpaid, and pissed off.
I’ve had drivers try to run me over in the mall parking lot, speeding by in their “Rudolph” mobile as they substitute a merry Ho Ho Ho with an angry middle-finger wave.
I’ve almost been crushed to death in a coffee mosh pit by Starbucks customers impatient for their holiday latte.
I’ve even had Elf on the Shelf take a dump on me.
So to all you Scrooges worried about your job, finances, the fiscal cliff, inattentive spouses, bratty kids, annoying neighbors, horrible bosses, overpopulation, global warming… spend a couple hours watching an old Christmas movie classic (Bitty chose Miracle on 34th Street). You will be amazed at how strongly that childlike holiday feeling returns.