Today was my final day shift of community service, aka. last day of retail work. Since giving in my notice of resignation two weeks ago, things have been running pretty smoothly at work, for example, I can now rest easy after reprimanding customers for rude behavior because I know that I won't be fired, or.. I can stir the emotional pots of my fellow co-workers and suffer little to no consequences. When I arrived this morning, I was first greeted with the cheerful booms of Christmas music rumbling over the intercom.. celebrating the birth of Jesus seven weeks in advance..I don't even celebrate my birthday that early! I took this as a sign that God was making one last attempt to worsen my final day in retail by forcing me to listen to Christmas music for 8 hours straight. Props to Allah for you always knowing how to press my buttons. This just made me even more grateful for finding a new job, one that doesn't force these magically delightful sound waves on my ears... "who could handle listening to this at work from now until the actual holidays?" I pondered. I learned that the depressing drones I work with will have to. I quickly decided to make the best of my day, and was even singing and whistling along to the joyus melodies of Elvis, Beyonce, and even Jsimps' versions of all our favorite seasonal tidings to spite the coworkers around me who would be stuck with them forever. Greg, the newbie employee, slash disappointment to the human race grumbled in anger as we were forced to work together today.. my multiple requests for our separation were promptly ignored by my manager. I soon realized that the Christmas music was perhaps an emotional trigger to his battered youth, when he asked me when I stopped celebrating Christmas. "You mean when did I stop believing in Santa?" I replied. "No, like when did you stop decorating a tree, and opening presents, and celebrating with your family?" he asked. "... Umm, I never did?" I replied with a confused slash condescending tone. He then told me that when he was six his mother "killed Christmas" and he hasn't celebrated since. After further inappropriate prodding, he explained that his absent father left them with little money, and thus they couldn't afford the holidays. "Not even the holiday spirit?" I asked. "Not even the tree" Greg replied. At this point my retail bestie, slash Polish second grandmother spoke up, further cementing the reasons why I attached myself to her hip over the past few months, "You know, absent father or not, trees can be cut down from the wilderness for free." She then started discussing how she would prefer if they played Christmas music of the "Reggae" variety instead.. her personal favorite. Little did I know, this kind of music actually existed, and when it came on the intercom soon after, we danced to the Reggae as we upstocked duvet covers.. me at the top of the ladder, and Polska at the bottom.... too bad Greg was such a scrooge, he just got to watch how much fun Christmas could be.
Overall, my final day was quite a success, and I promised to return for a shopping spree to visit my few favorite peers, and chat with my unfortunate foes for prime blogging material. As a farewell gift to myself, I made sure to drop a few stray seeds of fabricated gossip upon my departure, something tells me that Trashy and Sarah's seemingly solid friendship won't make it through the weekend... Whoopsie!, Oh B, You the F'n best.
B
