That’s right, I said it - I hate Christmas. Before you say anything, let me explain.
Some years ago back in Kenya, Christmas was the best time ever. That’s the only time I ever got to spend decent time with everyone dear to me. Plus, there was all this great food that we cooked that wasn’t exactly everyday food.
Shoot, most days githeri was the staple. I’m talking about githeri that was mostly dry, githeri where the maize outnumbered the beans 10:1, githeri that was only boiled, strained and salted. Can I get a witness, anyone?
Christmastime, however, was a whole different ballgame. That’s when Mama >d® woke me up at 6am and bellowed for me to go hunting. That, of course, constituted of my bros & I rounding up some unfortunate goat, slitting its throat and chopping it to bits. [Sounds cruel, doesn’t it?] While we did that, my sisters would be throwing down in the kitchen with chapos, kachumbari & everything in between. My one sister even made pizza one time. I’ll tell you what, pizza with Kenya-made ingredients is off the chizz-ain, please believe it. When the food was all ready we’d thank The Man Upstairs for the opportunity to be together, then the festivities would begin.
Some years later, I found myself on U.S. soil just in time for Christmas. I got a job working at some major retail store. They put me at the register but I was like nuh-uh, take me someplace else. So they put me in – hold your breath – the infants section. WTF? Before I could say ‘Hurray for Huggies’ I was re-stocking Pampers, Huggies & Enfamil all over the joint. I got so familiar with my department I could almost tell you which formula was closest to breast-milk. New mothers would pester me all day long while new fathers would ask me stuff with that desperate look in their eye. I hated it all.
But that wasn’t half as bad as the Christmas music that played throughout the building. Christian Christmas music is one thing but songs about Santa Claus are straight ridiculous, and that’s all that blared through the entire establishment. I got so sick of songs like ‘Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer,’ ‘Jingle bells’ & ‘I’m dreaming of a white Christmas.’
[I’m dreaming of a white Christmas?? Should I call Sharpton on this one?]
Not only did the songs suck, but they also were in heavy rotation. They say repetition can cause insanity, and that right there damn near pushed me to the other side. All those little Christmas gizmos in all their bright colors, not to mention that electronic Santa that belted out a series of Ho ho ho-es every time someone passed by, damn near made me wanna stab anything red. What’s even worse, customers started to come in all the time wearing Santa hats or antlers and wishing me a jolly Christmas. All the while I’d be thinking to myself like: negro, do I look like I have a reason to be jolly? Back on up!
It’s one thing getting paid well for that bullsh*t, but minimum wage? Hell to the no! So I quit the job. I went to the supe, threw at him my… ummm… apron/vest and stormed out of there with as much dignity as I could muster under the circumstances.
2 days later the big boss called my house and was like >d®, we’ll have to terminate your employment with us. I was like dude, I quit 2 days ago! If you don’t know, now you know! and broke the handset hanging up. The nerve!
Like I said, I hate Christmastime. The commercialization of it all is sickening. Santa, up yours.