I've been reading these stories of customers going into hysterics because they couldn't find the perfect whatnot at 5:45 PM on December 24th and complaining because now Christmas is ruined and little Junior will decide Santa doesn't exist and grow up to be an axe-murderer or something, and it strikes me that a lot of such attitude may be down to the fantasy of the Perfect Day.
My roommate gets this a lot. He'll say, "Let's go to the movies tomorrow." "Great!" "Okay, I'll hop online and see if anyone else wants to go."
Three hours later, he's corralled twenty-seven friends and thirteen acquaintances into attending the 6:30 PM showing of a completely different movie four days from now, dinner to follow, at a cinema some 30 miles away, because it's the only one we all can reach on the only day we're all available. What started out as a trip to the pictures has turned into a logistics conundrum second only to the setup and teardown of a Van Halen concert. I've seen Broadway plays roll into town with less prep.
Then, if anyone cancels or can't make it or has to work, The Whole Thing's Ruined, and rather than just sit back and enjoy the movie with the 26 friends who DID make it, he spends the rest of the day muttering imprecations against the one who didn't.
Now that that idea's in your head, here's the next bit.
I was listening to the Doctor Demento Show a bunch of years ago, and the song played was "The Twelve Pains of Christmas." By about number nine, I was thinking, "Jeez, guys, if it's that big of a pain in the ass, why do you do it?" In fact, most of the Christmas songs on the show seemed to be about how annoying Christmas was. So do most modern Christmas movies - they're all about digging through the hassle to create the perfect holiday.
Why not dispose of the stuff that pisses you off the most? Why hang the lights if it's just going to annoy you?
There's an obsessiveness that comes with big events that has to match the fantasy. If you're not all dressed in hideous sweaters with a big roaring fire and Mannheim Steamroller piped in over quad speakers under a twinkling tree while your kid lovingly reveals the toy he had his heart set on, while Mom takes pictures and Dad sips eggnog, why, it simply won't do.
I made divinity fudge. I didn't boil the sugar long enough, and I wound up with marshmallow slop. And yet, Christmas was not ruined. The fudge was, but the fudge =/= Christmas. Besides, the sugar cookies and meringues were awesome. (My kitchen is a disaster area right now, but I don't care.)
I think that the people throwing a $#!+fest over their own inability to budget the time and money to fulfill their wildest dreams of the holidays are terrified of losing that fantasy. I think that's what turns normal customers into SC's and regular SC's into raving lunatics.
Also, clerks make easy targets. "What do you mean you don't have the hottest video game in the world just before closing on Christmas Eve? Why should I have had to buy it before you ran out? It's all your fault and I'm going to blame you for ruining Christmas for my son, because he needs someone to blame...and it ain't gonna be me."
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My roommate gets this a lot. He'll say, "Let's go to the movies tomorrow." "Great!" "Okay, I'll hop online and see if anyone else wants to go."
Three hours later, he's corralled twenty-seven friends and thirteen acquaintances into attending the 6:30 PM showing of a completely different movie four days from now, dinner to follow, at a cinema some 30 miles away, because it's the only one we all can reach on the only day we're all available. What started out as a trip to the pictures has turned into a logistics conundrum second only to the setup and teardown of a Van Halen concert. I've seen Broadway plays roll into town with less prep.
Then, if anyone cancels or can't make it or has to work, The Whole Thing's Ruined, and rather than just sit back and enjoy the movie with the 26 friends who DID make it, he spends the rest of the day muttering imprecations against the one who didn't.
Now that that idea's in your head, here's the next bit.
I was listening to the Doctor Demento Show a bunch of years ago, and the song played was "The Twelve Pains of Christmas." By about number nine, I was thinking, "Jeez, guys, if it's that big of a pain in the ass, why do you do it?" In fact, most of the Christmas songs on the show seemed to be about how annoying Christmas was. So do most modern Christmas movies - they're all about digging through the hassle to create the perfect holiday.
Why not dispose of the stuff that pisses you off the most? Why hang the lights if it's just going to annoy you?
There's an obsessiveness that comes with big events that has to match the fantasy. If you're not all dressed in hideous sweaters with a big roaring fire and Mannheim Steamroller piped in over quad speakers under a twinkling tree while your kid lovingly reveals the toy he had his heart set on, while Mom takes pictures and Dad sips eggnog, why, it simply won't do.
I made divinity fudge. I didn't boil the sugar long enough, and I wound up with marshmallow slop. And yet, Christmas was not ruined. The fudge was, but the fudge =/= Christmas. Besides, the sugar cookies and meringues were awesome. (My kitchen is a disaster area right now, but I don't care.)
I think that the people throwing a $#!+fest over their own inability to budget the time and money to fulfill their wildest dreams of the holidays are terrified of losing that fantasy. I think that's what turns normal customers into SC's and regular SC's into raving lunatics.
Also, clerks make easy targets. "What do you mean you don't have the hottest video game in the world just before closing on Christmas Eve? Why should I have had to buy it before you ran out? It's all your fault and I'm going to blame you for ruining Christmas for my son, because he needs someone to blame...and it ain't gonna be me."
Comments?
Love, Who?
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