December 2010

It was 1990 and I was living in Jamestown, New York. I had just returned to Jamestown in September, having lived in greater Boston with a really cool tech-job for what was at the time the second largest computer company in the world. I had made some unfortunate choices thinking I would find something better with the move. There was also a strong element of me trying to hold on to some good feelings from my past with that move to Jamestown and while I don’t regret any choices I have made, I certainly wouldn’t dub that era a “shining moment” of my life.

I was working in the layaway department of the long-gone Hills Department Store. The folks found that I was really good at that sort of thing and were planning on adding me to the sound and video department of the store after the holidays. I was often called up front to run a register and always ended up on register 16, the express lane. It was on the end of the network loop so it ran the slowest. My speed and efficiency as a cashier apparently helped in this situation. I wore an off-purple vest.

It was Christmas Eve. I had no one special in my life. My parents lived 275 miles away. I was scheduled to work until the store closed at 1800. I wore a Santa hat for the occasion. Along with the little beard, the get up either made me look like a young Kris Kringle or a big elf. It was snowing like hell and the express lane was populated with men buying last minute gifts for their loved ones. Their faces indicated stress. I wanted to see my family.

The plan was to leave right after work and make the trek to my folks in time for church. We closed the store and I jumped on Route 60 with hopes of hitting the Thruway. Everyone was driving slowly and and foolishly and then a deer decided he was angry because he didn’t have “rein” before that which describes his species so he ran across Route 60 to get that beat Hyundai. I slammed on the brakes and slid to the right, barely missing a sign declaring I was at a Parking Area. I spun my tires and backed up and into the Parking Area and composed my thoughts.

I look skyward and speaking to whomever I thought was god at the time, I said “I just want to go home for Christmas. Once I do that, it’ll all be better.”

With that I continued my trek up to the Thruway and headed home in crazy snow for most of the trip. What should have taken four and a half hours extended to nearly six; I made to my folks just in time to go to the Methodist church in town for the candlelight Christmas Eve service. I remember thinking a loud “thank you” in my head for making it home safely.

That is when I truly felt the Christmas spirit and that carols and the lights and the candles and being with my family made me feel like it was all good. I can’t tell you what I got that year for a gift, save for a videotape of Madonna’s “Justify My Love” because I always remember dirty things, but shortly after that holiday I left Hills when I was hired full-time as a house manager for the local ARC. With that I found my path again and was able to make the move to where we live today.

It was in 1990 that I found my path and found myself back where I belonged. And it was the Christmas spirit that put me there.

So a while back I was doing the “inside work routine” thing at work, which involves walking at a high speed pace around what I refer to as the ‘racetrack’ since the it just goes around the outside of the middle of the building, which is square, and I was walking along minding my own business when I was walking by the ladies’ room. A woman was coming out of there and I looked away because I didn’t want to see anything that was going to make me blush. At least I tried to look away but I caught a quick glimpse in the door and was shocked at what I saw.

The ladies’ room has a lounge. I found this perplexing and when I mentioned it to my friend Sandy, she confirmed what I saw and added that they have a couple of chairs, a couch and a television in this little area of their rest room suite. This lounge is completely separate from the actual bathroom (a desire to call it a ‘relieving station’ came to mind and I have no idea why). The ladies can ‘rest’ in comfort with their favorite show and then kick back on the couch to recover from the whole ideal.

Wow.

Sandy asked about the men’s room, which I confirmed is one room with a small vestibule that contains an overflowing garbage can. The men’s room has “four standers and four sitters”. There is a telephone truck hazard cone in one of “the sitters”. Someone was generous enough to supply us with a can of Lysol air freshener and a stern note advising us not to drop bits of paper towel on the floor has been added to the decor. There is no air ventilation, no clock, no muzak and no ambience. It’s not horrible as far as men’s rooms go; the last place I worked at rarely had toilets that actually flushed and the men’s room was so small that you had to back into the stall to get a good seat, so I am quite grateful for the men’s room we have at work but why this disparity in rest room arrangements made me ponder a few things.

1. Do women actually enjoy socializing in the ladies’ room before or after their business? Once in a while one of the higher level management guys will continue a conference call on his cell phone whilst doing his other business and if you’re in there at the same time I guess it’s rude to do a little toot-toot serenade.

2. Why is there a television in the bathroom? There’s also a television in the cafeteria, which makes sense because people like to sit in there and watch tv whilst on their break and/or working on the big puzzle on one of the tables.

3. Why do the ladies get two rooms versus the one room (with hazard cone!) for the men?

Now I could get all high and mighty and start screaming about battles of sexes, inequality and become indignant about the whole thing but I really don’t want to. This isn’t a rant, it’s an observation.

I’m just going to sit down and ignore the conference call.

I know I have mentioned this during past holiday seasons, but I get really angry when I hear “My Favorite Things”, usually the recording by Barbra Streisand, presented as a Christmas tune. It’s not a Christmas tune. It’s a show tune. It’s sung during a thunderstorm in the cinematic presentation of “The Sound of Music”. Quite frankly, Julie Andrews sings it better than Barbra. It works during a thunderstorm but it does not work being blared into your ear by a low-fidelity PA speaker made by Dukane, said speaker being designed to bark out a price check for tampons.

I have been told that “My Favorite Things” is considered a Christmas tune because it talks about “brown paper packages tied up with string”. Where I come from that means porn. And even if it doesn’t mean porn, this would indicate to me that Christmas is about presents, gifts and gettin’ some loot under the tree. There’s that whole “snowflakes on noses” business going on but that could anytime in the winter and in the 42 years that I have been on this planet I can’t once name a circumstance where I saw “raindrops on roses” during the Christmas season.

For the love all that we purport is holy, please stop playing “My Favorite Things” and then claiming it’s a Christmas tune. It’s not a Christmas tune. It’s not even a generic holiday tune. It’s a show tune. And one to be sung during a scary thunderstorm, and only if you’re a nanny that’s been a nun.

It was a while back, August of ’09 to be vaguely exact, that I declared that I would never drink again. This declaration seemed to rattle some people but it was something that I felt I needed to do. Many would ask why I had given up drinking any alcohol and I was always honest with them: “I enjoyed getting buzzed and I foolishly tried to drive a fairly expensive sports car (the RSX) while buzzed.” Curious that I never drove the Jeep whilst buzzed. Anyway, I have never been stopped for drinking and I have never had a “close call” but I fully recognize that my daring act was stupid (to put it mildly) and therefore I needed to stop doing what was prompting me to be stupid. I’m not a stupid person, why should I act so stupidly? On the couple of occasions that I have had a beer since this declaration, Earl or Jamie has been the designated driver and I haven’t tried to drive the Acura whilst buzzed. However, the couple of times that I have drank alcohol since my declaration, I made the realization that whilst a buzz feels good (I once remarked that it quiets down the noise in my head), I don’t really miss getting buzzed at all but I do miss the taste of beer.

I like beer. I like the taste of beer. I like holding a beer bottle at a summer barbecue or at a street party or, on the very rare occasion that I go to a bar these days, at a bar. I like sitting in a pub, eating bar food and drinking beer. I like hanging with the crowd and kicking back with beer. I like all that. However, I don’t particularly enjoy the buzz anymore, but I do miss the occasion and good times that I associate with drinking beer.

So I’m on the hunt for a good NA (non-alcoholic) beer. I have tried a few, mostly while in Toronto earlier this year and quite frankly I think the Canadians could do better in that department, and I have to say that the look I got when I asked for a NA beer was a little disconcerting. This could be my own hang up, because while I mention that most ask why I stopped drinking, some folks got downright surly at the fact that I would not be getting drunk with them. Looks of shock and disbelief would pepper the conversation at a family gathering or at a holiday party or what have you but in those circumstances I just got obstinate, dug my heels into the floor and refused any alcohol although frankly I would really have enjoyed a beer because of my liking for the taste. When one tells me that I should do something contrary to what I want to do, I’m sure as hell going to do exactly what I want to do and not budge on it. And I’ll probably be a bit cranky about it.

But I digress.

So if anyone can recommend a good NA beer, I would love to hear from you. As we march through “the most wonderful time of the year” (with the craptastic music blaring to remind us that it’s just what they declare it to be and we MUST be happy about it), I will not be drinking any alcohol whatsoever, including wine, egg nog (which I find to be disgusting), champagne or some girly drink like a mai-tai, a foo foo or a chocolate martini with Ready-Whip on top. And for the record, I like making love at midnight and I like getting caught in the rain but I do not like pina coladas.

Near Beer. Tell me what to get.

^**For the record, I have no issues with those that want to get drunk responsibly, in fact I’ll help out with the driving. And if you want to use whip-cream at a bar, go for it. Just let me watch.