I grew up working for my Dad. He owns a music studio (a teaching studio) that had a small counter, where he’d sell strings, drumsticks, picks and a few books. No big deal. When I came along, I had visions of turning his operation into a “real” music store, complete with lots of stock, drumsets, keyboards, synths, guitars, amps – the works. My Dad was somewhat indulgent, but quite a bit less enthusiastic when it came to opening the wallet to buy stock. He was a child of the Great Depression, and believed that caution and prudence were rules to live by. No floor plans and going into debt for him, certainly not on the hopes and dreams of some kid who thought he knew everything. Turns out the Old Man was pretty sharp, for in the intervening years, I’ve seen more music stores than I care to think about asume room temperature when faced with recessions, big store competition, and lack of forecasting the fickle tastes of John Q. Public. 

What I learned, working retail for my Dad, could fill a book (and perhaps, someday will). One lesson that was brought back to mind today was what it was like working retail for Christmas. In many ways, they are some memories I’d rather forget.

I’ve always been a big fan of both kinds of Christmas – the religious experience (of course) and the retail extravaganza that is the Season That Makes Up For The Rest Of The Year.™ I love the hustle and bustle of Christmas, the fun of looking for the perfect gift, the thrill of surprising a loved one with it – all that. As I got older, the crass commercialism bugged me, but not enough to start hating Christmas. No, that honor was, for a time, accorded the act of working retail at Christmas. 

When you work retail, Christmas is like a Death March on Bataan, in that you can’t stop, you can’t sleep, you can’t slow down, and stragglers will be shot on sight. (My sincerest apologies for any survivor of the REAL Death March on Bataan, or their families. I do not mean to demean the awful memories of that experience in any way. My simile is simply a way to use hyperbole to liken what is a grueling experience to something that is truely awful on several orders of magnitude more severe.)

Retail at Christmas means sore feet, shin splints, aching backs, plastered-on smiles, frayed tempers, and long hours. And that’s the good parts. You also get rude customers (who are, still, always right), depleted stock of popular items, overstocks of things that won’t move, lazy co-workers, and the usual mix of shoplifters, grifters, whiners, and a precious few genuinely great customers (just to throw you off your game). 

Ah, Retail. The thrill of quitting time…the agony of your feet. 

And the worst part? The worst part is that it absotively, posilutley KILLS any and all Christmas Spirit you may possess. Yep. Knocks it down, stabs it through the heart with it’s steely knives, cuts out it’s heart, fries it up in a pan, and serves it to you al fresco, for your evening’s enjoyment. And the best part is, you’ll hardly notice that little jewel, until around December 24th, when you’ll suddenly realize that Christmas is here, and you haven’t had time to “get into the Christmas spirit.” Oh, the humanity. 

I don’t envy ANYbody working retail today. I won’t do it again. Ever. My Christmas Spirit is worth too much to me to put myself through that again. Ever. Not ever, ever, ever. Keeping this in mind, I try to be aware of the kinds of Hell that the store clerks are going through, and treat them with kindness and respect. I swear, some of them look at me with the same expression you see on dogs that have been rescued from abusive homes – that look that says, “I want to believe someone’s showing me kindness and empathy, but I’m afraid that it can’t be true.” Sad, really. I’m thinking of starting a 12-step program for ex-retail clerks that want to get their Christmas Spirit back.

“Hi, I’m Dave, and it’s been one year since I’ve worked retail.” 

“HI, DAVE!”

I think it has merit. Of course, I’ll have to hire some people, to sell the program…

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