Nothing brings out the worst in us quite like holiday shopping. Working in retail over winter break, I saw friends and neighbors at their nastiest, victims of the season of giving.
The holidays mean big business for department stores. Between the crowd's first descent upon the mall after Thanksgiving and the post-holiday sales nine weeks later, retailers of clothing, jewelry and chocolate could earn up to 50 percent of their annual profits. Customers, however, were not so jolly.
Like many students, I applied for a job over Winter Break to cash in on the commercialism. I chose a Belgian chocolate boutique: It was desperate for employees and offered a generous employee discount -- not to mention ample opportunity for sneaking truffles. It seemed to be the perfect job but resulted in a dramatic realization: I thought I was one of those people who liked everyone. In fact, the opposite was true.
How could you blame me? Frazzled mothers staggered into the store with bloodshot eyes, a Macy's big brown bag on each arm and a whining toddler in tow. Staring hungrily at the gold boxes wrapped in red ribbon and foil-wrapped Santa Clauses, they plowed their way through with bags swinging wildly, leaving toppling towers of chocolate in their wake.
Cheery posters invited customers to try the new Double-Choco-Brownie or Minty-Frostucinno, but one exhausted mother had a different plan: She popped a four-dollar chocolate-covered strawberry into her screaming infant's mouth and fled the store. After being confronted, she claimed, "It looked like a free sample."
Every day half-eaten boxes were returned by customers wise to the lenient return policy.
"I've decided I don't like chocolate," they would say, requesting cash in exchange.
Executives on their breaks from work -- doubtlessly having better things to do than wait for me to inexpertly wrap overpriced bon-bons -- issued piercing glares in my direction. I might have noticed if I weren't busy asking myself, "What truffle is worth $1.63?"
Those few weeks were enough to have me lose all faith in humanity. Judging by the experiences of other retail alumni, I was not alone.
David Sedaris appeared on National Public Radio Dec. 24, 1992 to read his account of working as Crumpet, a Macy's department store elf. Every Christmas, Macy's eighth floor is transformed into Santaland. Macy's employs hordes of highly trained elves to assist the over 300,000 guests who visit Santa Claus every year. On one crowded day, Santaland was swamped with visitors and long lines snaked to both Santa and the restroom.
"And one woman, after already asking me a thousand questions, asked, 'Which is the line for the women's bathroom?'" Sedaris read. "I shouted that I thought it was the line with all the women in it. She said, 'I'm gonna have you fired.' I had two people say that to me today, 'I'm gonna have you fired.' Go ahead, be my guest. I'm wearing a green velvet costume, it doesn't get any worse than this. Who do these people think they are? 'I'm gonna have you fired.' I want to lean over and say, 'I'm gonna have you killed.'"
Maybe NPR's listeners could relate. "Santaland Diaries" has been rebroadcast nearly ever year since.
What is the source of gift-shopping stress? This year, jingle bells and mistletoe were in malls as early as Halloween. The consumer was subjected to another month of holiday cheer and another month of holiday commercials.
BMW launched a new commercial this season, a home movie of a brother and sister unwrapping a Nintendo 64. This was the best thing that had ever happened to them. The announcer read over the boy's ecstatic cries, "Remember when wishes came true? They still can."
The perfect present is responsible for making wishes come true, for creating cherished memories and for living up to the standard set by clay animation specials. The commercials do a poor job of communicating the true nature of the mall during the holidays, however. At the end of the day, a cranky, tired consumer -- still without the elusive perfect gift -- could find no better target for cathartic release than the overly-merry retail employee.
Over the past few months, I was treated as scum. Old men flirted with me. Products were returned that were eaten or stolen, and I was held personally responsible for the taste of every truffle. I grew to loathe these customers, 13-year-olds with credit cards and clueless husbands who asked me to identify the white chocolate from the dark. A mask of holiday cheer concealed my broiling frustration.
Still, there were laughs. A sense of brotherhood is established among employees through the mocking of customers. I bought chocolate for 75 percent off and I learned to dip strawberries. For the first time, I mopped a floor. Would I choose to relive my Winter Break, avoiding the customers but sacrificing the lessons I learned while working in retail over the holidays?
Yes.
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