Commentary

A last-minute Christmas outing left me caroling, caroling through the town

I left home looking to pick up a few last-minute gift ideas, but a surly cashier left me singing some old Christmas favorites.

I was filled with holiday spirit and humming Christmas tunes when I left home yesterday morning. Dressed in my Christmas finery — blue jeans, red plaid shirt, and matching red plaid shoes — I intended to finish off my Christmas list by buying some apples, a few bags of candy and some stocking stuffers. Little did I know that, in just a few hours, I’d be singing a different tune.

It had been overcast all morning, and by the time I pulled into the Big Lots parking lot, it was raining in torrents. I should have suspected that the Grinch was on the loose when I attempted to jump over a puddle in front of the store and landed with a splash.

But, there I was, a few minutes and one soggy shoe later, singing merry carols as I tossed several cheap and useless items into my shopping cart.

“Deck the halls with boughs of holly. Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la!

Then I spotted a great deal — an end-cap holding six-pack bundles of colorful ankle socks for $2!”

Santa Claus is coming to town,” I thought.

I scooped up a couple of the sock bundles and made my way to the checkout. But when the cashier scanned the socks, the price rang up at $5 per pack.

“Those socks are advertised for $2,” I advised the cashier.

“They’re $5, ma’am,” she answered tersely.

“The sign on the end-cap says $2!” I insisted.

“But they are $5!”she answered testily, as if her few words solved the riddle.
I looked imploringly at the other shoppers…”Do You Hear What I Hear?”

“That’s false advertising,” I advised her.

“It’s $5!” she replied.

So we stood there, rockin’ around the Christmas tree!

Then, as I continued to demand the advertised price, in an act of disregard, the cashier turned her back on me as I spoke, as if saying, “What child is this?

That’s when I lost it!

Now I had missed church the previous Sunday and, for a minute, I was afraid that my pastor’s two-week old sermon wouldn’t be enough to prevent me from shouting out the international Santa Claus greeting, “Ho@! ho@! ho@!”

I wanted to stick the toe of my holiday shoe up her “…be home for Christmas.”

Knock her in the head with a Jingle bell rock.

Beat on her like the Little Drummer Boy.

Just then, the store manager stepped in.

Happy Christmas (War is Over),” she said as she changed the price on the socks to $2, ending the skirmish.

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas,” I sarcastically muttered as I left the store.

And I think I heard her exclaim, as I drove out of sight, “…with a tail as big as a kite!”

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