they pay to kiss your feet

since there's no one else around, we let our hair grow long and forget all we used to know. then our skin gets thicker from living out in the snow.

Thursday, December 22, 2005

Hello, it's me -- Scrooge

I didn’t bake cookies for my coworkers. I didn’t buy Yankee Candles or orange marmalade for them. I didn’t send cards or make puppy chow or buy bagels or ornaments. I didn’t send out a cheer-filled e-mail, I didn’t write a poem and I most definitely didn’t wear a Christmas sweater. I did nothing. And I feel a little bit guilty for eating the bagels and marmalade and puppy chow and white chocolate raspberry bars. I feel strange for hanging the ornament, reading the cards, lighting the candle and laughing at the Christmas sweaters. But mostly, I’m enjoying sitting here in my cube hearing sprinklings of, “I think there is some fudge left around here somewhere, I’m going to go find it,” and “You’re not wearing your Christmas bells, but them back on so we know when you’re coming.” Christmas in the office is a lot like celebrating Hanukkah in a Baptist church in July. It’s not about the meaning behind it, it’s more about the two traditions that seem to have become the incarnation of the event — eating and gift giving. While it would be fun to share potato latkes and blintz soufflé with a church full of southern Baptists in the middle of the summer, it would be more about sharing the experience rather than them fully grasping the holiday’s meaning, which is what Christmastime in cubeville has become. We had a wonderful “holiday” lunch on Monday, a white elephant gift exchange last week and more fudge and candy and candles thrown at us than I can fit in my cube, but mention God and people run. Maybe I’m a scrooge, but I believe there is so much more to this season than traditions.


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