With the knot in his stomach slowly starting to spin and an icy chill creeping up his spine, Dave tried once more to alter reality by denying it. “We’ve been dating less than a month. She is NOT expecting a present.”

His friends all moved their heads differently, but their response was unquestionably unanimous. The oh-yes-she-is up-and-down nod, the are-you-serious tilt, and the you-are-so-completely-wrong side-to-side motion all conveyed the same message: Dave was in big trouble.

Jimmy was the first to speak. “Dave, I know it’s been a while since you’ve dated, but chicks expect presents. They expect them all the time. The one-month anniversary of your first date, the six-month anniversary of your first slow dance to a song that isn’t a heavy metal ballad, the ten-year anniversary of the publication date of the poem you recited to her on your first date, all kinds of stuff like that. Of course, they forgive you for most of those if you act like it means something to you after they remind you. They don’t really expect us to keep track of all those things, just to appreciate the fact that they do. But Christmas? That she will not forgive.”

As he spoke, the rest of them nodded sagely. And as he concluded, all of them, including Dave, looked toward the group of women gathered in the next room. Dave’s pain was momentarily forgotten as he stared at Judy. At six-foot-three, she really stood out from the others. Dave admired the way the well-defined muscles of her arms and legs contrasted with the little black dress she wore. He smiled, remembering how she had said it fit so tightly she could rip it right off with a good pectoral flex.

Jimmy brought him back to the present and his painful situation. “That’s one girl I wouldn’t want to have angry with me. She might just break you in half.” He looked up and down Dave’s slender five-foot-six frame, as if picturing the carnage in his mind. “We’ll cover for you, just hurry up and go buy her something.”

~ ~ ~

It didn’t take long to Dave to realize that few businesses were open at ten o’clock on Christmas Eve. “I guess everybody closed up early to spend time with their loved ones, like I should be doing. How could I be so stupid?”

The flower markets, jewelry stores, and candy shops were all shuttered. The lights were out and the doors were locked at Tubs and Toiletries, Fragrant Feminine, and Claudia’s Clandestine Clothier. Dave even tried Judy’s gym and the local sporting goods store to no avail.

In desperation, he stopped at the only establishment he found open: the Petroleum and Pork Rinds quick mart. While lottery scratchoffs might be tacky, at least he wouldn’t be empty handed on the big day. And time was running out. Judy would be looking for him back at the party, and Jimmy and the boys could only cover for so long.

While waiting for the old man in front of him in line to decide which of the dozen varieties of pork rinds he wanted, Dave felt a craving for a Cherry Freezee. As he headed back to the machine, he perused the merchandise that lined the shelves. And there, between the three-dollar spring water and the fuel injector cleaner, Dave spotted his salvation.

~ ~ ~

Judy hefted the wrapped box Dave had placed in front of her, obviously surprised by its weight. She looked up at Dave and smiled. “I’m so glad you didn’t take the easy way out and buy flowers.”

Dave smiled right back. “No, Judy, I try to put some thought into my gifts.”

She delicately peeled off the wrapping paper, revealing the brand name on the box. Dave watched as her face lit up with pleasure. As she wrapped her powerful arms around him and drew him into a crushing embrace, Dave released the breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

“Oh Dave, you really do know me. You didn’t waste your money on perfume or jewelry; you got me something I can use: Power-Packed Protein bars. And they’re even my favorite flavor. How did you know?”

Dave grinned up at her. “Just good planning, I guess.”

The stars are so clear in between warm, foggy breaths, as I lie on the ice covered tar roof. I haven’t even made it in yet, and here I am, heaving chest, and my backside is throbbing. It’s thirteen degrees out. It's slippery up here. Go figure. Twenty five feet remain between me and the access vent. That’s at least three more slippery, bruise inducing ice puddles. Let’s pay attention this time.

The Phillips head screws groan in protest as I twist my screwdriver. I stop, unnecessarily, as if the noise would wake the dead. Of course the three hundred people waiting in front of the Toys N’ Stuff store are none the wiser. “T-t-ten minutes ‘till midnight.” One nearly frozen customer says.

The Access vent makes a slight clink as I lay it off to the side, but I am too involved to stop this time. Getting my gear in order, I begin to tighten the cinch straps on my black nylon harness. With numb fingers I secure the end of my rope to the air conditioning unit adjacent to the vent. After a quick weight test, I clip myself to it. The rope goes down the vent slowly, as if it were a viper stalking from above. I slide down slowly, dripping sweat despite the frigid air. Although large by vent standards, it's a snug fit.

Outside the store people are pacing about to stay warm. They are bundled head to toe, like some kind of urban Eskimo. Some at the front of the line have tents. Sure, it is Christmas Eve, but to these frozen consumers it is the restock date for the Gamestation video game system. They know this is the last chance to get one before Christmas, and so does the store. The burly guards seem out of place posted at the front door. Like fleshy gargoyles, they scowl at customers in line at the usually whimsical toy store.

Down the vent I slide, Mini flashlight between my teeth, to the inner vent. I can see the sharp, threaded backsides of the sheet metal screws protruding through the thin metal. This vent cover may prove more difficult than the first. Breaking out my pliers, I begin to turn the sheet metal screws from the inside. They start to turn grudgingly. A smile across my face betrays hidden glee. The beam from my flashlight casts a shadow on the floor below, shaped by the louvered air vent. Leaving one screw fastened, I bend the thin metal back far enough to fit through.

A sliver of light escaping the showplace illuminates the stock room just enough for me to put the flashlight away. The pallets of toys are lined up in rows. My heart begins to race as my eyes focus on the extra stock of Gamestations. I look at my watch. Five minutes left, perfect. The shrink wrap has already been cut away in anticipation of the rush. All I have to do is grab one.

With the rope stuffed back, and the vent in place it was time to claim my prize. I could hear the countdown happening outside.10…9…8…7…6… It was time. With shaking hands I slip one of the Gamestations off of the stack and move toward the door. It is locked, but from the other side. With a quick twist of the knob, and a completely unnecessary forward roll, I am free of the stock room and behind the back isle. The Gamestation is in my hands.
The front doors swing wide releasing a torrent of mad shoppers. Customers are everywhere, literally running each other over. The register is no more than fifty feet away. People begin to eye me strangely as I walk by with my prize, and my short journey quickly becomes the most self-conscious fifty feet ever. Is it the cat-burglar skullcap, or maybe the dangling rock climbing straps dragging on the floor? Whatever it is, I seem to be quite the spectacle.

Ding! “That will be seven-hundred-ninety-nine dollars and seventy-eight cents sir.” The cashier says, eyeing me strangely.
Thank God. I made it.

I pull into my driveway, just as the upstairs light comes one. There’s no time! My key flies into the lock and turn as an afterthought. I see my little boy’s footy pajamas coming down the stairs as I dive through the living room, heading for the tree.

“Dad!” he squeals, “It’s after midnight. It’s Christmas!”

He practically pole vaults the couch. His eyes lock onto the Toys n’ Stuff bag.
“Gamestation!” He screams, scooping it up and tearing the bag away. “Thanks Dad! But why is it so cold?”

“Santa brought it son, you just missed him.” I say with a smile.

Whew, that was close.

Today is Christmas Eve. I think every blessed soul in the city has descended on the mall today. I too had my list to get for Christmas. I am not usually a last minute shopper, but some things you just can’t get too far ahead of time. So here I was, rubbing elbows with the crowds. Boxes poked me in the ribs, and bags banged my shins, yet somehow I held my temper in check. It had already been a long day and looked to be longer yet.

It truly started a few days ago with a visit with Santa. I listened extra hard as Billy whispered his Christmas dream into the red suited man’s ear. I saw the man’s face change as Billy shared his hope, and I knew it would be a tough one. It was simple enough to talk to the Santa and learn what my dear son had asked for. This was the year, the last year Billy would believe in Santa, and I didn’t want to disappoint him.

I took a couple of days to plan my strategy then I started looking. I saw what I needed yesterday, but couldn’t pick it up just then. Back to the mall I went today and I would get what I needed. But life is never simple, and today was no different. My vehicle wouldn’t start and I had to call a tow truck to get it going. After a boost, I was off, only to run dangerously low on gas. By the time I found a gas station, I was coasting in on fumes. I filled up the tank to discover that I was short on cash. I really disliked using my credit card, but there was no choice. Finally I made it to the mall, only to take close to an hour to find the parking spot that I needed. But now, here I was and success was in my grasp.

The man’s hand reached for the box just as mine did. He had that partly scared, partly stunned look of a father doing last minute shopping for this year’s must have toy. I let him take the box. He let out a nervous laugh.

“My son insists that the only thing he wants is this PS 3 thing.” He shook his head with the wonder of actually finding the it.. “I don’t see him very often, so I don’t want to disappoint him.”

“I understand perfectly.” I replied.

“But, I’ve taken the last one.” He said. “Where will you find one at this time on Christmas eve?”

“There are other stores, other malls.” I said.

“There are none in this mall.” He said emphatically. “I should know. I work here, and I have looked in every store.”

“Well, you have saved me some time already then.” I smiled. “Merry Christmas!”
I waved and headed back out to the car.

He was surprised to see me when he got to his car, but wave the box joyfully at me and gave me the thumbs up. He dropped the box when I put the gun to his head.

“You can have it if you want it that much.” I just shook my head and waved the gun toward the van I had carefully parked beside his car.

He kept talking at me as I made him tape his feet. Even as I taped his hands he yammered on. Only the duct tape across his mouth finally silenced him. The box with his precious game lay on the pavement still. I tossed it in beside him and closed the door. After everything, I was on schedule. I thought of Billy’s blue face as he whispered to Santa Claus in the hospital ward, and Santa’s face as he heard the wish.

“I don’t want the game.” I pulled out my bag and unrolled the shining instruments. “My son’s name is Billy.” I pulled a face as I thought of all the effort I went through to find this man. “You know how it is, the last year your child believes in Santa Claus. They ask for something almost impossible just to test the old man.” I held up a scalpel. I couldn’t help grinning. I had actually done it.

“All Billy wants for Christmas is a new heart.”

Ed had never felt happier then he was now, up on the rooftop, humming Christmas songs, and staring through the site of his SIG-Sauer SSG2000. He took a sip of his Gatorade and returned his gaze to the crowd gathered at the Wal-Mart across the street. About thirty people had already lined up, maybe more. Some had been camped out since 3 am the previous morning, over twenty-four hours ago. Ed knew the deal, only twenty-five units were available. He took out his worn wallet and looked at the picture tucked inside the billfold. It was a picture of happier times, a family photo. Ed gently brushed his finger across the face of his wife and fought back a tear. This was her third tour in Iraq, and she was called just weeks before Christmas. Sandwiched in between her and Ed was Charlie, their son. Ed let out a sigh as he remembered their conversation last week.

“Charlie, come here buddy, it’s time to write your letter to Santa,” Ed had enthused. Charlie just stood in the kitchen doorway staring at his father.

“What’s wrong?” Ed asked.

Charlie let out a whimper as he padded across the linoleum to where Ed sat, pen in hand.

“Mommy writes the letter with me,” sighed Charlie.

“I know honey,” replied Ed, “but this year mommy has to go make the world safe again, remember? So tell me what you want Santa to bring you for Christmas.”

“I want mommy!” Charlie said with a gulp. Ed’s heart broke.

“I do too Charlie,” he said, pulling his son into a bear hug. “But Santa can’t bring mommy. Santa only brings toys.”

“No mommy?” asked Charlie. His deep green eyes turned to his father as a tear trickled down his cheek.

“I’m afraid not buckaroo. Now, isn’t there some toy you want?”

“I guess Elmo,” muttered Charlie as he squirmed loose from his father’s grasp. “If no mommy, I want Tickle Me Elmo. The new one”

Ed had tried. He had gone to every store and was on every waiting list online. He had tried Ebay, but was continually outbid by those with Auction Sniper. That’s when he got desperate, and that’s when inspiration struck.

Ed checked his watch again, there were only five minutes left until it was time. The doors were opening at 6:00 a.m. He knew not to open fire then- that would be total chaos. But, if he were to open fire a half an hour or so earlier, he’d have time to dispose of the weapon and get to the store before the chaos fully died down, but while some order was being restored. Then he could get Elmo. The trick was to not be the first person to ask the question, “But can we still buy Elmo?”

It was time. Ed looked through the site at the first person in line. She was bundled up pretty thick but wisps of blonde hair still snuck through her knitted cap. Ed replaced the idea of her being a mother with the thought that she was an enemy of the nation. All it took was a gentle pull on the trigger and she was down.

People swarmed around her and then looked to the sky. No one quite knew what was going on yet, which gave Ed the chance to topple three more people.

He glanced through the site and a grin met his face as he thought of how happy his son would be to hear Elmo’s infectious laughter. Recognition was dawning on the insurgents below, and Ed realized he better dispose of all the enemies lest one break loose to tell of what happened. In mere seconds the parking lot was nothing more than a mass of fallen shoppers, their heavy coats absorbing the blood.

Ed carefully stashed away the gun and ammunition, and stopped off at the bathroom of a nearby McDonalds. He scrubbed until he smelled like cheap fast food soap, and then grabbed a cup of coffee before driving back to the Wal-Mart. As suspected, police cars had descended on the scene. Luckily, there were a few other stragglers there as well.

“Is everything okay?” Ed asked a cop that was speaking with an Action Nine reporter.

“Some sicko decided to open fire,” responded the cop as he turned his gaze to Ed. “You didn’t see anything, did you?”

“No officer, I just got here,” responded Ed. “I can’t believe anyone would do such a thing, and on Christmas Eve!”

A click was heard and everyone turned to the source of the sound - the doors to Wal-Mart had just opened.

“Have a good holiday officer,” said Ed as he joined the half a dozen or so that were already nonchalantly walking to the door.

Greg took off his helmet to meet her eyes and gave his wife the 16 ounces of steak he'd nearly risked his life for, hijacking a meat truck on it's way into the Commander's palace. Even being seen out there was a statement that you wanted to get your head blown clean off. Now Sheila had the nerve to ask the unthinkable.
“Sheila you must be as crazy as you look to think that i'm going to go to the Walmart at this time of night. It takes preparation. The grid is up, and it's way past curfew. We'd need men,” explained Greg. He went to put his helmet and goggles in the wooden case next to the fireplace.
“Well you'll be the one to explain to Jesse what happened to Santa this year.”
It was then that Greg noticed the face peeping around the doorjam to the kitchen. He froze and coughed. “How long have you been standing there?” he asked the little figure.
Jesse walked towards his father in slippered pajamas,clutching a stuffed penguin. The look on his son's face made Greg feel like he just kicked his favorite puppy.
“What happened to Santa, daddy?” Greg hesitated and held his breath for a second trying to feel around inside his head for an answer. Was there any way possible to get out of this alive? It was either dying out there on the streets and abandoned buildings, or dying inside at home knowing that he was the one to break his son's heart. He couldn't do it.
“Why, nothing at all Jess!” exclaimed Greg. He smiled as big as he could trying not to look like a raving lunatic. Sheila stared at him as if he'd just pulled a rabbit out of his mouth. “I was just on my way out to schedule an appointment for his visit,” smiled Greg as he tried to make it look like he was just getting his helmet and goggles to put them on, and then did so. “He's taking appointments this year.” Jesse's face converted to smile mode.
“Well, be back in a while! I look forward to seeing what Santa brought you!” Greg grinned at his son while backing out the door. The image of Jesse waving good-bye was the last thing he saw as the door shut. “I'd like to see these presents too,” he said to himself. Nowhere to go but up.
Greg climbed up the steel rungs of the ladder fastened to the wall and rotated the crank to open the lid into the open air above. He could see his breath in the cold December air glistening upon the search lights that spanned the sky. He retrieved a pair of binoculars from his pack and scanned the area for options.
He started to run, stopping in rhythm with the searchlights to keep to the cover of the buildings. He knew they weren't searching for him, but any movement would attract fire. Friendly fire or otherwise, it didn't matter.
He stopped behind the bank parallel to Walmart. Peering around the corner he caught a glimpse of a large cadre of men keeping vigilant watch over their post. Through his binoculars Greg was made aware of the fact that these men had several pairs of arms and legs each. “Damn,” he cursed, “Why couldn't buying presents be as easy as when I was growing up? Now I have to face mutants. Great.”
Returning back behind the corner he started to calculate how many he could fight off before he was overwhelmed. He suddenly could imagine how painful being punched by 4 hands at once was. It made for a convincing argument to go back home. Greg leaned back against the wall and sighed.
With a gravelly whisper like the sound sand makes when walked upon, fragments of wall came crumbling down his back and on to the floor. He turned around to find a barely visible groove set into the concrete of the wall. Taking a small knife from the back of his belt he continued to search for any depressions in the wall. After a few minutes of playing “Find the Recess” Greg saw that he had made a makeshift stepladder in the wall with grooves large enough for someone's hands and feet to fit in.
“Now if this ain't one of those Christmas miracles they talk about in the movies,” Greg marveled. He made a silent 'thank you' to whatever lone bank robber made his way onto the roof possible. In an instant, he effortlessly climbed up the wall, hoisting himself onto the roof of the bank. Standing at the edge of the roof, he took his grappling gun and aimed for an air vent on top of the Walmart. He made his shot. Bullseye. The hook landed inside the mouth of the vent and ever so quietly he made his way across. He suddenly felt a newfound spirit of Christmas cheer as he realized Santa would come through for Jesse after all.

24-Dec-2006 19:20 hours

My grandson Johnnie wants nothing more for Christmas than a basketball, and I was going to get him one. It was my mission. There were only three problems.

The first problem was that neither his grandfather nor I knew much about basketball. I had to do lots of research on the internet, and I learned more about basketballs than I ever really wanted to know: Sizes, coverings, manufacturers, models, colors ― I'm now an expert in basketballs. And, after I presented my grandson with the options, his choice was firm: He wanted a Spalding Official NBA Game Basketball.

That led to the second problem: The NBA has just stopped using plastic-covered basketballs, and has switched back to leather. The leather balls are now in short supply. But leather is what Johnnie wants: He really wants to practice with a leather ball, just like Kevin Garnett does. I again turned to the internet (and the telephone) for a solution, and made a list of seven stores within twenty-five miles of my home, all of which claimed to have at least one Spalding leather NBA Game Ball in stock.

The third problem was that it's Christmas Eve. Doing all of that research took time. Nevertheless, I was confident as I pulled out of my driveway at 6:00 AM. I had Google-mapped the most efficient route from store to store, and had confirmed the plan using MapQuest. I expected to be home by noon.

I was wrong.

My first stop, Savvy Sports on Route 40, was sold out.

So was Jock Land on Route 29.

And Backboard Bliss.

And Land of Giants.

And Hoop Hoop Hooray.

And Courting Madness. What an appropriate name that was, I thought, as I left empty-handed.

It wasn't just that the stores were sold out that bothered me. Or the fact that they'd all lied about having NBA Game Balls in stock when I had called them on the phone. Or that they had tried to get me to buy the plastic ball that the NBA had just abandoned, or something else entirely, like ice skates. It wasn't even that every street, every parking lot, and every store was crowded, full of increasingly desperate people just like me.

What bothered me most was the thought of Johnnie's face on Christmas morning when he didn't get the basketball he wanted. My grandson deserved better than that.

So I headed to the airport. Their new fancy shopping promenade has an NBA Store, and it was my last hope.

The airport roads were packed. I had to park at the satellite lot, and take the shuttle bus to the terminal.

I'd somehow forgotten about the security screening. They wouldn't let me go to the airport shops without a valid ticket.

So I stood in line for twenty minutes and bought a one-way ticket to Chicago for $435. I know that's about $4.00 per mile, but I planned to turn in the ticket for a refund when I was done shopping.

Then I stood in line for an hour to get through airport security. Naturally, I got pulled out of line for secondary screening because I bought a one-way ticket, and of course the portable metal detector beeped when it went over my pacemaker, so I had to show them the surgical scars in the undressing booth.

By then it was four o'clock in the afternoon; I hadn't had lunch, and I was exhausted. But I forgot all about that when I saw the Spalding Official NBA Game Basketball in the window of the NBA store.

My troubles weren't over, though. It was the last one, and the salesman didn't want to sell it to me! He said it was the floor model. I had to pay full price―$129.95―and slip him a twenty on the side, just to get it. But I had the ball!

Then I had to carry the basketball all the way back through the terminal to the ticket counter, where they wouldn't refund my ticket because the flight had already left. I'd spent too much time standing in line and getting strip-searched. All I could get was a travel voucher good for a flight to Chicago in the future (some exclusions apply).

Then I went outside to wait for the shuttle. It had started to snow, so the bus was late. I got on the shuttle to the satellite lot, got in my car, and drove twenty-five miles home through the snowstorm.

I pulled into the garage at about 6:00 PM, got out of my car, and walked into the house with the basketball in my arms.

My husband met me at the door, and said, "Hi Honey! I'm starved! What's for dinner?"

I really didn't mean to break his nose.

I stood there mindlessly picking up and putting down knick-knacks. I couldn’t believe that of all the people I forgot, it was my mom. I had ten minutes and I needed to make a choice. Unfortunately, I didn’t have much time, money or selection.
I set down the shot glass that had a picture of Pikes Peak on it. It fit in nicely next to the one that had a picture of Longs Peak. I could get her a collection of Colorado Fourteeners shot glasses, but that really isn’t a good gift for a recovering alcoholic.
So I moved toward the t-shirts. Flipping through the shirts I had serious doubts that she would want a Broncos or Avalanche jersey. On the other hand, mom did have a habit of giving me those shirts that she didn’t like. Let’s see, do I want a Jake Plummer or Jay Cutler jersey? As I agonized over the choice I paused.
“Nah, neither.” I said under my breath. “I’d rather have a Bears jersey.”
Looking down at my watch and then at the clerk, I noticed that I had about 3 minutes left before the shop was to close.
“Can I help you with anything, sir?” she asked looking at the clock above the cash register. “We’ll be closing in 3 minutes.”
My first inclination was to wave her off, but I stopped. It was just a few minutes until closing and I could appreciate her position. I’d be less than charitable with someone keeping me from closing up shop, especially with the way the weather was starting to develop.
“I’m sorry that I’m taking so long. I’m going to see my mom and I completely forgot to get her a gift.” I said sheepishly. “I guess I’m not a very good son. Do you have any suggestions?”
Taking pity on me, she held up a stuffed brown bear. “How about this?”
“No, she’s not into stuffed animals.” As I said it, I watched her countenance fall. I could tell that this was going to be painful.
“Okay,” she said slowly knowing that her chance of getting out of there on time was quickly fading. “What is she into? Would she like any of this jewelry?” as she held up a glass beaded bracelet.
“No, she’s very picky about what jewelry she wears. Do you have any candy?”
“Just what’s here at the counter,” she said pointing to the various brand name candy bars spread in tiers around her register.
“Is there any place in this airport that sells specialty candy?” I asked in desperation.
“Yes, but they’re probably closed by now,” she nodded towards the clock that indicated that she should have locked up 5 minutes ago. “They're located at the other end of the concourse.”
“Is there any way you could call them and see if they’ll stay open until I get down there?” I pleaded. I had 10 minutes before my plane would start boarding which meant that I had 30 minutes before the doors would close.
Reluctantly she picked up the phone and dialed a number. “Charlie, this is Wendy. I have a gentleman here who needs a present for his mom. Would you be willing to stay open until he gets there? His name? What’s your name, mister?”
“James. James Rhodes.” I said with a hint of hope rising in my heart.
“You’ve got 15 minutes.” I heard her say as I sprinted off down the concourse. “Thanks!” I yelled over my shoulder.

************************************

With chocolates in hand, I raced up to the counter at the gate. Out of breath, I tried to catch a few quick ones.
“Have the doors closed yet?” But I knew the answer even before the attendant answered as I watched the plane back away from the gate.
“I’m sorry, sir. It’s leaving now and we can’t recall it. If you go to the check-in counter they will help you reschedule your flight.”
Dejectedly I turned on my heel to sit down in the waiting area. I wasn’t going to go back through security to talk to the check-in desk quite yet. I pulled out my cell phone and started looking up the number that I had plugged into its memory.
As I walked past the departure monitors, the screens started flipping quickly from “On Time” to “Cancelled”. I looked out the window. The snow that had been falling gently when I arrived was now blowing sideways.
I turned my attention back to the phone as a reservation agent answered. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as bad as I had thought as I tucked the box of candy under my arm and headed for the train to take me back to the main terminal.

Decked with boughs of holly, flocked with garlands of sparkling tinsel, dusted with frostings of fake snow, cluttered with boxed and beribboned gifts, and in every corner: a tree. It’s hard enough to find your way through all of the over-the-top decorations that took up almost every available inch of floor space before the customers invaded the mall! A mother with five leash-bound screaming children in mismatched holiday prints bustles past you in a cloud of cheap perfume. A store clerk wearing flashing, fluffy, festooned reindeer antlers bites his nails to the quick as his boss barks at him through a walkie-talkie. A young lover gets down on one knee with a tiny wrapped gift in his outstretched hands, but is knocked flat to the floor by another ignorant, festivity-freaked shoppe. His aficionada follows suit soon after. This is holiday obsession taken to a whole new level. You look at your list. One measly little word stares up at you in the curly cursive of your sweet sixteen-year-old daughter. iPod. It shouldn’t surprise you. Everyone has an iPod. The Queen of England has an iPod for crying out loud. You’ve heard it all before. A million times wouldn’t be an exaggeration. You pray silently that there will be no rush to the last iPod on the shelf, no racing a little old lady while the theme song from Chariots of Fire coincidentally plays over the speakers. Oh no. You said that out loud. People stare out of their Santa masks. You are now one of them. Fanatical to the point of madness – a breakdown is sure to follow. You no longer care about anything but Christmas. Think about it as you weave your way through the ladies department, the only route to electrical goods, unfortunately. Your house at home is no less colourful than the ladies you sidestep around. It is also no less colourful than the man whose trolley full of women’s shoes you just upset, in his grossly manifest “sale” rack, discount store-bought, celebratory T-Shirt that hurts your eyes, and your ears, when you look at it. Watch where you step. Think about it some more. You have already talked to yourself out loud once, that you know of, you have gone in to a shopping mall on Christmas Eve to get your daughter an electrical commodity that in two years time will cost as much as the plastic Snoopy digital watch you bought for the same daughter eight Christmases ago, and, above all else, you gave in to the “Everyone has one!’” line that you, over the past eight years, had almost perfected ignoring! The air in the store is getting thin. Your destination lies a few metres in front of you. The giant blue sign comforts you with the white words “Electrical Goods”. You search the shelves through cords and plugs and giant silver systems that cost less than the tiny silver hard-drive you are looking for. A friendly-looking sales assistant walks past you. You try not to breathe in his sweaty odour, and ignore the colossuses of red and yellow covering his cheeks and neck. You step back far enough that his pudgy, slightly damp belly is not touching yours, and ask politely where the iPods are. And then he laughs. You feel yourself melting into the grubby linoleum floor like a forgotten Christmas candle left on the front steps all summer. The smiling lad informs you if he can’t find any on the shelves; he will check the stock room. If you want to wait by the electrical goods counter, he will be right back. You scrape yourself off the floor and lean against the counter, the stress of your day fogging up the glass. A rail-thin girl in an elf costume snaps at you to move out of the way. The furniture section is just across the way, you notice as you open your weary eyelids between blinks that last longer and longer each time you do. A plush, suede couch calls your name. You don’t notice that you have even lain down until your phone jangles Frosty the Snowman in your pocket. It’s your wife, informing you that dinner is served and inquiring as to your whereabouts. It’s 8:15pm. Your heart sinks as you see that the swarms of bedecked customers and store assistants have noticeably shrank in size. Please, where is that well-fed young man? No one else is interested. Defeated after a panicked search, you drag your feet to the exit. One thing on her Christmas list this year, and you couldn’t even deliver. You know the lunacy and dormant egg-nog has really gone to your head when you find your hand in someone else’s shopping bag after spotting the glint of tiny silver. Now, if you can just remember where you parked…