As I mentioned yesterday, this is a very busy month for me. Insanely busy, in fact. Most of my days right now are 10+ hours, Saturdays included. Since I've never been a big fan of the holiday season (which I think is a direct result of my mother's obsession with decorating and terrible, synthesizer-driven music,) this is not helping matters. Don't get me wrong, I love my job, and the long hours are caused by increased business, which means more money in Uncle JT's pockets, but it's tiring. Maybe that's why I'm extra Grinchy this year. I've decided to do a series of posts about things that annoy me during the holiday season.

Today's topic: Salvation Army Bell Ringers

I do not have a problem with their mission or helping those in need. I do that on a regular basis by selling cheap malt liquor to convenience stores. (Yes, that was tasteless and crass. Bite me.) Here's what annoys me, aside from the incessant ringing of the damn bells. I'm a salesman. In the course of my day, I probably pass these bell ringers about ten to twelve times a day, which translates into over seventy times a week, for almost three hundred times per month. I can't afford to be charitable to them every time. I could spend more on them than I will on Melissa's Beermas present (she's getting a can of soup.) However, because I always feel guilty about not giving, I sometimes try to explain it to them. "Look, I normally give, but I'm a salesman, and I already gave five times this week." or "I just gave here yesterday." or "Sorry, buddy. I need all of my spare change for the parking meters in Five Points, because another ticket gets my car towed." All of them are somewhat true, except for the last one, which is 100% accurate. Damn Meter Maids are lightning fast and I suspect use some sort of black magic to appear out of thin air, only to issue a ticket and return to the Void from whence they came.

These explanations normally just earns me looks ranging from understanding to downright hostility, or bewilderment if the specific bell ringer does not speak English. Some of these people could possibly set fire to me with their withering glares alone if I didn't wet myself and run away sobbing uncontrollably first. It's as if they think that they are the only individual in the entire city with a grimy Santa hat, giant red kettle, and a bell that is exponentially louder than it's small size should allow for. Once again, I suspect witchcraft is at hand.

Newsflash: there are approximately 342 of you fuckers per city block, possibly more in larger cities such as New York or Los Angeles, probably less in cities such as Detroit, where they are murdered if they so much as consider ringing that damn bell. I have no major issue with you and your bells, except when I am hungover, in which case I have a giant issue with the bells specifically. Just do me a favor and ignore me as politely as I ignore you, and we'll all get out of this alive.

Besides, I gave at the office.*

JT out.

*This is only funny if you know that I work out of a home office.