Yesterday we wanted to see the new Star Wars movie. This was a mistake.
As we sat, stuck in traffic and in rain, it dawned on me: what the fuck was I thinking?
Never before have we witnessed such masses descend upon these holy temples of consumerist worship. You may know them as malls or shopping centres; I call it the place where the cinema happens to be.
And the place was packed. It was impossible to get anywhere close to it. We’d have missed the beginning of the movie — assuming we’d find parking and still get seats.
Why the fuck am I driving anywhere near such a congregation of fools with more money than time management skills — on the last Sunday before Christmas, of all days?
Why am I violating a prime directive?
What disturbance in the force has caused this momentary lapse of reason?
For years I’ve successfully managed to avoid poking my nose out the door during this fickle part of Yuletide — yet here I am, stuck on the road, with nowhere to go but forward. All we wanted to do was watch a movie. Christmas was the obstacle. We modified our plans. We ventured into a few shops. The crowds were maddening. The air was so thick with impatient determination that I got santaclaustrophobic, and we left.
C.H.R.I.S.T.M.A.S. = Customers Helping Retailers Increase Sales Through Myths And Superstition.
Too much! No soul, no spirit, no class, no substance. All fake, all wrong, all greed.