Oh the holidays. That special time of tinsel and holly, eggnog and fruitcake, blaming our rampant promiscuity on a mistletoe. It really is the most wonderful time of the year. La Crosse’s local theatre scene is getting into the holiday spirit with productions of “A Christmas Carol” (sadly Muppet-free) at UW-L, “A Don’t Hug Me Christmas Carol’ at The Pump House, and “Playhouse on the Air Presents: Miracle on 34th Street” at the La Crosse Community Theatre.
It’s no surprise that there are all these holiday shows happening. It’s a fact that audiences are 67 percent more likely to go to a show with a wreath on its poster; this is based on data we completely just made up.
Not one to be left out of the holiday cheer, the Muse Theatre is adding a sardonic edge to the season with their production of “The Santaland Diaries,” based on essayist David Sedaris’ experience working as an elf at a department store.
In honor of the play, opening this week along with “A Christmas Carol” and “Don’t Hug Me Christmas Carol,” we decided to recount our favorite moment working retail during the holidays. Behold:
There is a distinct three part process that happens to us every holiday season while at work when it comes to the round-the-clock playing of Christmas tunes. First, there is joy. Second, there is misery. Third and finally, there is acceptance, acceptance usually appearing a solid month after the tunes have stopped being played.
One snowy December morning, just a few scant days before Christmas, we were walking the thin line of stage one and stage two of the Christmas process, humming along to the fourth version of “Santa Baby” we had heard that morning already, when we looked outside to see a small huddle of women. We had been so concentrated on the yuletide gold-digging lyrics we hadn’t noticed the store had opened but no sales associate happened unlocked the door.
So we went and, after a few embarrassing fumbles at twisting the locks, opened the door and greeted with a pleasant hello.
“It’s cold outside!” shouted one woman, probably in her mid-forties. “It’s cold and windy and the store is open early because of holiday hours. I CALLED.”
“I’m really sorry for the inconvenience,” we stammered a bit, apparently as successful at apologizing as we were at speedily unlocking doors.
“It’s a disgrace,” the woman continued. “Leaving a bunch of women out IN THE COLD IN DECEMBER.”
Before we could offer another apology, she and her contingency of equally annoyed friends brushed past, spilling some coffee on our dress shoes. Right behind them was an older, pleasantly rotund woman wearing a Packers knit hat. She was probably in her seventies. She had been outside with the group but apparently wasn’t with them. She came inside the store, aided by a cane. She stopped in front of us. We cringed for a second, waiting for either a verbal or cane blow. But neither came. She smiled at us, patted us on the shoulder and said the best thing we’ve ever heard from a customer:
“I’m so sorry. You’re going to have to deal with a lot of bitches today.”
Now Mixtapers, THAT is the true meaning of Christmas.
Stop rolling your eyes and keep reading as we dish about the good, the bad and the Britney Spears that happened this week in pop culture.
