Just trying to get in the Holiday Spirit…
In honor of the Holiday season I thought I would post this blog on the worst Christmas ever. Okay I’ll be the first to admit that the following story was not the “worst Christmas ever”. It was probably my worst Christmas in recent memory, but I have lived a charmed life. I fully understand that there are people without food and shelter out there and my worst Christmas would be one of their better one’s, “Oh you got to sleep in a bed on Christmas? Wow. That is really magical.” And nobody died on this Christmas, not even a pet. So if you are saying to yourself, “Oh I remember my worst Christmas, it was when my father got stuck in the Chimney and died playing Santa Claus…” (One of the things that sticks with me from my childhood from the movie Gremlins; which in my twisted family was one of our favorite Christmas movies), yeah, this doesn’t hold a candle to your worst Christmas. Still though, you have to admit, it was a crappy way to celebrate Jesus’ birthday.
“…and that’s why I hate Christmas.”
Working on holidays sucks. I know a lot of people say they don’t mind, but they are deluding themselves; they must, to mentally get by. If they think too much about it, they break down in tears publicly and everyone feels responsible to remove all sharp objects from their reach. When ever it is a holiday and someone is working in a store or waiting a table I try particularly hard to be nice to them. I try to be Clarence from It’s a Wonderful Life Nice, because who knows? I might be the one person between them and the icy cold waters of the river below. (Of course, since I usually know very little about the person, I often come off as a weirdo by saying things like, “Why if it weren’t for you, all those men on that ship would have died, because you weren’t there to rescue your brother and he wasn’t there to rescue those men!” It actually rarely makes sense. I usually have to back track and say something like, “I mean if it weren’t for you getting me a beer in a timely manner, that man over there would be suffering a concussion from me throwing my mug in a fit of impatient rage. Don’t you see? You really have lived a wonderful life.” )
“Get your damned hands off of me you weird old man…”
I think being on the road working, whether it be as an aircrew member, a truck driver, or business person is one of the worst ways to spend a holiday, especially Christmas (I get it, not everybody celebrates Christmas, so for those who don’t, it’s probably just more of an annoyance. In reality though, whether secularly or religiously I think it’s fair to say most people in this country do in some fashion). When you are working in retail or in a restaurant, at least you (hopefully) can go home to your family at night. When you are on the road, you are stuck in a hotel, with nothing to do, while literally the rest of society is with their loved ones. Nothing is open, except gas stations and IHOPS and only thing playing on your dumb basic cable TV are movies to remind you of the special day you are celebrating alone in a hotel room.
All airline employee’s have stories of working on Christmas, it just goes with the territory of a seniority based working schedule. I have actually been pretty lucky so far. I have only had to work Christmas half the time during my relatively short airline career. Because everyone working is in the same boat (or plane, more appropriately), everyone tries to buoy each other up and make the best of it. The passengers are generally friendly because they are traveling on Christmas when they would rather not be and they appreciate that you are working to get them where they need to go. There is even a general calm over the airport because most people are already where they want to be. So the actual working part is not so bad. It’s the aforementioned sitting in the hotel on Christmas day, when other people are eating a real Christmas dinner.
My experience with this was in 2009. I had just moved to a new city (Chicago), had separated from my ex-wife of seven years and was working Christmas with an overnight in El Paso Texas, far away from any friends or relatives. Now if you are a tarantula, rattle snake or drug mule, El Paso is an awesome place to spend all of your holidays. If you are a mildly depressed man staying at a roadside Best Western, it is one of the worst places. It really makes you look in the mirror and say, “I really should have done all of those illicit drugs. I would probably be in the same exact place with better stories.”
I stated above how generally airline crews pull together. Which really wasn’t true on this particular trip. I think I was part of the problem. The captain was a good guy and was trying to make the most of it. He invited everyone on the crew to go to IHOP for Christmas dinner. When he called my room, I politely declined. Now in retrospect, I wish I had gone with him, because I let my own depressed state rule my actions. Somewhere in my self-pitying brain I convinced myself that the only thing more depressing than being alone in my room eating a can of Hormel’s best chili, was eating some Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity pancakes at IHOP with a couple of strangers. After a few bites of overly processed beans and low-grade meat I quickly realized that, “Nope. This is by far more depressing than colorful, whip-cream covered, pancakes.”
We make our tree out of the finest batter.
The captain, although a very nice man, was not much of a talker.If I did go to dinner, I would have had to carry the conversation, which I was not up to doing . I would have spent the whole time coming up with catch phrases for my RTFaF pancakes. “They’re rooty tooty fresh and fruitastic!” (That was just the first one I cam up with just now, three years in retrospect. If I actually had gone to dinner and spent a whole hour in contemplative awkward silence, I would have come up with way better ones.)
What really convinced me to wallow in my depressive state that day was not so much the fear of non-conversation (which is a HUGE fear of mine. I cannot be silent around people I don’t know. Only the ones I love dearly. What’s wrong with me?!). The only other person going to dinner was a very moody flight attendant, who I will refer to as Assqueen. The only thing Assqueen had said to me all day was, “(Huge sigh) Am I going to have to do everything myself?” In response to me asking “How was your day?” I still am unsure of what I did to illicit the annoyed response. Tangent Warning: Okay, yes, Assqueen was a gay man. I enjoy flying with 99 percent of the gay flight attendants because they are generally some of the nicest people to work with. They do their job well, they have great stories and there is no feeling of rivalry, so conversation is easy and comfortable. But I think, if we are going to be an open and accepting society we have to be able to say out loud that a gay diva, whose narcissism and ego can only be surpassed by his sense of entitlement can by appropriately called “Assqueen.” Tangent over.
Earlier in the afternoon, I had tried to kill some time by working out in the miniscule hotel gym. As hotel gyms go, it wasnt horrible. For one thing, they had dumbbells and three new pieces of cardio equipment, that all worked. Which really is a lot. Many hotel’s just put a broken exercise bike from 1950’s in an extra closet, so they can say “workout room” in their brochure. The biggest issue is that all of this stuff was crammed into an area about the size of a walk-in closet. Okay maybe a little bigger (about ten feet by eight feet.) It was fine for one person, but with just two people, it got pretty intimate.
“Feel the burn boys!”
Anyway I was doing some dumbbell workout, when Assqueen entered the workout room. He got on the elliptical and didn’t so much as nod in my direction. He completely ignored that I was also in the same small space as him. Most complete strangers would at least say, “Hey.” But he said nothing; even though we had worked all day together. I nodded at him and said, “Hey,” he made eye contact but said nothing back. No instead he proceeded to do the elliptical in slow motion and stare at himself in the mirror. He then proceeded to make me feel really weird by taking of his shirt, and continuing to make eye contact with himself in the mirror. I could only imagine what was going through his head( “I’d F me,” probably). This could very well just be my own self-consciousness, but I really don’t dig being shirtless in front of strangers. Most especially if it is just one stranger and we are in tight quarters. BUT if I were going to, I would at least try and build a report with that person by saying, “hello,” and more than likely a full warning, “Hey, I am about to take my shirt off and just stare at myself. This has nothing to do with you, so don’t think about it too much. It’s just the only way I can really get motivated to workout. Oh and believe me, I know it’s weird.” I got none of that from this guy, just a lot of heavy breathing and stares.
So I finished what I was doing and left quickly before his shorts became too hot for him. I still said, “Hey, see you later.” To which he responded with a grunt. When I got back to the eighties decor in my outdated hotel room, I realized, “Yeah there is no way I am sitting in IHOP with that guy and the quiet captain. Forget coming up with catch phrases for my pancakes, I wouldn’t be able to muster the spirit.” I felt pretty terrible about it, because I let the captain, who was a nice guy, jump on the grenade of sitting through Christmas dinner with a deep-sighing, angsty dude who was in love with himself. I could only imagine how long every minute would seem.
To put a giant Christmas star on the depressing tree of that day, we had an early showtime the next morning of 5AM. Which meant that I would have to wake up at 4:30 am and consequently go to bed at 8:30 pm. Since I wasn’t 85 years old, I couldn’t fall asleep at 8:30pm. I laid in bed, awake, with eyes tightly closed, for hours replaying the image of Assqueen’s shirtless come-hither looks to himself, questioning my own sexuality and feeling every step in the process of turning Hormel chili into diarrhea. Of course at least I could hum “Silent Night” to myself at an extra-slow, depressing tempo. Yep, I had that.
“You don’t know what I am trying to drink out of my mind.”
Have you ever had to work on the holidays? What was your worst experience? Please share below!
