Part 4 (1/2)
”I know the overwhelming majority of American kids who owned an Aqua a.s.sault RoboFighter derived many hours of safe, responsible fun from it,” CPSC commissioner Mary Sheila Gall said. ”But, statistically speaking, three deaths stemming from contact with a particular toy const.i.tutes an 'unreasonable risk.' Look, I'm really sorry about this. Honestly. But our agency's job is to protect the public from hazardous products, even if those who die are morons who deserved what they got.”
NEWS IN BRIEF.
World Inspired By First Snowman To Win Luge VANCOUVER-In what has become the most inspiring story at the XXI Winter Olympiad, the luge was won Sunday by the most unlikely of compet.i.tors: Tom, a snowman rolled together just two days earlier by the Kansy family of Vancouver. ”Another barrier falls, marking a historic day for iced people everywhere,” was the call from NBC's Bob Costas as Tom took the top spot on the Olympic victory podium. ”Tom has proven it matters not the composition of your skin, only whether you are capable of competing at the highest possible level. He entered these Olympics as Tom the Snowman, but history will remember him as Tom the Luger.” Tom was unavailable for comment as the Kansy family had only given him a twig for a mouth.
AMERICAN VOICES.
Christmas Trees More Expensive Due to high fuel costs, the price of Christmas trees will be around 10 percent higher this year. What do you think?
Terry Golden
Personal a.s.sistant
”The high costs have affected Hanukkah, too. I could only afford a menorah with four candleholders.”
Grace Patrochis
Systems a.n.a.lyst
”That tricky Jesus. Always trying to make a buck.”
Chuck Warner
Caddy
”I cut down my own tree every year. It makes Christmas more meaningful without the ha.s.sle of attending church.”
OPINION.
Secret Santas Are For s.h.i.+t The Cruise
by Jim Anchower
Hola, amigos. What's going on? I know it's been a long time since I rapped at ya, but I've been carrying a heavy load lately. The winter's really depressing the s.h.i.+t out of me. Between the cold and the 14 hours of darkness, I never want to leave the house. All my pals are in the same boat, so they don't come over and hang out like they usually do. Good thing I got my Game-Cube. That's all the friends I need.
I did manage to find myself a gig for the month, though. There's this Christmas store called Holiday Land, where they sell all kinds of festive s.h.i.+t: wreaths, trees, mistletoe, and candles that are supposed to smell like cinnamon or pine but just smell like stink-candles. You probably know the place. In October, it was called Spooky World, and they sold masks and vampire fangs. I was hoping I could find all that old Halloween stuff in storage so I could snag a few tubes of fake blood, but they have this warehouse they send all the stuff back to when the season's over.
I'm in the tree department. I guess I got my wish to get a job where I can burn off some of my gut, 'cause all I do is haul c.r.a.p around all day. I take people's trees and run them through this tube of nylon net so they can tie it to their car without needles and branches flying all over the place. The pay's pretty decent, and I guess everyone's all right, except my boss, Mr. Smalley. The guy's a total d.i.c.kweed. He thinks he's being funny when he calls me Jim Clamchowder, like I didn't hear enough of that in eighth grade.
Last Friday, Smalley totally dressed me down for wis.h.i.+ng someone a Merry Christmas. I told him I thought we were supposed to say that, and he was like, ”You're supposed to say 'Happy Holidays.' It fosters an environment of religious inclusion.” I got a news flash for you, Smalley: It don't make no difference if you tell them ”Happy a.s.s Day.” They're there to get a Christmas tree, not a holiday tree.
Then there's the whole Secret Santa thing. Smalley was all like, ”Come on, it'll be fun!” Now, I've got a pretty good idea of what fun is, and some bulls.h.i.+t Secret Santa just doesn't make the cut. It wasn't like we were required to partic.i.p.ate, but it was ”strongly suggested.” It's like peer pressure. In junior-high health cla.s.s, they never had film strips about Secret Santa peer pressure, but they should've. And they should've starred Smalley, shaking a coffee can full of names in your face.
I drew Nancy, this old chick at the checkout counter. I had no idea what to get her. We'd barely said three words to each other since I started working there. All I knew about her was that she smoked New-ports and had an enormous rack.
The days flew by, and I kept forgetting to pick something up. The day before we were supposed to swap gifts, I thought long and hard about it on the drive home from work. It's tough work trying to figure out what to get someone you don't know and won't be working with in three weeks. It was making me thirsty, so I pulled over to the big warehouse liquor store on the way home. That's when it hit me.
Right in front, they had this huge stack of what can only be called paradise. It was a tower of 12-packs of Miller Genuine Draft that was at least as tall as me. The 12-packs were on sale for $6.50. At that price, I'd have been stupid not to get it for the Secret Santa, especially since it was definitely under the $10 spending limit. I picked one up for Nancy and grabbed three for me. I wasn't about to spread that sort of holiday cheer without getting a little for myself.
I took my treasure trove home, put one of my twelves in the fridge, and looked for some wrapping paper. All I had was a bunch of Walgreens circulars that had been piling up for, like, three months and some duct tape. After the longest 15 minutes of my life, I finally finished the wrap job. Rewarding myself for a job well done, I took out one of my beers and had a swig.
The next day, I went to the break-room table and, sure enough, there was a gift waiting for me from my Secret Santa. It was definitely too small to be beer, but maybe they got me a pint of Dr. McGillicuddy's or something. I put my package with the others and got to work.
At about 4:30, we knocked off a half-hour early so we could eat cookies and open our presents. After five or six people went, it came time for Nancy to open hers. As she started to open it, I yelled, ”Hey, save the paper-I took a lot of time wrapping that!” Everyone laughed, and I knew I had it made.
As she was opening it, she had this weird look on her face. Then she started shaking. Some of the other cas.h.i.+ers were staring at me, giving me the stink eye. Nancy looked up at me and said thanks for the gift, but told me she'd quit drinking about four months ago. I was like, ”All right! More for me!” but this time, no one laughed. I kept to myself the rest of the ”party,” and every once in a while, I'd get dirty looks from the other cas.h.i.+ers. How was I supposed to know Nancy was on the wagon? When the party ended, I just drove home and went through the better part of one of my 12-packs.