Merry Brizzmas

It’s almost December and the most magical time of year is upon us (unless you were lucky enough to be sent to a summer magic camp as a child, in which case it’s a close second.) Last week we celebrated Black Friday, an ancient holiday as American as Apple Pay. A day to buy a cheap TV and then use it to watch local news footage of yourself buying it. Just like our forefathers did in 2013. With Black Friday giving way to Scart Lead Saturday (the day of connectivity issues), it’s clear that Christmas is very much here.

As a Jewish person who works in retail I have mixed feelings about the festive season. I’m only Jewish in a technical sense but I’m dimly aware that Hanukkah is also approaching. I’m not Jewish enough to understand Hanukkah, but I am Jewish enough to feel deeply guilty about this. My understanding is that Hanukkah is essentially eight tiny Christmases wrapped in an oily pancake. I assume that’s one day for each possible spelling of Channukah (others include Chanukkarrr, Charmander and Channingtatum). Hanukkah celebrates the miracle of some oil that lasted for eight days. Having worked in McDonalds, I am not overly impressed by this.

I work in The Galleries and it’s positively brimming with festivity. The Grotto is doing a roaring trade, although even the most trusting of children must wonder why Santa chooses to spend the busiest month of his working year in Bristol’s third biggest shopping centre. What about all the kids in Cabot Circus? Or Nottingham? I’ve befriended one of the elves and she tells me that there’s no upper age limit at the Grotto, so that’s my next day off sorted. I hope he has a sturdy lap.

The Christmas music has also started in earnest. I’ve already been told to have myself a merry little Christmas so many times that I’ve started to resent it. Sorry Judy Garland/Sam Smith, I want my Christmas to be massive and sad like a beached whale. At least The Galleries can afford real Christmas music. I spent two Christmases working for Poundland and being forced to listen to royalty-free holiday songs with names like “Sleigh Boogie” and “Boogie Sleigh” for 8 hours a day. During the 2012 Christmas season, the Sheffield branch of Poundland was selling a Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer colouring set that didn’t come with a red pen. There was a yellow one instead, presumably for colouring in the sandy beaches of Lapland.

The Post Office itself is descending slowly but surely into chaos. Actually not that slowly. During a lunchtime in December our office resembles a Harry Potter owl maelstrom, only with more screeching. Children have started coming in to post letters to Father Christmas which puts the staff in an uncomfortable position. Social convention means we have to play along, but company policy means we have to ask if they want Santa to sign for it. Actually I assume he doesn’t sign for the letters in person. That sounds like elf-work to me. They can sign with one of the red pens they’ve been keeping out of the colouring sets.

In their infinite wisdom, the Royal Mail have registered a special postcode for children’s letters to Mr Claus. XM45HQ is a pretty good effort considering the limitations of the British postcode system, but it pales in comparison with the Canadian HoH0H0. I like the implication that a child who is still on board with the idea of Father Christmas would grow suspicious if his postcode was incorrectly formatted.

Christmas stamps are also on sale now. The Royal Mail alternates between secular and religious stamps every year, meaning that every year we have to deal with either disgruntled Christians or disgruntled atheists. (I’m an atheist myself but my god we can be annoying. Pun intended.) Surely the Royal Mail could come up with some sort of compromise stamp that encompasses both. A donkey with a red nose? Snow-Jesus? Maybe not.

I’m always in an introspective frame of mind at this time of year. My birthday is on New Year’s Eve which means that it’s impossible for me not to view my life in convenient annual chunks. It also means that every 31st December, just before midnight, the entire country gets together and counts down to when it’s not my birthday anymore. Which is nice.

2015 hasn’t exactly been a high-achieving year for me. I’ve moved three miles to the east and completed Bioshock Infinite (again). Hardly the stuff of blue plaques and Wikipedia pages. Anyway, enough self-examination for now. I don’t have work today so I’m off to The Galleries Grotto to ask Santa for a red pen and a scart lead.