"Happy Holidays!" the store clerk announced as John Thunderburk picked up his wife's pantsuit that had been hung on a hanger and covered by a red, plastic Macy’s bag. He started to walk away from the counter to go home to be with his family on Christmas Eve, but something bothered him. The sermons at his church about keeping Christ in Christmas and how Christmas’ continued evolution toward a secular holiday were getting to him. He felt he had to take a stand and defend Christian family values. He was edgy, irritable, because the whole world seemed to be turning Christmas into a mere winter holiday.
"Merry CHRIST-mas!" John shouted as he walked away from the sales clerk—giving the word “Christ” a little extra emphasis to show her he meant business—and then began mumbling mostly under his breath. "Can't you just say, 'Merry Christmas'? Or since we're working for a big corporation, we have to say something generic so as to not affect the stock price or shareholder value or those HUMONGOUS EXECUTIVE BONUSES . . . Happy Holidays, right! . . . " he muttered with a smirk on his face and his head bouncing side to side with mockery. He kept on talking to himself: ”We can't offend anyone now, can we? Oh, if we say 'Merry Christmas' to an atheist, it might hurt their feelings now, mightn't it? And they might sue us for creating a hostile shopping experience and get a huge damages award for pain and suffering. Only in America. I'm sorry, lady, THIS IS A CHRISTIAN NATION!" he exclaimed as he became more and more excited.
He continued to walk toward the store exit, now speaking aloud as he went but not seeming to speak to anyone in particular or care who could hear him. "Happy Holidays. Any holiday, no holiday, every holiday. Happy Kwaanza. Happy Solstice. Happy Hanukah. Happy Winter . . . It’s all the same to all of you but not to me, not too us!"
He kept on speaking and people around him were beginning to notice the agitated man in a Stafford business suit and a white button-down shirt with the top button undone, tie loosened around his neck. He was getting angrier as he approached the exit door of the festively decorated Macy's. Just then, he stopped to open the door for an elderly woman who was coming toward the door on the other side. "Thank you," she said, and then he just knew what was coming next as he felt his blood pressure rising within him.
"Happy Holidays!" she said as she struggled through the door. She was using a cane and must have been at least seventy-five. But laying all sympathies toward senior citizens aside, the thermometer of his holiday gratuity boiled over in that moment, and he lost it.
"MERRY CHRIST-MAS!” he shouted, his face flushed and the veins on either of his side neck bulging. 'MERRY FREAKIN' CHRIST-MAS TO YOU!" Didn't have the courage to say MERRY CHRIST-MAS, huh?"
"Get away from me, you schmuck," she came back quickly against his onslaught. "What are you, some kind of wacko?”
"It’s ‘Merry CHRIST-MAS,’ you scrooge! Why couldn't you just say, ‘Merry Christmas’?”
"I'm Jewish, you idiot! Bah, humbug! We don't celebrate Christmas or the birth of that rabble-rouser!"
"Boo-hoo, so you're a Jew, huh?" John was unaware of the little rhyme he had just composed. "You had better not go around trying to steal our CHRIST-MAS tree and call it a HANUKAH BUSH either! You understand me, lady? And Santa Claus is not Jewish; so don't even think about it! You got it?"
"Oh, great. I come out to buy my husband a tie and I meet the stupidest man in the world. I should be so lucky."
John felt another round of indignation rise up within him, so he started shouting, "Say Merry CHRIST-MAS! C’mon, say it—Merry CHRIST-MAS! I said, say Merry C-H-R-I-S-T-M-A-S!" He kept walking in circles menacingly around the woman as she haltingly ambled into the store, attempting to avoid the shouting man by turning right and then left. But he wouldn’t let her go, so the woman started waving her hands in the air and shouting, "Help, I'm being assaulted by a crazy anti-Semite. Hellllllp!"
Just then, an off-duty police officer working in Security for the store came and grabbed the shouting man. “You’re under arrest, pal! Put your hands behind your back and turn around.”
“Under arrest? For what?” John asked.
“Verbal assault!” the officer announced, pulling out his handcuffs.
“For saying, ‘Merry Christmas’? You’ve got to be kidding.” John was now trying to figure out how to put his hands behind his back and hold his wife’s pantsuit.
“No, for menacingly stalking this poor Jewish woman and pummeling her repeatedly with the words, ‘Merry Christmas!’, which also qualifies as a hate crime punishable by a minimum of four years in a Federal pentitentiary under the mandatory Federal sentencing guidelines. Now turn around! You have the right to remain silent . . . ”
“Four years? Only in America, only in America, only in America . . .” John kept yelling as the officer handcuffed his hands behind his back while telling him his Miranda rights and dragging him toward the door. The pantsuit fell to the floor, but the officer picked it up as they continued toward the exit.
“And by the way: Merry Christmas and Happy New Year” said the officer as they went out the sliding doors of Macy’s to the waiting police cruiser that had come to pick him up.
“Finally, someone says ‘Merry Christmas’ to me,” John said aloud to himself as he sat down in the back seat of the police car, the police radio blaring out a call about a domestic dispute on Haase Avenue. He felt strangely vindicated by the officer’s words, unable to detect the mockery as he looked through the frosty glass of the back seat of the police car. He could barely make out the words on the side of the Macy’s: “Season’s Greetings.” He vowed to himself right there that he would fight those words next year. He wouldn’t stand for generic greetings anymore.
"Merry CHRIST-mas!" John shouted as he walked away from the sales clerk—giving the word “Christ” a little extra emphasis to show her he meant business—and then began mumbling mostly under his breath. "Can't you just say, 'Merry Christmas'? Or since we're working for a big corporation, we have to say something generic so as to not affect the stock price or shareholder value or those HUMONGOUS EXECUTIVE BONUSES . . . Happy Holidays, right! . . . " he muttered with a smirk on his face and his head bouncing side to side with mockery. He kept on talking to himself: ”We can't offend anyone now, can we? Oh, if we say 'Merry Christmas' to an atheist, it might hurt their feelings now, mightn't it? And they might sue us for creating a hostile shopping experience and get a huge damages award for pain and suffering. Only in America. I'm sorry, lady, THIS IS A CHRISTIAN NATION!" he exclaimed as he became more and more excited.
He continued to walk toward the store exit, now speaking aloud as he went but not seeming to speak to anyone in particular or care who could hear him. "Happy Holidays. Any holiday, no holiday, every holiday. Happy Kwaanza. Happy Solstice. Happy Hanukah. Happy Winter . . . It’s all the same to all of you but not to me, not too us!"
He kept on speaking and people around him were beginning to notice the agitated man in a Stafford business suit and a white button-down shirt with the top button undone, tie loosened around his neck. He was getting angrier as he approached the exit door of the festively decorated Macy's. Just then, he stopped to open the door for an elderly woman who was coming toward the door on the other side. "Thank you," she said, and then he just knew what was coming next as he felt his blood pressure rising within him.
"Happy Holidays!" she said as she struggled through the door. She was using a cane and must have been at least seventy-five. But laying all sympathies toward senior citizens aside, the thermometer of his holiday gratuity boiled over in that moment, and he lost it.
"MERRY CHRIST-MAS!” he shouted, his face flushed and the veins on either of his side neck bulging. 'MERRY FREAKIN' CHRIST-MAS TO YOU!" Didn't have the courage to say MERRY CHRIST-MAS, huh?"
"Get away from me, you schmuck," she came back quickly against his onslaught. "What are you, some kind of wacko?”
"It’s ‘Merry CHRIST-MAS,’ you scrooge! Why couldn't you just say, ‘Merry Christmas’?”
"I'm Jewish, you idiot! Bah, humbug! We don't celebrate Christmas or the birth of that rabble-rouser!"
"Boo-hoo, so you're a Jew, huh?" John was unaware of the little rhyme he had just composed. "You had better not go around trying to steal our CHRIST-MAS tree and call it a HANUKAH BUSH either! You understand me, lady? And Santa Claus is not Jewish; so don't even think about it! You got it?"
"Oh, great. I come out to buy my husband a tie and I meet the stupidest man in the world. I should be so lucky."
John felt another round of indignation rise up within him, so he started shouting, "Say Merry CHRIST-MAS! C’mon, say it—Merry CHRIST-MAS! I said, say Merry C-H-R-I-S-T-M-A-S!" He kept walking in circles menacingly around the woman as she haltingly ambled into the store, attempting to avoid the shouting man by turning right and then left. But he wouldn’t let her go, so the woman started waving her hands in the air and shouting, "Help, I'm being assaulted by a crazy anti-Semite. Hellllllp!"
Just then, an off-duty police officer working in Security for the store came and grabbed the shouting man. “You’re under arrest, pal! Put your hands behind your back and turn around.”
“Under arrest? For what?” John asked.
“Verbal assault!” the officer announced, pulling out his handcuffs.
“For saying, ‘Merry Christmas’? You’ve got to be kidding.” John was now trying to figure out how to put his hands behind his back and hold his wife’s pantsuit.
“No, for menacingly stalking this poor Jewish woman and pummeling her repeatedly with the words, ‘Merry Christmas!’, which also qualifies as a hate crime punishable by a minimum of four years in a Federal pentitentiary under the mandatory Federal sentencing guidelines. Now turn around! You have the right to remain silent . . . ”
“Four years? Only in America, only in America, only in America . . .” John kept yelling as the officer handcuffed his hands behind his back while telling him his Miranda rights and dragging him toward the door. The pantsuit fell to the floor, but the officer picked it up as they continued toward the exit.
“And by the way: Merry Christmas and Happy New Year” said the officer as they went out the sliding doors of Macy’s to the waiting police cruiser that had come to pick him up.
“Finally, someone says ‘Merry Christmas’ to me,” John said aloud to himself as he sat down in the back seat of the police car, the police radio blaring out a call about a domestic dispute on Haase Avenue. He felt strangely vindicated by the officer’s words, unable to detect the mockery as he looked through the frosty glass of the back seat of the police car. He could barely make out the words on the side of the Macy’s: “Season’s Greetings.” He vowed to himself right there that he would fight those words next year. He wouldn’t stand for generic greetings anymore.