'It's a wonderful knife'

That's right, it's yet another holiday blog. I know Chris and Erin already beat me to it, but let's not forget the real reason for the season: blogging.

I wanted to talk about THE saddest position there is at this time of the year. No, it's not the gin-fueled mall Santas who are probably reduced to wearing rubber leggings to keep out bladder expulsions. It's not even the minimum-wage assistant-to-the-shit-faced-santa elves, who don't have to put up with as much urine, but get so much less glory. No no, the saddest and most horrible yuletide job is that of the salvation army bell ringer. Have you EVER seen one smile?? No you have not, and there's a reason for it. Try doing anything that takes only a second (such as ringing a bell one time) and do it for hours and hours. Unless you're a stoner bouncing a hackie sack off your birkenstocks, it's agonizing. Then on top of that, have that thing make noise. It's no wonder that even when you drop change in the bucket, all you get is a dry "merry christmas." Which is code for "please kill me."

And there's something so pavlovian about the whole thing. Has it reached a point to us now where we hear a bell and instantly go for our coins without thinking? I think my response when I hear a bell ringing on the holidays is that of sadness. For, somewhere nearby is someone very miserable. Even the homeless guy doesn't have to ring a bell when he asks for change. And during the holidays, even he has an extra lil' pep in his step as he mumbles "Shah sha shee sha sha sha flossmy teeth witha dragonstaaail."

So the next time you see a bell ringer, remember: a shit-load of angels may be getting their wings, but someone on earth is in hell for it.