There is no desperation like mall desperation. Deep in December with no gifts yet purchased, matching footspeed and keen instincts with the other serial procrastinators. Those Christmas Eve gift buyers are an odd breed. Like a bacteria that resists antibiotics, they resist holiday shopping and rational planning.
It is a mall you know well, and if it wasn't it will be by the time you finish circling the place for a parking spot. Twice around and you secretly vow to bring a brush to paint the lines of your own parking stall. Three times and you begin to wonder if there isn't too much emphasis on materialism in our society, and whether your friends and family members wouldn't be better served by a pretentious lecture on society's woes than actual gifts. And then you park. Checking your watch (it's late, it's late) you decide you don't have time to put your jacket and toque in the trunk.
The song on the mall speakers is some Muzak version of a seasonal tune with bells and people laughing all the way. It is meant to calm the nerves, but the effect is the opposite.
You immediately find the perfect gift, and just as quickly you realize it's the perfect gift for you, and that no one else you know would be remotely interested in the illustrated history of American rockabilly.
Fear takes its toll, and you become certain the speakers are pumping out the same three Muzak Christmas carols on an interminable loop.
The ability for logical thought is strained. It's also hotter than you expected and a layer of sweat is bubbling up from your skin but it's much too late to drop your jacket and toque off at the car.
You have 11 people to shop for and 90 minutes before the mall closes.
It's time to become a strictly reactive animal.
"What's that? A door crasher sale? Better luck next year, Grandma," you snarl, pouncing ahead of the polite people as you swerve towards the bargains that may knock at least three relatives off your list, because really, who can't use a mini laundry hamper?
Shamefully, I must admit. I have been this shopper. (Except for the snarling at Grandma bit.) However, while leaving everything until the last minute can be stressful, there are also benefits. For instance, I have never bought anything that spoiled before Christmas morning. There are disadvantages to relying purely on instinct. One Christmas, a video game caught my eye as being perfect for my brother. Unfortunately, it had also caught my eye the previous year.
Shortly after that I started keeping all my gift receipts in my pocket while people unwrapped their presents. You may read this article and smile with just a hint of smugness, because, after all, you finished your Christmas shopping before most people carved their Halloween pumpkins. But shopping too soon, besides being cowardly, can also backfire.
If you purchase an iPhone in September, you're sure to feel foolish when the latest model, the one with voice activated dialing and an app that irons your pants while streaming TV shows is released in December.
Perhaps there is no really good method of buying presents because, after all, they're only things, and the greatest gifts are those intangible moments we share, and those feelings we touch in our loved ones. That's what I'm asking for this year. That and, of course, the illustrated history of American rockabilly.
