Warehouse insanity

Craziness, I’m tellin’ you, just total craziness!

Mrs. Neighbor dragged me into one of those monster warehouse stores the other day. I hadn’t been in one for several years and this trip only reinforced my decision to avoid them at all costs.

In spite of her assurances that “it’s always like this on the weekend,” I was positively agape at not only the number of vehicles in the parking lot but the masses of people that came out of them.

Inside the store, things were what I guess you’d call controlled chaos. Oversize carts blocking the aisles, lots of oversize people pushing those carts loaded down with oversize tv’s, monster jars of mayonnaise, towers of toilet paper, and enough Christmas baubles to decorate the tree at Rockefeller Center. Merchandise was stacked to the ceiling, or at least as far up as I could see; I’m not sure exactly where the ceiling was, there was too much stuff in the way.

It was truly country gone to the city. Why, they don’t even bag your stuff up for you. They just arbitrarily assume you’re going to buy a truckload and give you these big ol’ boxes to haul it out in. That is, after you check yourself out and pass inspection at the door by some little old retired lady who faster than a jack rabbit scans your receipt and counts the items in your cart. No friendly, down home service here. Get your stuff, go home.

Well, Christmas is here. The windows are decorated on the inside with blue berry-bearing cedar and cards perched precariously on the sash. The tree glistens with its white lights and gold ornaments. Bing Crosby has opened his “Holiday Inn” once more (my favorite Christmas movie) and the last trip to the small, hometown grocery store is soon to come. Cooking will ensue.

I’m looking forward to the Christmas Eve service at church. That is what Christmas is to me now: quiet, peaceful, reflective, thankful. For that evening and the next day, the noise of the world will be left behind. Inside, there will be fullness.

Merry Christmas, y’all!