There is nothing worse than shopping during Xmas time. No wait; actually there is something far worse than participating in the act of festive gift purchasing. And that, my friends, is working in retail during the festering season.

Well, it isn't the "silly season"... it's more like the "psychotic season" from my garbled view behind the service desk. People act like utter tools during this time of the year (so don't pretend that you don't know what I am rambling about). Mothers no longer gently push their babies along aisles of politeness. No from this moment on, mothers everywhere are using their children as valuable weapons in a green and red war of mass consumerism. Prams zigzag dangerously along the aisles, collecting the long queues that stretch out into infinity (which really isn't a *bad* thing in retrospect). As a wad of reindeer antlers fly up into the air, their soon to be owners are dazzled by an annoying toy rendition of "Little Drummer Boy" that escapes through a small set of paper-thin speakers hidden behind a tuff of synthetic reindeer fur.

After a moment of idiotic fascination, their attention is turned to their little pride and joy, Tarquiinn-Ski, who is screaming "Mummy's in the kitchen, cooking fish and chips... Daddy's in the toilet, bombing battle ships" at the top of it's lungs in the middle of the store. They also notice that Tarquiinn-Ski is creating an effective homage to Jackson Pollock on the linoleum floor with urine.

They turn to each other and smile lovingly. Meanwhile, everyone in the store vomits into their handbags because of the blatant cheesiness of the situation.

I smile and nod as the elderly couple before me bitch and moan about the cost of a plastic snowman.

Did we get that twenty percent off the marked price?

Yes, yes... see on the docket here? It's worked out a total minus twenty percent.

What about the fifteen percent store-wide discount... was that taken into account too?

Yes... yes... see? Wait a tick...

I grab my calculator and make out that I am trying to work out why five dollars seems too steep for a plastic dancing snowman (which also plays an annoying carol)

A scream breaks my concentration as a pre-teen in spike plugger thongs slips in Tarquiinn-Ski's masterpiece.

And as a mop is wheeled into aisle 13, and a urine-strained rarr-rarr skirt disappears into the sea of desperation, a hand taps my shoulder. I turn to face a choir of carollers singing "Silent Night"... and the greying face of the dude who's about to take over my shift.

Ahhhh... 'tis truly the season for deviousness.