Publication date: November 15, 2000
So there I was on the morning of December 1st of this year readying myself psychologically for the bounty of joy-of-giving feelings soon to ensue, when suddenly what should come blundering upon my private moment but the unmistakable minty top-note of government-issue pepper-spray; and I looked out the window with an air of feigned interest I would say, and my gaze leveled itself on the street scene far, far below; and what I saw there created in me a brief time of Christmas remembering ...
Wintry Christmas morn of 1976. I was hunkered down for the Holidays as the house-guest of then-Senator Warren Magnuson; and let me tell you, "Maggie," as he was commonly called, had really done a whole-hog job on the Yuletime decor. Every eave, gutter and crenelated bell-tower of his 360-room Ballard digs blinky-blinked in ten-deep sheets of rainbow twinkle-bulbs, and a twenty-foot Star of Bethlehem mock-up made the front lawn seem that much more merry. Papier-mâché sleigh-and-ponies rig on his roof with real Santa; wreath, etc. Very Christmasy affair. A snail-paced motorcade of lookers-on snaked past at all hours.Cute story. And as I looked down now at the corner of 4th and Pine I kept in mind that I knew for a personal FACT that ol' Magnuson was a good twenty years dead and cremated right now, thus: to whom in god's name to ascribe this bodacious Christmas traffic fuck-up?
Kent, my pilot, seemed to read my mind: "WTO Riots, sir. Seasonal thing."
Oh that. Just had to smile. You know, it's sometimes said they have no function in a healthy society. But now, here they were, teens and yuppies, out in a public venue putting the lie to that shop-worn old homily. Teens, by fucking up the traffic. And yuppies, by providing that traffic.
"Take your time, Kent," I said. I looked down at my sweet bitch, sleeping at my feet. "We're going to have Westlake Mall all to ourselves."
Thank you teens, yuppies. I had Kent yaw the 'copter ten degrees abaft-rotor and threw open the bay door so that half a dozen bales of Wanker/Whitelys were spontaneously gifted down upon the traffic-jammers. Made me feel like a regular Kris Kringle, albeit with a sense of humor.
Oh, and Jerry Anne? Pig's ears again. The good things in life never change.