Twas the week before Christmas and all through the store….

‘Twas the week before Christmas, when all through the store

Everyone was insane, and the shoppers did roar

The displays were ransacked and sales out of stock

Cashiers were praying to be bashed by a rock

The dairy crew hid in their coolers in fear

While visions of eggnog made them shed a lone tear

And meat in their coats, and deli in their caps,

Had just revved up for a week of time and half

When out on the floor there arose such a clatter,

Management left the back to see what was the matter.

Away from my smoke break, I flew like a flash

Walked out on the floor and dealt with the backlash.

The fluorescent lights shined down on the insane;

I wanted to scream something vile and profane.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a train full of carts and eight cases of beer,

With a little old driver, so slow and so drunk,

My day would be ruined, my heart would be sunk.

His questions all sought me like moths to a flame,

He whistled and shouted and called me “shit-stain.”

“Now bastard, now faggot, fudge-packer and queer!

Show me the baking soda; were you raised by a steer?!

To the top of the case! To the back of the freezer!

Get me this! I want that! Oh, just give me a teaser!”

As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly,

His demands became crazy: the chicken must fry.

So up to the backroom the employees, they flew,

As they read his demands, they sighed, “I need a brew!”

And then in a twinkling, I heard over the comm,

“SALE ON CHRISTMAS HAM! THIS DEAL IS THE BOMB!”

As I drew in my head and was turning around,

‘Cross the store the nuts came with a leap and a bound.

They were all dressed like shit, from their head to their shoe,

Clothes crusted completely with mustard and spew.

A bundle of deals they had flung in their carts,

Eyes crazy and wild, breath smelling of farts.

Their eyes looked so dead! Their spirits wore thin!

They fought like wild dogs as they dug through the bin!

Bakery put out cakes draped with ribbon and bow,

But those soon became trampled like the fresh-fallen snow.

The CSM watched and then sobbed from the front,

As the store was destroyed by a cruel, little runt.

He had a broad face and a little round belly

That shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a mean little child,

And he laughed when we saw all that he had defiled.

A twitch in my eye, a pounding in my head,

Stupid liberal laws, he had nothing to dread!

He spoke not a word but went straight to his work.

Destroying the store, the devilish little jerk.

And laying his finger aside of my nose,

I just couldn’t wait, for the store would soon close.

He sprang to his mother as she paid for her food,

I wanted to yell, “MIND YOUR KID! SO DAMN RUDE!”

When his mom turned away, I leaned over his meal,

And said ever so softly that “Santa isn’t real.”

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