A Candy Cane Gave me a Pain

I few nights ago at work, one of the performers was celebrating the birth of our saviour, Jesus Christ, by presenting a Christmas show of all Christmas music. Said performer was Jewish, but that's a different story. Jesus may be the reason for the season but everyone wants to sing "Jingle Bells." Religious beliefs are hastily set aside when it comes to belting out a Christmas carol or two. Before the show, someone of her entourage pulled out a bag from Jack's 99¢ Store and revealed a shocking supply of candy canes. I knew right then and there that we were about to be witness to a recreation of the infamous gummi bear event of June 2010. Sure enough, this Holiday Elf went to each and every seat and placed a candy cane in front of it as an offering to the audience. I hate when that happens. We already have candles, table tents, bev naps, comment cards, pens and table numbers on the table but by all means, add a freakin' candy cane to it too. Don't worry about me having room to put your martini somewhere. Throughout the show, I could hear the tell tale sound of crinkling cellophane as people opened up their candy canes. No one ever eats a whole fucking candy cane though. Ever. I mean, have you ever eaten a whole candy cane? We open it, break off a bit and then leave the rest where we found it. And sometimes we spit out the little bit that we started to eat leaving a sticky chunk of used up peppermint candy for someone else to clean up. That someone else was me that night.

At the end of the show, out of the seventy people there, easily 68 of them decided to spit out a portion of the candy cane. The tables looked like Santa's elves had puked after too many Peppermint martinis at the holiday party. Shards of candy cane and half eaten pieces littered my station. Everything at the tables was stickier than the headboard at Lispy Gay's house after his annual Tupperware party. It was nasty. The cellophane was everywhere and due to the static electricity in the air, it was stuck to the booths, stuck to my pants, stuck to the walls and stuck in my craw. I was cleaning up after the show and getting irritated with the whole situation when one of the songs the performer had sung came into my mind. The lyrics were now ringing in my ears:

Have yourself a merry little Christmas,
Make the yule-tide gay.
From now on,
our troubles will be miles away.

After I gave up trying to understand what a yule-tide was and what made it go gay, I focused on the rest of the sweet words. "From now on, our troubles will be miles away." How silly I was being to be upset that candy canes were making a mess in my station. What kind of Grinch am I anyway? Can't I let people have a good time with a candy cane and not be upset that I have to clean up after them? "Let my troubles be miles away," I thought. Picking up an unopened candy cane, I held it in my palm and smiled. I recalled how when I was a kid it was so fun to get them in my stocking and how I used to suck on them and swirl them in my mouth until the end was as pointy as it could be. I opened the candy cane and broke off a piece, As I put it into my mouth, I expected to feel like a kid again when Christmas was fun with no stress and responsibility. I awaited the flood gates of memory to invade my mind. Instead, this is what I thought: "Fuck this candy cane tastes like shit. Who the hell buys candy canes at Jack's 99¢ Store? Fuck!" I spit that shit out and went back to cleaning tables.