Christmas in Retail

It is on us once again: the Christmas shopping season. And it doesn't matter how anti-commerce hippy-dippy you are, you're going to wind up in a store at some point during this month of madness, even if it's just to get groceries.

Parking, line ups, sales with no merchandise, empty shelves, crowded aisles. How freaking frustrating. And there you are spending your last $50 to pick up that present for Aunt Agnes who you don't even like but still you have to get her something because she bleeding sends you some useless piece of shit every year. And it's such a farce and a rip off and by the time you get to the cashier, who is replacing her* register tape and refusing to look you in the eye while you tap your fingers impatiently....well, of course you're going to say something snippy to her.

But maybe you could stop. And think. It's always been my belief that everyone should work in retail at some point in their life, just so they learn not to be an utter asshole to cashiers and customer service people. I'm going to expand on that and say everyone should work in retail during the Christmas rush.

It's a VULVA... but it's not!

The Red Trench
Photo Courtesy: The Telegram

The first time I saw it I was still in highschool, visiting the campus to see some friends. I remember the thrill of the glass elevator and riding up to see the whole thing.

The Red Trench… I took the name seriously. Trenches, to me, spoke of war trenches. I decided it was a blood soaked trench of war and the white v-shaped crest at the top was a dove – the symbol of peace – with its head buried in the trench. Was it backing out of the trench, distancing itself but with an eye on the atrocities of the past? Or was it venturing in, attempting to cleanse it?

Neither, it turns out. Apparently I have a bit of an imagination when it comes to interpreting art. But not as much of an imagination as some.

“Do you know what it is?” a boy (I’d say man, but 15 years later, by all reports, he’s still not mature enough to be called that) asked with a snigger, in my first year at MUN. I was embarrassed. I didn't know what it was, really. Just my own interpretation. So I shook my head no.
“A vagina” he answered.
“No it’s not.”
“It is. Everyone  knows it.”