mrs-roboto's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Scout Motto: Be Prepared Last Saturday night, Pete and I headed out to buy our Christmas tree. Mind you, we were having a tree decorating party Sunday afternoon so this had to done and (as per my super-efficient style) I waited till the last possible minute to purchase the item most central to the gathering. But before you jump all over me I should mention I did have six different kinds of cheese ready to go and you know about the power of cheese, right? Anyway, we hopped into the truck and began to cruise the neighborhood in search of the perfect tree. For the last several years we've avoided the whole holiday thing. When there's just two of you, both of whom are supposedly adults, you can make such decisions as "there will be no Xmas this year." Plus, we were renters and we didn't care what the neighbors thought of our Grinch-like lack of lights and merry making but this year, we are homeowners. We're probably going to live in this neighborhood for a few years and I'd rather be known as "that cute young couple who decorate their home so nicely" as opposed to "those lazy asses who never mow their lawn." Oh wait, I guess we hold both titles. Whatever. We drove around and hit several lots. The first lot was run by a group of guys who scared the shit out of me. They were shady with a capital "S." I'd seriously bet that they went around town cutting down trees that were on peoples private property. I mean, some of the trees weren't trees at all but random green bushes typical of the local landscaping. The setup was super makeshift, located at the very end of a parking lot for the Safeway and you all know how much I enjoy that market. The trees were all leaning against their cars (think El Caminos and late model Toyota trucks with those busty girl mudflaps) and they didn't even have a sign. It reminded me of my days in NYC when I'd walk down the street and some guy would open his trench coat to show me a dozen "Rolex" watches he'd "found" and was willing to make me a real deal on. When we asked what time they'd be selling trees till they actually said "till they're all gone but they're going fast so make us an offer!" I chose to pass. The last thing I need is to get busted for buying a hot tree 'cause where's the street cred in that? We hit another lot or two but nothing was tickling my fancy till we got to the Boy Scouts tree farm. Now, I have a lot of problems with the Scouts. Their policy on homosexuality sucks. I also can't get down with that whole religion thing they are so fond of but leave it to the Scouts to have some nice looking Norway Spruces. I immediately saw one that was oh so perfect yet I felt guilty for even thinking about buying from the Hitler Youth of America.Unfortunately, I was getting tired and well, exhaustion can wear down ones moral perspective. Yet, I knew I had to do something to compensate for the ethical faux pas I was about to commit. So rather than simply purchase the tree I knew I wanted from the beginning, I marched up to the twelve year old boy who was about 6'2", all knees and elbows and braces and pimples, and wearing his full green regalia, and asked where the Scouts hocked their Menorahs. He looked at me for a moment and told me he'd go ask his Troop leader. He clearly had no idea what a Menorah might be. He returned a few minutes later with a strange look on his face. "I'm sorry," he said. "We don't have any manure." "Menorah," I corrected. "How about dreidels then?" "I don't think we have any of those either, ma'am." As you can imagine, this kid calling me ma'am didn't help his fate any. "So you have no Judaica at all, is that correct?" "Ummh," he stammered. "We have wreaths and boughs of holly and trees. We have lots of nice trees and the proceeds go to help fund Troop 147's outing to Olympic National Park." "Oy-veh, but I am a Jew," insert Jackie Mason voice here. "What will a tree do for me?" Side note: My father is Jewish so this was only a partial lie. "They're kind of pretty and you can decorate them and stuff." By now Pete has turned a deep shade of crimson. I can be kind of embarrassing when I want to make a point. "Honey," I call to my poor husband. "This is the holiday of your people so why don't you decide. My people are too gentle to slaughter defenseless trees for the sake of temporary prettiness." So Pete selects a tree that is near to the front of the pack. It's the Norway I had wanted from the get-go. But I don't want this kid to get off so easy so I tell him that no, that one doesn't look quite right. We try another one which is further to the back. "This ones nice," says the Scout. "Nope," I respond. "Doesn't do anything for me. Let's see another." The kid grabs tree number three, a really large one that looks quite heavy. I refuse it. I make him carry another one out for review and then another. Twenty trees and thirty minutes later, I select the first tree we looked at. And so it was that I justified making a contribution to an organization built on religious and sexual discrimination. And you know what? It really is a fine tree. 9:14 p.m. - 2002-12-12 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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