Does anyone really celebrate? or perhaps even remember why they are celebrating? That question would be under the assumption that there was ever anything to celebrate concerning our beloved thanksgiving.
I was listening to the radio this morning as I sorted trashy donations at the thriftshop. I'd just scolded an elderly woman for attempting to barter something I was already offering for an ungodly cheap price. "Ten dollars? That's too much!" she cried in a disgustingly sweep of melodrama with her gloved hand. "M'am, we're trying to raise money for charity and you're not the one receiving it. I'm sorry," I replied.
She didn't get it, so I went back to a brown bag of miscellaneous crap.I was half-listening to the radio, in the same way that I catch myself half-listening to the same story from a loved one (yeah, you know the one). And it's some advertisement paid by god knows who, lamenting the fact that some people may not have kin to gather with for thanksgiving. Due to being out of town or dislocated on a business trip, the false radio voice mused. A light way of saying, "To all you lonely drunks and dropouts, we have a solution." And the solution was to come to some elks lodge megachurch stadium for a turkey and tater feed. It'll make you feel better I promise, the voice cooed. Don't spend thanksgiving alone the ad ended.
I could just see the can-shaped cranberry sauce jiggling in some teflon bowl. Some boxed spud mix steaming hot from the microwave, and smack dab in the middle an empathetic cub scout leader volunteer working on a butterball turkey with a plug-in meat carver. And the smell of sour sweat and porous alcohol fumes on a stale breeze. Picnic-style tables, paper plates and plastic silverware. And this is gonna make me feel better?
Give me a beer. Turn the turkey day football game on...
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