This week, I wanted to saddle up my high horse when it comes to Christmas shopping, especially after seeing this messed up BlackFriday site making the social media rounds. I dismounted though, because not too long ago my fist of fury nearly added to this statistic.

About four years ago, three days before Christmas, the exhaustion from work, school, relationship drama, and fighting the winter I-wish-I-could-stop-eating-pasta-and-watching-episodes-of-Arrested-Development-blues were stripping me of my sanity.

I was supposed to pick up a few more presents but repeated the following steps about five times: suited up, locked my front door, burst into tears at the thought of shopping, went back inside to bawl, composed myself, returned to the front door, burst into tears again. I’m talking ugly, “It’s a Wonderful Life”-type crying, minus the fuzzy feelings.

Over an hour later, I finally emerged, making my purchases at a few local shops; I was exasperated, but these stores had the foresight to bring out their kindest cashiers to thwart my curmudgeonly transformation. Then I made one wrong turn.

I went to what is likely the single worst Canadian Tire in the country. The narrow aisles were exponentially harder to navigate given the number of people. Since not a creature was stirring, not even a clerk, a customer there started shouting. “Can someone help me for God’s sake?! I need a turkey pan!” When no one answered, he got more agitated. “Seriously! Where are your GODDAMN turkey pans?! Why are they so hard to find?! What the hell is wrong with this store?! WHY WON’T ANYONE HELP ME?”

He kept swearing and shouting, while I, a relatively peaceful person, had to leave the store because I was prepared to find a turkey pan, hunt him down and knock him unconscious with it, channeling Bruce Willis and saying something like “Gobble gobble, motherfucker!” as his head hit the ground. 

So, while I in no way, shape, or form I condone, forgive, nor accept the violence of some holiday shoppers, it’s hard to not also see how the holiday pressure cooker to get more stuff for yourself and others by any means necessary eventually boils over, turning people into vicious versions of themselves, since I almost became one.

Following the brawl that wasn’t, I decided that that was the last year I would participate in the Christmas arms race to get my loved ones more stuff. So the next year, I reverted to two of my first loves: baking and comedy. I made treats for everyone while listening to Patton Oswalt’s stand-up, delicately blending sticks of butter with fits of joy. (If my sampling tests were accurate, I think you could taste the moment Oswalt masterfully takes on a heckler.)

This is my new tradition, since no one I know needs more stuff given out of frustrated obligation. If anything, what we need is more stuff given out of love, and if that sounds too cheesy to you, I kindly suggest you re-watch “It’s a Wonderful Life”.