Because every goddam year, the retail plaza which includes my gym — round the back, up the butt of Ch’i — is swamped on the day of the lunar festival by Southeast Asians from all over the Tidewater, it seems, cramming themselves into the Asian groceries and restaurants and clubs that occupy literally every other leasable space. A parking lot which is normally nasty toward evening, or at weekend peak hours, becomes a day-long circus of cars crawling bumper to bumper, looking for scarce parking spaces, for — what? An opportunity to be jammed so close to others of one’s social cohort that nobody can move or breathe? They drag their kids by the hand behind them, like a silent threat reminding us that in a few years, there will be more and yet more trying to shoehorn themselves into the same couple of acres of commercial property.
This isn’t about my being a bigot of any particular kind. I hate Christmas and its attendant insanities too, as regular visitors to this blog well know. I just cannot understand what it is about any date on the calendar that makes people need to carry on, crowd together, or perform grueling “celebrations” that call for heroic efforts and exhausting travel. For the blood of Christ and the mercy of Kwan Yin, can’t everybody just stay home and let life go on without complication?
It’s not enough that the detritus of the past week’s blizzard is still on the ground, heaped eight and ten feet high at corners and intersctions, blocking up roads and parking lots everywhere. No, these goddamned idiots have to converge on the county line and mill around all day as if there were something to be accomplished by it.
I am already dreading it. I just have to get in and out of there first thing in the morning. Surgical strike.
What it is about a “holiday” that people want to stage a production — going out of their way, at unnecessary expense and to the inconvenience of everyone nearby — in the presence of mobs of other people they don’t even know and can’t possibly like? Maybe someone can explain it to me.