sweetest day. every year i forget about it, because i hate holidays, and because it has got to be the most insignificant, card-company-fabricated holiday ever. and, every october, it rolls around. i had forgotten about it again, until some people accosted me near belmont and clark on thursday.
two women about my age accost me. one of them shoves a price list in my hand.
woman: come into the store! we're selling expensive name-brand perfumes, discounted from retail.
me: looks at them, bewildered. umm...i don't use perfume.
woman: without skipping a beat, as if she's reminding me of an obligation i have. get some for your boyfriend. sweetest day is on saturday.
me: he doesn't wear it either. hands price list back to woman. continues walking quickly toward clark street.
it's ridiculous. of course sales of schmaltzy, shmarmy stuff must go down in october. no one is major-end-of-the-year-holiday shopping yet, and the summer lovin' has been over for a month or two. that doesn't mean that people have to accost me on the street and try to guilt me into buying things that i don't need. i'm sure all the perfume companies and card companies and flowermongers are going to sell more than enough of their wares during the holiday season. it's coming up. i promise.
happily, i'm not the only one who treats this "holiday" with the derision it so clearly deserves. i was eating lunch at this little greasy spoon a few blocks from The Foof's place, and i heard the following deadpan chat transpire between my waitress and the cook:
waitress: today's sweetest day?
waitress: happy fuckin' sweetest day.
that waitress? my hero.