American Idle

I stood at the counter, a stack of books in my hands, waiting to pay. Five employees outnumbered the customers by two. They chatted, all ignoring me. A man in his 30s was complaining that there are no uniquely American holidays besides the 4th of July.

“Thanksgiving?” Someone offered. Not terribly profound, it was yesterday.

“Maybe.” He conceded reluctantly.

“Excuse me?” That was me. “Can I pay for these?”

He was annoyed, and made a production out of it, which was odd since I was paying in cash. He kept yammering to the others about how all of our holidays are also celebrated elsewhere.

I thought I’d try to be friendly. I smiled. “What about President’s Day?”

He glared at me. “I suppose you could say that.”

“And Martin Luther King Jr. Day.” I continued. “Arbor Day?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He frowned. “I suppose. Maybe. Do you want a bag?”

I kvetched all the way to the car. Robert pointed out that when we walked into the store, the guy was talking about something his mother had said at breakfast. Over 30, and he lives with his mother. No wonder he doesn’t think Thanksgiving is a holiday. It’s his daily life.