Me and my ding-a-ling
December 3, 2005
For more years than I can count I have put in a one or two hour stint each December ringing a bell beside a kettle for the Salvation Army. It’s Saturday afternoon, and my day as arrived once again. I spent my hour musing on this particular brand of Christmas madness. In years past I stood outside the door of Jacks or County Market, bundled up against the wind and ringing my shrill bell hard, hoping to intimidate a friend or two into feeling sorry for me and parting with some cash.
I’m sad to report that I’m just a wimp now. The Army put me inside the enclosed mall with a teeny little bell with a padded clapper so I won’t make an ass of myself and disturb any shoppers. So I tinkle away, trying to keep mean little boys from stuffing chewing gun into the kettle and smiling at cute little girls who are self-consciously putting in a dollar bill or a coin or two. Since they have pulled my fangs, so to speak, I spent my hour docilely observing the passing scene and trying to become part of the woodwork.
Does that mother know that her five-year-old is trying his best to jam her credit card through the ATM? …I’m standing just outside Kriegers Sports Bar, and I can’t quite make out the game on the nearest screen. …Here comes a mother pushing a huge baby carriage, but with no baby in sight. Must be to hold her packages. …I’ve never seen so many bare midriffs and backs and tattoos. …Lots of kids in tee shirts, regardless of the sleet coming down outside. …That man over there in the camo coveralls doesn’t seem too happy. I wonder how long he’s been waiting. …Look at that big guy propelling his wheel chair along! He actually looks like he’s enjoying the outing. …My back is beginning to hurt. Why did they give me this silly red apron to wear - so I’ll match the kettle? …Here comes a little girl who can’t even see over the top of the kettle. She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do. There is her dotty mother feeding her pennies (pennies, for gosh sake!) She puts in a penny and smiles at me. I smile back and say, “thank you and Merry Christmas.” She puts in another, now warming to her task.
“Thanks. Merry Christmas.” And another. “Merry Christmas, kid.” (This could go on all night.) …ding-a-ling.
My relief shows up and I gratefully hand over my red apron and my wee bell. I shuffle out to the car and find I need a windshield scraper for the first time this winter. Oh, well. Somehow it now seems like Christmas time.
Dave, thinking that bell-ringing isn’t a very efficient way to extract donations.
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