"Teacher says every time the SJG kvetches,
an angel gets slapped by betches."
Let's face it. It's a festive, festive time. So overtly festive that the SJG had to request a little less of the festive yesterday. Scrooge? How dare you. I like a nice Christmas song as much as the next Jew. Sure, I'd like to walk into a place other than temple and hear "Oh, Hanukkah, Oh Hanukkah" at some point in my life. Give me a riff of "Dreidel, Dreidel" as I schlep through the mall, and I'll rejoice like nobody's business. In the adorable bakery on Ventura Boulevard, all I got was Christmas music blasting at eardrum-busting levels. It was so loud, I couldn't hear myself kvetch.
I sat down and waited for the nice TV exec willing to listen to my TV movie pitch. My comfort and joy needs are pretty basic in these situations. I just want the person sitting across from me to be able to hear me talk. That's all. And so, as "Jingle Bell Rock" blared overhead, I knew what I had to do. I had to do the thing I was born to do. I had to complain. But in a nice way. "Excuse me," I said. The lady behind the counter smiled, expecting me to order a delicious pastry, or maybe a cake. "What can I get you?" she asked. "Um... do you think... is there any chance you might... consider turning down the music? I'm about to have a meeting and -- " Well, the way she looked at me, you'd have thought I'd requested two dozen croissants on the house. After the look came the sigh. And let me tell you, there was plenty judgment in that sigh. There was bah humbug in that sigh. She walked over and made a slight concession. She turned the music down, barely. "Dashing Through The Snow" came thundering out, just as the nice TV exec came inside. And somehow, we managed to block out the deafening Yuletide din and chat for over an hour, without donning our noise cancelling headphones. Can you say Christmas miracle?
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