For many, a trip to the local Wal-Mart is an enjoyable experience, something to look forward to each weekend. I however view it in another light; I dread these trips more than dental appointments and must prepare myself accordingly before setting out.

Fortunately for me, my wife has great wisdom, and has arranged for us to suffer the “Happiest Place on Earth” but twice a year. We go once at Christmas, for wrapping paper, tape etc.; and a second time, usually around early summer, as a punishment to me for some transgression or other.

To prepare, I find it helpful to eat a sandwich, or two, prior to leaving the house. Hunger, as we all know, amplifies negative emotions, and my reasoning is that I will soon have enough negativity coursing through my body to nullify all hope and happiness within a 40-mile radius. I also begin the process of denial, which entails setting a goal like, “We’ll be in and out in 20 minutes”, or “I’ll be positive for my wife’s sake.” I realize that denial is futile even as I make these lofty goals, but to calm myself enough to get into the car the ritual must be followed. Failure to adhere to these simple steps has dire consequences as evidenced by my banishment from three Mr. Bagel Shops and the Casablanca Cruise lines.

Right, so off we go, not so merrily, on our way.

Upon entering the flickering fluorescent-lit entry way, with its dirt encrusted floor, I am assaulted by the sound of screaming children. Harried parents, their carts overflowing with treasures, scurry by dragging their wailing, overtired and noisy wains behind them. Thus begins my torment, and with a pain-filled look to my wife, I sigh heavily. The melodies and choruses of Christmas music fly through the air, marketing the season in a not-so-subtle way. Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, that beloved of all Christmas songs plays over and over again until one begins to envision a hunting trip to the North Pole.

Now the area where the wrapping paper is kept is at the far end of the store. This forces one to walk past a bevy of items that are carefully put in one’s path in the hopes of an impulse buy. Many an unwary shopper find themselves caught by the ploy and they stop to peruse some gaudy Christmas bauble or perhaps even a Chia-pet, that most coveted of gifts. As more and more people stop, the aisle becomes blocked and though I can see our destination some yards away, the wall of humanity is immovable. Trying to dodge and squeeze our way through the throng we forgo the idea of saying “excuse me” after being ignored several times.

With much pushing and shoving we finally find our way to the wrapping paper section and though I feel some relief upon achieving this small goal, I am quickly reminded that we are not even close to being finished. For, the bevy of paper, bow, and ribbon options is huge. Who would think that so many different prints and designs existed? From gauche to tacky, one can find it all here, and thus the search begins.

Carefully sifting through the debris left behind by those who went before us, my wife patiently searches for at least one tasteful print, which to her credit she manages to find in short order. For my part I do try to help but by this point my head has begun to ache from the noise and sheer physical force of just getting here. My efforts are feeble as I am just barely able to keep myself from lashing out at the woman next to me who feels it is her right to pull bows out of a package and toss them on the floor like so much litter. Just as I begin to say something mean, my wife tells me it’s time to leave.

Gathering up our items we head for a cattle line and hope to get a competent cashier. Of course we are not that lucky and we get a young woman with a giant neck tattoo that is obviously benumbed by her tedious job. After taking our money she mumbles “Happy Holidays” in a mechanical voice and turns to the next person in line.

Free at last, we leave the “Happiest Place on Earth,” remember that Christmas is not about shopping, and hope not for a speedy return.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

Allen Butler lives in Gray.