Why I lost my ever-lovin'-shit on Christmas Eve...A Year in Review

Following 4pm Mass on Christmas Eve, 2016, Mallory and I ventured to the other side of town to the "big Dillons" to acquire a fried chicken dinner. I was slightly disappointed to find the deli closed, but was mentally preparing my back-up plan (anything that didn't involve having to cook....Santa still had to wrap the dang presents and all the stocking goodies were in the trunk...well, moms understand). As we walked around the side of the deli, it was then that I noticed the sign indicating the deli would close at 6pm. *Note the time of mass and first sentence* It was barely 5:30 and the deli had clearly been closed for quite some time. Steam tables were cold, everything gleamed with the shine of a fresh cleaning and polishing....and while I appreciated the effort invested in proper kitchen hygiene, I was pissed. The sign implied they'd be open until 6, why were they closed well before hand? So I asked.

"We closed early so the employees could get home to their families for Christmas Eve," the Deli assistant manager told me with a smile, the bells on the end of her Santa hat jingling cheerily.

Um....no. No. Your sign says 6. You work in an industry that will require some, if not all, employees to work holidays. You signed up for this. No. 

At this point, I notice a woman to my side, a fellow disgruntled customer, and we joined forces to find the store manager. When we spoke to the woman, she quickly volunteered to give the other customer a $20 gift card to the store. I waited. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Now I was truly pissed. I came unglued. Completely.

I restated the part about signing up to work in an industry that is open on holidays. I loudly exclaimed my hatred of the store and how I would, from this point on, ONLY shop at Aldi. I mentioned how I'd driven clear across town. I. Lost. My. Shit. 

At the checkout, my checker was wonderful and made up for the store manager's lack of customer service skills by not charging me for the items I was needing to purchase. Even though I wanted to leave them I didn't want to venture further across town to other stores, and he implored me to give them a second chance. Which I reluctantly agreed to do. 

So....I lost my mind over fried chicken from a grocery store. The natural question that should follow this is....why? Why, in the name of all that is holy, would a sane, 38 year old woman, lose her mind over some mediocre fried chicken, especially when said woman had just come from church? 

Well, let me explain....why I lost my ever-loving shit on Christmas Eve over fried chicken. 

This year tried to kill me....spiritually, emotionally, mentally. Possibly physically, if I exaggerate a little.....This year has been the single worst year in many, many years. 

1. It started with a fend-bender. I was rear-ended by a teenager who was looking at his phone and not the line of traffic in front of him that ended in me, that had been stopped by a turning school bus, on a 65 mph highway. I wasn't injured, the kid wasn't injured, the car was *eventually* fixed, and only a deductible on my end was required. Not huge, but a scary, albeit minor inconvenience. 

2. This year was tough on my family. Both adults had work-related stresses. 'Nuff said. 

3. This year was tough on me professionally. My job situation changed. I found myself looking for work at the end of July. It took me four solid months to find a new job, and while I enjoy what I do, it in no way pays what I was making. (I would have gladly worked Christmas Eve. And these ungrateful yokels have a job, that most likely pays more than I am currently making, maybe even more than normal because of the holiday.) This adds to stress. *see point 2*

4. This year is currently trying to claim the life of my beloved little dog, Sam. On the night of Dec 26th, well 27th at 1:30am if I'm being exact, Sam had some sort of incident. This incident wasn't witnessed, as we all were in bed, but the blood-curdling yelping coming from the living room chilled me to the bone. Sam lost the use of his back-legs. He is, essentially, paralyzed from the "waist" down due to three compressed vertebrae in his back, a common issue with daschund/daschund-mixes. Due to points 2 and 3, we were at a loss as to what to do...so I do what people do when they panic and called my mom. She facilitated a hospital stay for Sam and a treatment plan, given the vets positive prognosis and experience in bringing dogs back from this sort of injury, his words. Unfortunately, the positivity was short lived. It is now Dec 30th and as of yesterday Sam has not shown any improvement. Initially, we were going to put him down today. But, when we'd visited him two days prior, he was alert and happy to see us....not the vibe of a dog ready to go. I spent today going over stuff in my head and decided at the very least I wanted him to come home for a few days. I didn't want the last place he stayed to be the cold cinder block kennel at the vets. I wanted it to be at home, surrounded by love, being snuggled and petted and reaffirmed as the beloved family member he is. So, we brought him home. Sam will help us make the decision as to the exact day he will journey to the Rainbow Bridge, but for now, he will be at home. He will be loved up, oiled up ('cause it can't hurt and I believe has the potential to help, even if its just a little) and he will know he is treasured and cherished. And we can come to terms with the inevitable. 

And I can look 2016 square in the eyes as it leaves forever and say YOU DON'T GET TO TAKE MY DOG, MOTHERFUCKER.

You took my sanity, my security, my professional identity, my job, my livelihood, my sense of peace.....you tried to take other things as well, but.....YOU DON'T GET TO TAKE HIM TOO. If I have to let him go, and eventually I will, 2017 gets him. YOU. DON'T. WIN. 

And that, boys and girls, is why I lost my ever-lovin' shit on Christmas Eve. Or...When Fried Chicken Became The Straw that Broke This Camels Back.