Walking with my kid through the drug store today, I saw this tchochke on the shelf. “Merry Chirsmas?” I thought to myself. “Haw! They spelled it wrong!” So I took a picture, thinking the whole thing was pretty funny.
After I got home, I thought about why it’s probably misspelled. Some poor sap in Honduras or Vietnam or Bangladesh has been spending 12 hours a day, for months on end now, spelling “Merry Christmas” with sparkly white glue on the front part of the fake green glitter belly of a snowman that looks like a crafty creation but is really the product of some third world sweatshop. That poor sap is taking home a dollar an hour while comfortable fat men like Nicholas Kristof refer to his or her job as “a dream” before tucking in to their prime rib. The poor sap isn’t paid enough to keep himself or herself out of grinding poverty, just enough to stay alive. Why? So some jerk like me can bring home a little whimsy for $12.49, not $13.49.
All of a sudden “Merry Chirsmas” doesn’t seem so funny any more.
Merry goddamn Christmas.