3 hours ago
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Happy forced frivolity season! We have once again arrived at the eye of the storm for the holidays, where cheerfulness is mandatory and lack of goodwill towards people is punishable by stoning in the town square. Surely, I don’t have to tell you that such quaint human emotions as “happiness” and “hope” are in short supply these days. This year, of all years, no one should be blamed for plugging their ears any time Mariah Carey comes on in the lobby of the unemployment office. And yet, we carry on with the rituals of joy that seem more and more incongruous, when life feels like some never-ending episode of MTV’s Ridiculousness, where God comments on clips of the human race getting hit in the face with a plastic baseball bat.
I’m certainly making an effort to put on a pleasant facade. I’ve cobbled together some nice gifts for my friends and family. I say hello to strangers, even the ones that look like they might want to deny me my basic rights as outlined in the US constitution. And I say yes to just about every holiday party invite – save for one massive exception.
White elephant parties.
You know the ones: you are asked to bring a gift not to exceed a set dollar amount (usually between $50 and $100). The wrapped, secret gifts go into a common slush pile, and guests take turns selecting the one they think they’ll enjoy the most, based entirely on size, packaging and raw gut instinct. You might win big with a useful gadget or a rare knick-knack that only you would find charming. But, dear reader, there’s the chance that someone behind you in the turn line will choose to steal your gift for themselves, sending you back to rummaging through the boxes and bags in the pile. I can’t think of a more dispiriting feeling than unwrapping a hardcover edition of a book you’ve been meaning to read or a pair of bluetooth headphones and having it ripped from your hands like you’re an infant about to put a nine-volt battery in your mouth. The person who invented this cursed activity takes more pleasure in witnessing pain than a dominatrix working the hotel at the Republican national convention.
White elephant exchanges have been around since the early 20th century and have alternatively been referred to as the “Dirty Santa” (not to be confused with the film Bad Santa) or “Yankee Swap” (which sounds like the title of a risque reality show on the Discovery Channel). The term “white elephant” actually means an object that’s valuable, but so expensive to maintain – and useless – that it’s not worth owning. Even the name of these parties makes them feel like a cruel joke, designed only to stymie, frustrate and alienate.
The last time I attended one of these culturally sanctioned, non-sexual cuck parties, I ended up with a “miniature zen garden”, which sounds somewhat appealing. Who doesn’t want a tiny bit of zen in their lives right now? I’d certainly rather have that than the opposite – the low hum of despair that is the 12 hours a day we are forced to be awake. In reality, the “miniature zen garden” is a bag full of sand you dump into a small, flimsy balsa wood box. Never mind the cultural appropriation required to enjoy these. They are also incredibly annoying. I knocked mine over after about a week, and spilled the sand all over my hardwood floor. Not only did I no longer have a “miniature zen garden”, I now had a mess to clean up. Thanks.
You might be wondering what I brought to that white elephant. The honest truth is I don’t remember. All I can recall is that it was absolutely not something good or fun or worth keeping, because the gifts at these parties never are. Countless Barnes & Noble locations across the United States are currently being swarmed by customers scrambling through the weird section of the store by the checkout register with rack after rack of fidget spinners, tiny copies of The Wizard of Oz that can only be read by lab rats, and a box full of scented candles. A zombie horde of obligation.
I am well aware that the point of any holiday party is to be together with friends and loved ones. The presents should, ideally, be secondary to the company of those we care about most. The holiday season allows us a moment to reflect on the past year, to share our hopes for the next one, and reaffirm the bonds that make us human. These sentiments are more crucial than ever. So why do we have to sully it all with a musical chairs sideshow of garbage? It’s time, at last, to make the white elephant extinct!
OK … I realize that last sentence could come off the wrong way.
I just mean the parties.
Merry Christmas!
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Dave Schilling is a Los Angeles-based writer and humorist
