Operation Piss-Nath-OffSubmitted by w_t_a_y_s_t_r_m at 2006-12-07 08:09:00 EST
Rating: 1.95 on 23 ratings (23 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
November 30th, 23:59:30. A man, sat in his darkened office sits quietly, looking from his digitally clock to his telephone, the only two items that currently sit on his large, oak effect desk. As the seconds flick to 50, he picks the phone up and presses speed-dial one.
He’s allowed the perfect timing, allowing for dial and delay in the pick-up at the other end. As the clock silently turns all settings to indicate midnight on the first of December the receiver in the war room downstairs is picked up.
“GO GO GO GO!” He shouts into the phone. “Operation Piss-Nath-Off is a go!”
“Affirmative.” Replies the faceless clone that sits in the room, who turns to all the other operatives and chiefs as he replaces the phone. “We have a green light people.” He says in his boring, drone of a voice.
Instantly the room erupts into action. This is the moment they all planned for since the 26th of December the year before. Phones all rung, decorations are sped to locations up and down the country, cards are written carefully and The Switch is thrown.
The Switch. The key of all previous operations. The Switch is connected to all broadcast networks on television, radio and online. Those who couldn’t wait had already began their Christmas advertising and programming, but the other 65% decided to wait for the start of the operation. Every year the number grows in order to increase the impact, and this year is the highest ever.
There is a slight flicker on all broadcasts around the world; barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. As The Switch enters it’s ‘On’ position, where it will remain for the next twenty-five days. For that time it will be closely guarded by various members of various armed forces to ensure that it will be a constant, uninterrupted flow of Christmas broadcasting for the maximum excusable time.
After the initial half-hour buzz dies down, all clones get back to their regular, annual job. First stop is my street. Each night until the fourteenth more and more houses will become obnoxiously decorated in pathetic lights that add nothing at all to the season and hold no bearing on what is being celebrated or remembered.
At five o’clock every morning of the weekday that same process will occur, but on a wider scale. It will follow my regular journey to work, until eventually when I’m on the way home at five thirty, when it’s pitch black outside, I’ll forget I’m in a shitty little bit of the country and instead believe I’m back in Vegas. But to ensure my happy illusion doesn’t last too long, a large, muddy puddle will be refilled before each of my two journeys. The splash and resulting mud covered windows will be enough to snap me back to my disappointment.
Next on the agenda of Operation Piss-Nath-Off will be cards. Small bits of cardboard with a pointless printed message, an irrelevant image on the cover and a bit of scribble from someone I either dislike or no longer remember. The idea behind this little task is to try and riddle me with guilt for not returning the gesture. My lack of guilt is what I consider my only victory of the season.
Presents will be next. Due to outstanding social pressure I will feel as if I should purchase presents for certain people. Not many, but some. This is forced upon me by various friends and family who are all integral parts of Operation Piss-Nath-Off.
I’m sure the Operation leaders know that buying presents doesn’t annoy me, which is why they ensure the means is worst than the ends. My plans are discovered, possibly via a security leak (most likely my girlfriend or mother), and whenever I attempt to leave my shitty little part of the country to an even remotely commercial area, so will every operative. They will fill every shop I intend on using and form massive lines behind the most attractive sales assistants, blocking a second victory from me.
With presents wrapped, cards ignored and decorations scoffed at, that leaves only one remaining weapon to finally break me down and destroy me:
Children On School Holidays (COSH)
COSH is planned very carefully, with the entire school year being planned around the Christmas period, ensuring maximum time away from the classroom and maximum time to wherever I might be. Whether this is at work, shops, pubs, the library (probably) or the casino. Children manage to get everywhere. They’re like beach sand or Greek salad olives. No matter how many you dispose of, more take their place.
And what makes this worst is their happy. Excited, full of joy. I can handle kids when they’re sad and crying, because then I can mock them and make it worst, but children are bullet proof to mockery and belittlement at this time of year. They are truly the Fat Man to my Nagasaki.
At least this is how I imagine it happens. I might be totally wrong. Maybe I’m being arrogant to assume that all this mess, hassle and money is being spent purely to piss me off, but you can’t argue with results.