First of all, I have to admit that this is a
mostly true story. I have exaggerated and embellished a few of the more mundane points to make it just a little bit more interesting. It all took place many, many years ago (I'd say I was maybe 10 or so) when I got my first chemistry set for Christmas. I had been wanting a chemistry set for the longest time because I wanted to make cyanide and I thought they were absolutely just the coolest thing to get. Well, Atari games were pretty cool, too. And cassette tapes. Remember those? I used to have Melissa Manchester's
Emergency on cassette. Man I miss that tape. I should get her CD. Anyway, it was around the time that I knew
Spoiler:
Santa Claus doesn't actually exist
and my parents went ahead and put the presents under the tree before Christmas Eve. And they always told us (myself and my sister) that we weren't allowed to mess with the presents because it ruins the surprise if we guess what it is before we open them. So we (again, myself and my sister; don't worry, I'll assume that you now know "us," "we," and the forthcoming "our" refers to myself and my sister) respected our parents decision and agreed not to take that excitement away from them. Well one night when I was up late (We didn't have the Internet back then, so the only reason to stay up was to look for strange patterns in the ceiling spackle. You know you've done it, too. I found Yoda once.) and decided to sneak out and investigate the presents. There were only half a dozen or so. Me and my sister had the same amount; my parents knew it would be hell on earth if we didn't have the exact same amount of presents. It wouldn't matter what they were, even if I got gold bricks and she got lumps of coal, as long as they were evened out. So one-by-one I picked up the packages, rolled them around, poked at them, and even gave them a bit of a shake. When I inspected my sister's presents that sounded fragile, I would drop them on the floor or throw them down the stairs, just for fun. I was real bastard back then. I still kind of am. Some sounded like clothes, some sounded like dead mice (which, eerily, sounds about the same. Try it.), some others now sounded like broken glass. Knowing that my mom knows exactly how she wraps gifts and she would notice if they were re-taped, I didn't try the infamous
peel-the-tape-and-open-the-end-of-the-present-to-see-what-it-is trick. I would have totally gotten an ass-whuppin' for that. And then my mom would switch the tags for our gold and coal. So days went by and little by little more presents started showing up under our tree, and every night I would sneak out and try to figure out what they were. I was certain I was getting some cassette tapes (those were pretty obvious, duh) and some clothes. Or dead mice. Also, I could have sworn one of my presents smelled like strawberries; I hoped it wasn't some crazy-ass underwear my mom thought would be funny to get me. But most of the others I just couldn't figure out. So the days kept continuing on and I kept trying to guess what everything was, but, ultimately gave up simply because if it wasn't shaped like a cassette tape case, I didn't know what the hell it was. So Christmas Eve rolls around and of course, I'm just dying to know what I've got and I'm buggin' my parents non-stop all day to let us open just one of our presents. Only one. That's not too much to ask, is it? So they finally caved and said we could open
just one! I was so excited! I ran to the living room, grabbed the biggest box with my name on it and sat down by the chair. Then my parents came in with this
just-what-the-hell-do-you-think-you're-doing-with-that-present look and took it away from me, placing it back under the tree. They then reached under and grabbed me and my sister little cassette-taped sized presents and handed them to each of us. I was pissed. I knew what the hell it was and I didn't want to open it. I gave my sister a signal to let her know she could open hers first. She gave me a look like she was gonna open hers first anyways. She took the wrapping off.
Cocktail - The Soundtrack. Whoop-de-shit. I laughed at her 'cuz I knew it was just a bunch of crappy songs. Unless you like Tutti Fruity. She looked at me like she knew mine was gonna be worse. I looked at her like I knew mine was gonna be better. I tore the paper off. What the hell?! It was a blank tape! Seriously! One of the ones you got to record songs off the radio. I opened it up. On the pathetic little label on the pathetic little tape inside the pathetic little case were these pathetic little letters written in pathetic black marker: "Cocktail - The Soundtrack" I couldn't believe it!! My parents were so damn cheap, they gave me a COPY of my sister's tape!! Wait 'til I send the RIAA a letter about this!! (Although I don't think that was such a big deal back then) So that pretty much ruined the rest of my night. I didn't even want to open anything else. I just wanted to go to bed and wake up after Christmas, after all the stupid we-got-you-the-same-thing-as-your-sister-so-nobody-would-get-upset presents were opened and I could go back to simply looking for interesting shapes in my ceiling. At this point I was convinced that indeed my sister had gotten the gold, but instead of coal, I was given pyrite as a way of saying "We love you just as much as your sister. Almost." So the following morning I dragged myself out of bed wormed my way downstairs and mournfully plopped myself on the floor awaiting the arrival of my chipper holier-than-thou sister. Bitch. I then noticed something that caught my eye. Looking at the tags of the presents, I realized that something was amiss. Presents that had my name on them now had my sister's and vice versa. I was confused. My parents and sister joined me and found appropriate spots around the room. My dad saw the confused look on my face and gave himself self-satisfying smirk. I think I crapped myself. That's when he spoke up. "I figured you'd get bored looking for the rest of the Star Wars cast in your ceiling and come snooping around the presents, so your mother and I switched all the tags to confuse you. Looks like it worked. You don't know what you're getting now, do you?" Pompous jerk. I glanced back at the presents. I looked at boxes of clothes. I looked at my strawberry-scented underwear--which were now my sister's strawberry-scented underwear. I looked at my dead mice--which were now my sister's dead mice. I looked at my sister's broken glass that had been thrown down the stairs.
My broken glass. I had been duped. I looked at my mom. She kind of had this disappointing I-knew-you-would-look-but-I-was-hoping-you-wouldn't look on her face. I looked at my sister. She had a ha-ha-you're-stupid look that led me to believe she knew they were doing it. My dad broke the silence of my looking at everyone by grabbing a box from under the tree and handing it to my sister. Then he took another and handed it to me. My sister gave me a signal as if to say, "Go ahead and open it. Dumbass." I reluctantly peeled back the green-and-red paper to reveal a box with the worst thing printed on it possible: JCPenny. Fuck. Clothes. I opened the box to reveal... what else? A sweater. But not just any sweater. It was a Christmas-themed sweater. You know, the ones with reindeers and Christmas trees and Santa and his sleigh. The kind you can only wear for about 1 week out of the year unless you're one of "those" people. You know the kind. The same ones that wear clothes from one-time event because they got them at the Goodwill because the person who donated them would never wear them ever again. You can't tell me you've never seen anyone wearing one of those Hands Across America t-shirts with stains all down the front of it. Anyway, after several more gifts of clothes, dollar store brand toys, my sister's strawberry-scented underwear (which turned out to simply be a Strawberry Shortcake doll) and books I only had a few packages left. The broken glass was still under the tree and so were my sister's dead mice. As I was looking at them, my dad grabbed the dead mice and handed it to my sister. I smirked. He then picked up the broken glass. As the jagged shards trickled down the inside of the box, he gave me a menacing look. My smirk went away. He gave a quick look to my mom who in turn also gave me a menacing look and then she looked at my sister, telling her to go ahead and open her present because I broke mine and wasn't going to get it. My parents then looked at each other and each held back a little giggle. I was once again confused. I watched as my sister ripped the wrapping away. I stared as she picked the tape that held the two box halves together. I gazed as she began to lift the two box halves apart. I jumped back as she shrieked and threw the box across the room. My parents burst into laughter. I looked at the corner of the room where the box halves lay. There, on the ground next to them, were three fake, dead mice! Damn I'm good!! Now I was curious as hell to know what my broken glass is. Or was, for that matter. So then the final gifts were handed to me and my sister. Mine was about the size of a chemistry set and hers was about the size of a boom box. Given my record of figuring out what the gifts were, I figure I had a 66-75% of getting my chemistry set. (Don't ask me to actually go back and figure out the math exactly) My dad gave us the signal and we tore into our gifts. I glanced up at my sister who was tearing the paper off of her new carrying case for Barbie dolls. I watched my odds drop. Ripping the paper away, I revealed the words "CHEMISTRY" in huge, bold letters. I almost crapped again. While barely holding back the urge to rip the box open and start making cyanide, I shredded the rest of the paper to reveal the rest of the package... "THE CHILDREN'S BIG BOOK OF CHEMISTRY AND SCIENCE." It was a book. That came in a box. With stupid crap. And absolutely nothing chemistry-related. Just boring stuff like posters and flash cards and one of those gray drawing boards where you lift the plastic sheet and your writing disappears. What does that have to do with chemistry and science, anyway? The box says it's a "Space-age scientist's notepad!" Whatever. I looked under the tree, but it was empty. I looked all around me. Lots of stuff. An A.J. Foyt race car with truck and trailer, some G.I. Joes, a bunch of clothes, and a new Atari game, E.T., I couldn't wait to play it; everyone's been talking about it. But no chemistry set. Just a book about it. Oh well, all in all, it was a good year, even though I didn't get what I really wanted. Although I did talk my sister into giving me her fake dead mice, which came in very handy for the next several years. In the end it was a memorable day (obviously) and that's what really matters.
Epilogue: I later found out that my mom and dad didn't want to get me a chemistry set, fearing I would make cyanide or something and kill myself. Instead, they got me a book about chemistry and...
sigh ...some glass beakers and test tubes to experiment with household kitchen stuff.