Wednesday - December 14, 2005
I thought buying a Christmas tree this year was going to be simple. The reason being that my wife was going to go out, select and pay for our tree and my only job would be to pick it up. Sounds like “cake,” but the curse of the Nagasawa Christmas tree experience is too strong.
You may know from my previous Christmas columns that my wife and I don’t exchange gifts at Christmas. We decided a long time ago that we would focus on our kids, family and friends. We also agreed that we would buy a nice tree because when we first started out, we couldn’t afford one.
My wife called elated the other day because she had found the perfect tree at Richard Tajiri’s. She raved about how nice everyone was and that the prices were reasonable for the quality of trees. She bought a tree and wanted me to pick it up in my truck on my way home from work.
I was so happy that she was happy that I actually sang Christmas carols on my way there. They were very busy loading trees onto people’s vehicles. The trees were all so large that it took at least two big lot workers to load each tree.
I went up with my claim ticket, and my wife was right, everyone was very nice. Out of the corner of my eye, however, I saw a woman scolding someone who I couldn’t see as he was behind the corner of their trailer office. She ended up telling that one guy to find and load up my tree.
When he emerged into my vision, he was the biggest guy I ever saw. Great, he was visibly upset having just been scolded and, like Paul Bunyan, he was bigger than most of the trees he cleared out of the way to get to mine. He was lifting huge trees with one hand as though they were weightless.
He started manhandling our tree, and risking my own life I told him to take it easy and that he better not damage a single needle on the tree. He glared at me, and just when I thought I was going to be snapped in half, he apologized and gingerly loaded the tree into my truck.
People must have thought I was pretty tough to stand up to the “Treeminator.” But the truth is, I’d rather get pummeled by the likes of him than bring home a less-than-perfect Christmas tree to my wife.
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