I’m torn on whether the malls and big retailers should demand their employees work on Thanksgiving. It’s Thanksgiving, after all. Can’t we wait one day before we commence with five weeks of commercializing the crap out of the holidays?
However, over the river and through to woods to Grandma’s house on Thursday morning, it’s nice to stop along the way at McDonald’s or Starbucks, or to top-off the tank.
Forgot the rolls? Thank goodness the supermarket is open until six.
After the feast, a lot of families take in a movie. Someone has to butter the popcorn and sweep the aisles.
Someone has to suit up if we’re going to watch the big game.
Bartenders, cops and firefighters, the doctors and nurses on duty in the emergency rooms, the selfless volunteers who serve holiday meals for the hungry; they work holidays.
Anybody know anyone serving in the military?
And journalists, I can’t forget about them. While their surfeited bosses sit at home or sun themselves on a beach somewhere, journalists unable to fly home for a brief weekend settle for a cup of Top Ramon at their desks.
With some professions, working the holidays just comes with the territory.
Like the Pope. He always works Christmas and Easter.