Main Char got out of his... auto and proceeded to stomp his merry little way through the happy jolly parking lot in which, yes, he had parked, and relished not at all his wet shoes after only having traversed exactly half the length 'twixt his mobile and the store's entrance. Briefly Zeno arrowed through his mind, and then didn't. Main was in a foul mood, his merry little way through the happy jolly parking lot notwithstanding, and it had nothing to do whatsoever with the fact that he had parked in that space which was the absolute furthest from the store, although it gave ample opportunity to the hobo that descended upon him at that second to descend upon him, and hoboes were Main's second greatest fear in wide open public spaces (Hare Krishnas were his first) and specifically the descending upon him that they could do. Main tried vainly to make no eye-contact with the man in the typical hobo boots and hobo pants and hobo shirt and hobo jacket, which is to say, wearing no sweats the man wasn't a bum, wearing no hightops the man was no mere homeless, and wearing, not holding, his top-hat, the man was no pan-handler. He had a scruffy beard and moustache, the which were bespeckled in a cute and fuzzy manner with laughing snowflakes, all around his cherry red nose and cheeks.

It was in vain, the eye-contact avoidance thing, as it was to have been made clear earlier in this text, vain, I say, because the hobo looked directly at Main so powerfully that Main stopped short, and moved not, owing also to the hobo' standing directly in his path. Subtle alcohol smells wafted from the hobo's speaking parts, which is to say, his mouth and hands. "It's unfortunate but true! Money rules the world, and it shouldn't, for where does it say in texts-religious that a man's duty is to his wallet?" The hobo had a sort of calming fervor about him, as well as the smell.

"Awa, awa," Main managed.

"Because money is the means by which a man can lay claim to his desires! And then, as the psychological professionals say, the garnering of one thing desired only leads to the desiring of other things!" The hobo had stepped closer to Main, a feat that would have seemed impossible, owing to that silly little universal law about matter not occupying the same space as other matter at the same time. But Main had stepped back without knowing it, and that's from where his misapprehension had come.

"Awa, awa," he managed.

"And there's the problem! Money relieves a man's desires-and therefore gives him more desires! Its sole function is to create a need for itself! Man is doomed unless he sheds his money-coated skin and emerges new-born in an economy free world!" The hobo was almost beside himself by now, though not yet foaming, and this was much to Main's chagrin, for by himself the hobo was doing an adequate job of blocking Main Char, and beside himself there was no place for Main to go. The foaming thing, however, was not a subject of the aforementioned chagrin at all.

"Awa, awa, what about women?" Main hoped that this feeble attempt at distraction would work, not only in so far as he always hoped what he attempted worked, but also because even the nuttiest of political mouth-foamers-whether the foaming was metaphorical or not! usually adhered to political correctness-a wholly unnecessary and ugly beast that with which somehow the United States of America had become unduly fascinated-kind of like it had with Michael Jackson.

"Don't masticate the issue! I enjoin you! I'm no prelate of the psychotic-stranger muse, choosing my victims with random ease, to accost on a nervous whim! Do you really thing you can discomfit my rational with your pseudo-important arguments espaliered against the sallow wall of social consciousness?"

Main suddenly wished he had a dictionary.

"Listen to me. Man or woman, doesn't matter. Everyone is a victim of the Yuletide's modern purpose: to reapolster the sagging cloth of our nation's arm chair of an economy. Do you think Jesus or Yahweh or Allah or Buddha is in that store?" A typical fingerless glove pointed the way. "Or is it the great god greed?"

Main finally understood the man's point. Spend money? No, that was the root of all evil. And what was that old holiday maxim? It is better to give than receive. Ah well. Sure of himself now, Main thrust a hand into his pocket to obtain his loose change. "I'll say, that was one heck of pitch. And to think, it was all for a handout! Well, it worked, that's true, though I-"

The hobo squeezed his eyes shut tight and shook his shaggy head to and fro in a most amusingly melodramatic way, insisting," No, no no, I don't want your money! I have taken a vow of poverty! Listen-"

But Main, much past his younger, more naive days of 'awa, awa' was in control. "Well if you don't want my salubrious aid, (for indeed, what help isn't healthy?) then why have you detained me on this, the last shopping day before Christmas?"

The hobo reached smoothly into his jacket pocket and pulled forth pamphlets. "Read this literature. It explains-"

Main's eyes became green pools with but pinpricks of black. From a great distance, he heard himself utter, "What did you say?"

The hobo was almost stymied by Main's ashening face. "Literature? From the International Society for Krishna Consciousness? We are striving-"

Mains voice, if it were an eye, would also have seemed to be but a pinprick, so quietly did he squeak through his constricted throat, "What did you say?

The hobo was quite taken aback by this apparent commoner who seemed to be having a heart attack, stroke, or sudden craving for chocolate. In any case, and in every case, or in some cases, say, nine out of ten, the Krishna hobo, who usually abandoned the orange sheets and hairlessness when the winter months took a toll on his poverty vow, decided conveniently at that point to convert someone else, lest he be blamed by this man, or Vishnu himself, or more importantly, the cops for this man's sudden demise.

Main took as long to exhale a relieved breath as would a casual smoker take a post-whatever-might induce-one-to-calmly-smoke drag. He blinked away the terror that had befallen him, mused suddenly on the hobo's hasty departure, and muttered, "That was convenient."

Yes it was, admitted the author, who wanted to get on with things.

Main noticed as he proceeded to proceed with his store-wise hike that his shoes wear quite damp by this point in time, and as it were, he decided to keep the hand he had stuffed into his pocket for to fetch the silvery coinage that he had believed would assuage the hobo in his pocket, for it was there that he found his body's only warmth. Thus his merry little way through the happy jolly parking lot on the fluffy whiteness of the hours lateness was now jingling too.

And it would seem this was the reason he was stopped, on the store's threshold, once again on a matter of money, though this time it wasn't a body but a voice that stopped him, or even better, a reaction to the voice that induced halting. It said, between louder, more raucous jingles of its own, "I heard that!" Oh, would he ever get into the store?

Main was in no position academically to judge whether a stout man but not stout enough to pass as the merry elf sobriqueted "Nick", dressed in the red and white fluff of that same personage, who also, it should be noted, went by Cringle, or Kringle if you were of or in Germany, was able to hear Main's own pockets' contents over the din he made with the bell he, the faux-santa, not Main, swung at his side laboriously. But he, Main this time, not the habiteur of the North-Pole, had to admit it would have been quite an accomplishment, and thus his stopping. He yelled, "What?"

The driver of reindeer moved not at all from his spot, nor waylayed the humongous noises engendered by his arms-o-swingin'. "I said, I heard that change clanking greedily in your pocket." His head, topped by a red cap and bottomed by assuredly false whiskers, bobbed at a nearby bucket. "Fork it over. Charity."

And so Main Char, who had earlier been ready to part with his coiny funds for the sake of a loquacious hobo, dumped his pocket's contents, which didn't include his wallet, for he kept it in his hip pocket, into the bucket, though he forsook the warmth lost in the bargain.

Yes, it was white, as was mentioned before, but not really, as was also mentioned, and indeed, Main and his interlocutor were near the store's entrance and the obligatory night lights, but nonetheless the bucket was black from the rim in, which is to say, anyone but the infrared envisioned would be hard pressed to name its contents, for it sat in the toy-man's shadow, which would seem to be a hindrance to the conveyance of monetary sustenance. However but and despite this, the sleigh-master peered at Main with disgust immediately after the money disappeared, as Main himself peered at the man in hopes of a thankyou, godbless, happy holidays, or some such. Instead, "Seventy-eight cents?" as if it were not worthy of his cistern.

And now Main wanted to be gruff, because he was at place he didn't want to be at a time he didn't want to be doing what he didn't want to do for reasons he didn't want to admit having, yea and verily and you betcha. And it had always been Main's opinion that charity mongering would be a lot more pleasant for all involved if dashing teenaged types were the ones ringing the bells, because on the one hand the were more enjoyable to regard than your average besmirched non-Clause, and on the other they usually got bored quick and left everyone the heck alone. And so, caustically, Main said, "Looks like the poor will have to forgo their filet mignon and eat ground chuck this year." Feeling triumphant for no darn good reason, he finally entered the store.

Main Char had absolutely no idea why the place was called "Clich‚'s Department Store." That is, he knew why it carried the Clich‚'s part-Ambrose Clich‚ had worked most of his life at earning enough to leave his native France in the early nineteenth century, and once here, hard-worked most of what was left of his life to earn the money needed to start a business, and then worked the remaining few years of his life to render that business profitable. Ironically, or justifiably, he died the same day the store turned its first profit. Some said this was only appropriate-he had realized his dream, and therefore needed no longer to live. Others pointed out that Ambrose had no way of knowing that he had turned a profit that day, since he was unconscious in his sick-bed for most of that sol-period, and the books weren't totaled until the end of the month. Still others said it was poetic. Main didn't care really, nor did he care that Clich‚'s sons-in-law had taken that business and turned into one of the nations top stores, both in profits and in numbers. The only thing he cared about, at least remotely enough to think about it, was why this overhuge glorified five and dime was called a department store. Was it merely because it sold just about everything, from clothing and appliances to computers and groceries? But a department store, in Main's nostalgic mind, was a place that had elevators between floors, operated by sour old men whom others knew on a first name basis; a place where one never, ever carried one's purchases home- rather, they were delivered, whether those purchases were furniture or neckties. A department store was definitely not a place to buy dog food, computer diskettes, tabloid newspapers, or basketball-star posters.

And yet, Clich‚'s certainly had gotten into the department store spirit with its decorations. They were simply everywhere. In fact, so horribly obscured were the usually helpful signs on pillars with holly and mistletoe and fake green wire-fuzz that Main knew not at all which way to go. For his was not an instinctual knowledge of the whereabouts of this that and/or the other in any given shopping domicile. He vaguely wandered westward.

Main had always been the sort of person he never went shopping anyway. Shopping is what a person does when that person knows he or she wants to purchase something in general, but not something specific. If ever Main woke up with the urge to merely spend his money, he invariably went to the bookstore and wound up spending nothing, so much the greater were his wants than his funds. And whenever it occurred that Main -the desire to actually spend existing or not- had to buy something in particular, he usually walked into the appropriate store, found the item, paid for it, and left.

"But alas, this is not either situation," Main thought as he ambled past a great towering stack of teddy-bears with green and red bow-ties that maybe were supposed to look all together like a Christmas tree but instead looked like some sort of weird Christmas pyramid of fur. And ambled really was a good word for it: if alone, Main's locomotive velocity might have seemed to be in the legato style, but as it was, he was being buoyed along by the absolute throng of folk that were a sea around him. "What I need to do is throw propriety to the wind and just give money this year." But this would cut out the middle man, and bring the nation's economy to its sore and bruis‚d knees, Main's hobo acquaintance would have said, and though Main wouldn't, it wasn't the reason he didn't. Damned tradition. Damned decency. Damned canned-goods.

Canned Goods? Main's plight wasn't as bad as it could have been. After all, he wasn't stranded here at the store, it wasn't as if he had a flat tire, or had run out of gas. He could leave anytime he wanted to, just turn around and go out, and to heck with the gift-giving spirit, the Yuletide custom, and the canned goods. Woops. Main had chosen incorrectly. Westward, ho, and all that, had led him inexorably to the supermarkety half of the gigantostore. This colossal dinosaur of a purchasing center would have to be traversed from tail to head before he found what he was looking for, Main feared, which was sad, because until he found it, he really couldn't leave, whatever bravado he thought he had, and until he came to terms with deciding what it was he was going to buy, he couldn't even do that. Look for, I mean, not leave.

Main had, with as much pause as a comma affords the illiterate, plunged his hand into the fishbowl his family circulated every end-of-November, and had drawn the name of a relation he had never known existed. Funny. The bowl had been held at the time by an aunt in his own apartment, because it was she that flitted about the city with the danged thing, making each relation choose, instead of doing it herself and faxing him his giftee like any sane person would. And of course, he had picked a cynic, and of course, he had determined, in a self-gratiating moment, to make this person appreciate their relationship more than he did, and of course, you think you've caught the fact that Main didn't know he had this relation but knew the relation was a cynic and all that anyway? Well that's because the aunt had curled up her nose when Main had asked, "Who the heck is -----?" and she had said, "A cynic, I had ----- last year, hated everything I gave. Just get a gift certificate, or give cash. The limit this year is fifty dollars, by the way." And of course, fool that he was, Main had said, "Naw. I think I'll get ----- something nice." When not in department stores, Main was an okay guy.

In department stores, he was a lost guy, and darnit if he hadn't forgotten about the gift thing until this last day of shopping, the night before he was to contribute to the congregation at gramma's house for the exchanging of gifts, an event this year which would be bigger than ever judging from the extra rooms the aunt had reported that granpa had built, the wizened old nut that he was, and the showing up not of just one unknown relative, but of ten, and if you think you've caught the author in another one, because Main should have met the unknown relative at the last cadeux-jubilee when auntie had given ----- the gift, just remember the story gets made up as it goes along, and, yea, that's the ticket, Main had not gone the last time because he had been ill. Yea. In Barcelona. Yea. And he was Jewish that year anyway. So there.

So Main was lost in a place he really didn't want to be doing something he didn't really want to do for all the wrong reasons, and his feet were still wet and it was looking bleaker by the second. But then Main saw the light. or least, somebody else did, and Main basked in their shadow. Three very tall men with dark skin and easy grins were conversing near Main when he overheard, "No, Frank, this is not the electronics section, that's on the other side of the store."

"I thought you wanted the Pet-section anyway, Murry."

"I did- but it's next to the electronic section, which I thought would be easier for Cole to find, what with all the Christmas lights that would be sold there."

"Then how did we end up next to these packages of macaroni, Murry?"

"Because I wanted to avoid the Shoe department, which if you'll recall Herrod's in London, is much the same- crawling with salesmen with nothing to do but leap upon you."

"You've got a point there, Frank. Who would by shoes on Christmas eve?"

"So we are taking the long route, Cole."

"Then lead on." Main said, though they heard him not, for he was much shorter than they were, and lost, voice wise, in the babble of other persons. Nonetheless they began to leave, and Main followed, because he judged that anyone wise enough to avoid shoes must be smart enough to get wherever he was going, and as it was, Main didn't know where he wanted to be -he only knew where he didn't want to be- maybe they would get him closer to something besides bottles of kosher pickles.

And choosing these three particular individuals as guides out of the staple wilderness was an exceptional choice, for their tall heads were easily viewed over the crowd. In all truth, their heads were not tall at all, but quite normal shaped. But there bodies were tall, which put their heads head and shoulders above the rest of the shoulders in the area. They wandered through the latter end of the grocery section, through the clothing department, past sporting goods, appliances, toys, and the automotive section, which much to Main's surprise was as full as the rest of the store with shoppers. Ah yes, Thought Main sarcastically, what I wouldn't give to see a nice pair of shock absorbers under the tree. And what's this in my stocking? Spark plugs? Oh thankyou Santa, I guess leaving a copy of "Hot-Rod" magazine with the milk and cookies did the trick.

And then Main Char almost ran quite forcefully into the back of one of the gentlemen, which is to say he nearly collided with the man at a speed that would have been by no means lethal, but nonetheless rude, though the use of the word "run" is owing only to the convenience of the expression and should not be understood as a description of anyone's speed in that tightly packed place. But Main missed him.

Despite his tallness, Frank, incensed, had only just at that moment, apparently, noticed the very large and very bright star that hung over their heads. "I say, Murry, what is that?"

"A largish star, I should think, wouldn't you say, Cole?"

"And what is doing above the pet department, prithee?"

Another fellow nodded (and Main would have admitted under oath, or revealed under the rigors of any lie-detector test, or even if he was fed only a very small amount of sodium pentathol, that he never really knew which one was Frank, which was Murry, and which was Cole) and said, "Yes, I see your point, one would think such a display would hang above the department from which one could buy it."

"Well, we obviously made a wrong turn, because this isn't what we were looking-"

"Yes it is, Murry. We were only looking for the electronics department because it's next to the pet department."

"Well, I don't like it unless a plan is followed to the letter..."

"Surely you don't mean for us to actually continue searching for the electronics department."

"Well, it's not really near here anyway."

"What?"

"We passed it on our way here, yes, but it looked more like toys than electronics, so Cole paid it no mind."

"Then why didn't you say-?

"Because! I noticed straightaway that the pet department wasn't even close to it, and furthermore, Cole was leading, not me, and there, you see, I knew he only follows plans to their letter."

"Then how in the world did we get here?"

"Divine grace, I should imagine."

The three mused on that for a bit, and Main, smiling, chose the moment to slip away (and I'm sorry, but no explanations will be offered as towhy Main Char had to choose a moment to slip away. You were following their conversation too, weren't ya?) As he became engulfed in a fresh wave of crowd, he heard them say, "Well, let's find this Messinah fish- I think it might be-" and Main lost the rest.

One of the reasons Main hated this shopping nonsense so much was the dog-eat-dog kind of retail acquiring that went on, or occurred, or happened, where every man, woman, and child was for him and her and... its self, and rudeness was as prevalent as overdraft-spending. But here were three relatively calm fellows who were very nice, pleasant, and even charming, and who had leant Main considerable assistance, though not to their knowledge, of course. Main began to think things might not be so bad after all. And just as he was thinking as much wouldn't ya know it a rather large, hairy woman in a white t-shirt the read in badly faded red, "I ? Chicago" hit Main with all the force of a mack truck on phencyclidine and bowled him into a narrow aisle as she swept past, somehow glaring at him over her shoulder while navigating her bulging shopping cart through the throng. Shrugging, Main stood up, satisfied that he hadn't been wrong about folks after all.

So finally, then, he was in an area where he could do some proper browsing, and get that furshlunger gift. But what to buy? As it was, he stood in the real toy section, and not the one they all, including Main, had thought they had passed. The store must have switched the two at some point between now and Murry's? Frank's? Cole's? last visit. Maybe he could show the cynical ----- a thing or two this Christmas, and get him a toy. Yes, it would be just the thing- a magical Christmas evening, the family gathered in a loving spirit, a fire in the hearth warming their parts that the egg nog hadn't managed to warm itself, and crying with joy, ----- open his package: "I feel like a kid again! Thankyou, Main, for showing me what Christmas means! Look, everyone! it's-" Main grabbed off the shelves at random the first package that came to hand- "A Mighty Morphin Power Rangers Combination Lazer Pistol , Fiscal Annihilator and Tea Set! What?" Okay, Main thought, maybe not that toy. "Picture the scene again," he thought, "the family, the fire, the nog, and -----'s tears, as he opens... a pair of Talking Barney Shoelaces." No no no! Main tossed this package aside too, and searched for another one, thinking, "Family. Fire. Nog. Tears. ----- opens... A Solar Powered Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Wacky Pizza Machine (Donatello's voice says "Yum" with every finished slice!)

Disgusted, Main stalked out of the toy department, realizing finally that -----'s reaction to any such toyish attempts would probably result in just more cynicism. "Hey everybody, look what Main got me! How stupid- a Batman flashlight. You're such a schmuck, Main." Well, Main would show him! He would buy a gift certificate- from this lousy store! And then ----- would have to wade through the post holiday crowds, which were always worse ! That would show him! Making Main forge into the cold night to be accosted by hoboes and false-santas, only to be lost and confused by cheap plastic merchandising. Yea! Main looked up, decided the back of the store was to his left, (for they always make you walk past all the stuff on your way to purchasing gift certificates, just in case you're an impulse buyer) and headed that way. Mad now, and with a mission, No one stayed in his way for long.

But what was that? That tinkling, ringing sound? Somehow, it totally stripped Main Char of his fortitude as quickly as he had garnered it. What was it? Where was it? From around this corner, maybe? Main turned, and found himself in a small alcove that was relatively customer free, and saw the single most delightful thing he had ever gazed upon in his entire life.

Ten miniature wooden soldiers were mounted on a stage of sorts, each holding in one hand a small ball on a spring. Next to each soldier was a bell, and they took turns swinging around and striking these bells, in such an order as to produce a Christmas song. Currently, they played "Good King Wenceslas" A baptismal tear rolled down Main's cheek, washing away all his own cynicism and holiday hatred as he watched the little men spin and play their song. This was the gift to get- no one could experience such a display and not be moved, this was what the season was about- it wasn't an economic rebound, or a means by which to ascertain goodies, or even a rehashing of one's religious belief's. It was simply about taking the time to search one's own soul to find what one held most dear- and then to give it to someone else.

Main reached with prodigal hands for the last box on the shelf next to the display- and was bowled over once again by the hairy tee-shirt laden woman, who snatched the box herself and stuffed it into her cart, moving on with the swiftness of an elephant on amphetamines and this time not giving Main a second glance.

Thwarted! The Christmas spirit, after so many years of not knowing what it was, after so many years of believing it was a marketing ploy by the phone companies to make extra money, to be finally found and then lost with as much ease as a speedy behemoth can squash an innocent passerby- Lost! Gone! Metaphorically Flown the Existential Coop, so to speak.

But Main was not to be denied his right to cheer so easily! Not he! The display model, was of course, pointless to take, as it was bolted, glued, stapled, and even welded to the shelf. So he set out in search of the paceidermish Chicago-lover, snatching up a parcel on the way, not bothering to look at it. He turned corners with absolutely no forethought, though no one who watched him walk would say he was lost, or wandering, for Main Char's chin was set and his steely gaze pierced the clouds of misdirection. Whereas any other might have chosen logical methods, like following a path of disgruntled shoppers that she had swept aside in her wake, to find the spirit-stealer, as Main had come to call her in his mind (for example, "When I find that spirit-stealer, I'm gonna harangue her for the spirit-stealer she is" or "I'm gonna find that spirit-stealer and scare her to death with a few packages of Ultra Slim-Fast," and the like) Main didn't use any method at all, save a trust in the same divine guidance that had lead the three fellows from before to their destination.

And sure enough as Main rounded his 25th corner there she stood, large as life, wrestling with a meek man for what would appear to be the last pair of holly-decked pajamas in the Men's Sleepware department. What was this woman's problem, anyway? Did she employ a sadistic method of shopping- since everyone else wanted it so bad, there's only one left, so it must be a good gift- to decide what to buy? Well, while she was distracted, Main would make the switch.

"Madame, I have driven over two hundred miles for the express purpose of purchasing these flannels." Main sneaked up closely to the cart, thanking goodness that the usually crowd hadn't gathered around the altercation, too busy were they in their own shopping efforts.

"I don't care! I saw it first! Give it to me!" Smoothly Main withdrew the toy-soldier music thingy, placing one hand on the other items that had been balanced on its box so that they wouldn't topple over and expose his actions.

"Madame, that is absurd, I had been holding these flannels for two hours when you bowled me over, and on a whim decided they must be yours." And as smoothly as he had removed the one, Main inserted the other package, noting with satisfaction that he had inadvertently grabbed a home shaving and hair-cut kit.

"I don't care! My snoogums would look just so cute in these P.J.s! Now let go before call the manager."

Main shook his head, both in the disbelief that such a woman would have someone to call "snoogums," and also in disbelief that the woman would have the gall to complain to a manger after trying to steal the pajamas in the first place. Then he was struck by I thought.

"I insist you call one, you largish brute of a woman!" And then Main tipped over the lady's (if you could call her that) shopping cart, sending everything sprawling, including a small dog. A small dog?

The woman let go of her end of the tug of war, and the resulting sudden lack of resistance sent the other man flying into the women's lingerie department (and that just goes to show you a thing or two: men compose their dreams in "sleepware" whereas women must do so in "lingerie" and furthermore, putting the two next to each other only makes someone shopping in one section to become fascinated with an item in the other, because if a person is shopping for himself in one section he can become embroiled in fantasies after having seen a particular item in the other, and, if one is in the other section searching for a gift, one usually decides to check out something in th'other one that would just look darling on oneself. Evil, no?)

The dog, bleary but otherwise unharmed, shook his cute little head. "Snoogums!" The large woman screeched in a surprisingly high voice, and bent over in a surprisingly swift manner to grab up her befuddled puppy. "Are you allright snoogums! The nasty man made me forget all about you! Are you okay?" The dog was fine, as much as Main could tell, and seemed to labor more over her smoochings then it had in being tumbled from the cart.

Main's job done, he wandered to the check-out lanes, knowing the woman would be spending several minutes restocking her cart, and several more minutes explaining the reason she had brought a dog into the store and kept it in her cart, and several more additional minutes yelling at the folks that Main has witnessed swooping down on the spilled items and grabbing up this or that with shouts of triumphant glee. Much to Main Char's anti-chagrin, the checkout line he was in moved quickly, and he was soon before the pert clerk. Funny, until that moment Main would have never use the word "pert" to describe an actually person- usually such words were reserved for hair and shoes. "How's it goin'?" he asked, setting his package down and fishing for his wallet.

"Well! I'll be glad when I can go home," said the girl, in that suddenly familiar tone that all cash-register operators adopted, making, Main had to admit, for the only consistently pleasant aspect of shopping. She ran the box over one of those symbol-readers, utilizing the latest in laser technology to afford the quicker purchasing of stuffs. If you had asked the American physicist T. H. Maiman in 1960 to what end his new light amplification by stimulated emission of radiation could be used, assuredly his answer would not have been, "To make shopping easier, of course!" But the price of the purchase came up, nonetheless. "That'll be-"

Main held up a hand in a stop gesture. "No no no, don't tell me. This is a gift purchase. Money should never matter when giving, am I right?" What Main didn't tell her was the fifty dollar ceiling placed on the exchanges this year, and how frustrated he'd be if the ringy-soldiers cost more. "Just put it on my card."

The gal shrugged, pertly, of course, took Main's plastic, and pressed buttons swiftly. "Yea?" She said, continuing the familiar thing for a small time. "Who's it for?"

Main smiled. "It's for my cynical cousin -----."

The clerk handed the card back to Main, and blinked. "Five dashes? That's a weird name."

Main shrugged. "Yes, well, I guess his parents weren't very creative.

Outside, the whiteness and the fluffiness and the snowiness remained, and indeed, when he reflected on it, so did the dampness in Main's shoes. But that was okay. And it was even okay when the santa from before accosted him once again. "Hey! You! Cheapskate! You made a purchase, right? Let's have the change. Pronto."

Main walked up to the man, as close as the hobo had been before, which forced the bell ringing to stop. "You took my change so I couldn't pay with the exact amount when got what I had come to get, right?"

"Awa, awa," said the man."

"Therefore, I should have more change now, because no purchase in the history of man has ever been exactly on the dollar, am I right?"

"Awa, awa," admitted the man, looking nervously at all the folks who passed and used Main as a shield to keep their change.

"Fact is, I used my credit card. Fact is, you're only using Christmas and that get-up to guilt folks into giving. Fact is, money helps, but folks want kindness when they're in need, not hand-outs." Main stepped back.

"Awa, awa- what about the children?" The man attempted, ringing his bell once, feebly.

Main Char smiled. "Send 'em to my place. I'll cook 'em some lunch and we can play nintendo." Main dropped his business-card into the bucket, and went home.

Satisfactory ending? Not really. Pseudo-meaningful but just disguised cynicism ending.