There are some people who take a considerable amount of care while opening their presents on Christmas morning. First, they must examine all of their packages, making mental notes on the presentation of each. These package care takers judge presents like books; the cover determines whether each gets a read. They are the “bad beneficiary.”
Once they have mentally placed their presents into the order they wish to open them, finest wrapped to least tolerable, they must admire, aloud, the detail, design and color of the paper covering their present. “Oh my, what lovely wrapping paper,” they will say with feigned enthusiasm. “Where on earth did you find such a cute reindeer!?” This, of course, leads into a lengthy conversation from the present giver about the line at Wal-Mart, an amazing find at an estate sale or the new Express Lane protocol at the local Five & Dime.
When the gift’s bad beneficiary is sure everyone has had the opportunity to admire the wrapping job, often times verbally berating more inferior gift wrappers, they move on to the tag. “To: [bad beneficiary], From: [such-and-such]” It is at this point that the bad beneficiary throws a conniption fit over the fact that “such-and-such” went out of their way to get them a present, as if this was somehow unexpected on a holiday where gift giving is more obligation than genuine beneficence.
Around this time, an agitation starts to build in many of the other Christmas spectators. “Hurry it up! There are other people that want to open presents too,” they scream to themselves, within the confines of their head. But, it does them no good, as the bad beneficiary is now wielding an obscure looking tool, which is specifically designed to open packages without ripping the paper. You see the type of person who admires someone’s wrapping job and reads tags aloud, is also the type of person who brings their own tool for opening packages. This way they can “save such pretty paper for next year” and revel in how economical they are becoming.
When the paper has finally been meticulously removed, neatly folded and gently placed into a box labeled, “Bows & Paper to Save,” the bad beneficiary looks at their present for the very first time. They will be the ONLY person who sees this present for a few minutes, as they must take it in like a fine piece of art. Only after they have considered its philosophical merit and cultural relevance will they hold it in the air and stake claim that it “is the most wonderful present,” while posing for pictures. Whether they believe it is wonderful or not makes no difference, as bad beneficiaries are notorious actors and often double as daytime soap opera understudies. Their poor portrayal of genuine emotion is unbelievable, yet oddly entertaining.
The next twenty minutes are filled with fictional stories of how useful the gift will be in the bad beneficiary’s everyday life, making sure that the gift’s giver is satisfied and comfortable that they have given the “right” gift. Once the bad beneficiary’s “gift journal” has been marked with the gift name, giver and an applicable return store (”just in case something doesn’t work out”), permission is given for the next person to open a new gift.
The bad beneficiary will graciously pass the limelight as they study their next present, scowling at its wrapping, a brown bag fastened shut with staples. As a new recipient opens another package, my eyes stay fixed on our bad beneficiary. The stapled brown bag is my doing and I smirk, knowing that its contents will make them the proud new owner of the next big thing in pedicures; a Ped Egg, as seen on TV. Perfect wrapping or not, those callouses and dead skin are no more. Maybe next year you’ll learn that a Looney Tunes shower curtain doesn’t constitute a real gift now that I’m TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OLD!
Merry Christmas!
