As you know, each year, we like to write down thoughts or share stories with you about the holidays.  This year, we thought we’d share something that a colleague of ours wrote based on an experience he had a few years back.  Reading and thinking about it really put us in the holiday mood, and we hope it will do the same for you. 

Snowy roads, abysmal traffic, a last-minute trip to the dollar store, and the longest lines you’ll ever see outside Disneyland.  That was my Christmas Eve.  All the ingredients you need for a foul mood and the ultimate “bah humbug” holiday. 

That was certainly what I thought when I walked through the doors and felt the available oxygen drop by 10%.  The store was so jam-packed with people, the phrase “rubbing elbows” doesn’t even begin to describe it.  It was like being in the middle of a cattle drive, except with fluorescent lights overhead instead of open sky.  We were all there, I guessed, for the same reason: We had forgotten something.  (In my case, it was wrapping paper and a few extra gift boxes.)  So, there I was, doing the last thing anyone wants to do on Christmas Eve: shopping. 

But that wasn’t even the worst part. 

Despite the hordes, going to another store was out of the question.  The roads were so bad, it had taken me nearly twenty minutes to drive two miles.  If I have to go anywhere else today, I thought, Christmas is officially canceled.

So, I weaved and shimmied my way through the throng until I at last had all the boxes and wrapping paper I could carry.  (Using a cart was out of the question, as there was simply no room, and all the baskets were taken.  Because of course they were.)  Then, desperately trying to avoid dropping anything — since, if I had to stoop to pick it up, there was a good chance I’d be trampled to death — I made my way to the end of the line. 

And I waited.  And waited.  And waited some more.  What felt like five minutes on the clock yielded maybe five feet of progress.  I couldn’t understand it, until a voice came over the intercom. 

“Hi everyone,” said the voice, sounding both young and timid.  “I’m so sorry, but I’m the only cashier in the store right now.  I’m trying my best to check you out as fast as I can, so thank you so much for your patience! 

Terrific, I thought.  With any luck, I’d get back to my house about the same time as Santa’s reindeer.  So, I stood there, shifting my weight from one foot to another, thinking of all the ways Christmas had become a pain.  And I justified my attitude by reasoning that everyone else was probably just as grumpy as me.  Everyone would be arguing, complaining, or demanding to speak to the manager.       

But as the line slowly moved, something dawned on me: Nobody was. 

It started with the man ahead of me.  Noticing how overloaded I was, he turned and said, “That’s way too much for one person to carry.  Here, put some of it in my basket until we get to the front.” 

This simple bit of charity did something I’ll never forget: It pulled me out of my own head.  Because suddenly, I began noticing that similar acts of kindness were occurring all up the line. 

A young man with only one item let an older woman with several move ahead of him in line. 

When a woman dropped several items she’d been carrying, everyone around hurried to pick them up. 

When people had to occasionally cut through the line to get to the other side of the store, accidentally jostling and bumping into each other, they always said variations of, “I’m so sorry.”  To which the un-offended party would invariably respond: “No problem at all!” 

When a toddler in a harried mother’s arms began to cry, a teenaged girl stepped up and began making goofy faces and silly sounds to get him to laugh.   

As I finally got close to the checkout stand, I saw the man at the front of the line realize, to his embarrassment, that he didn’t have quite enough cash to pay for his things.  But the crisis was averted when the family behind cheerfully volunteered to pay for the difference. 

And the lone, overworked cashier?  She was the hero of the hour.  Every customer was greeted the same way: With a smile and the words, “Thank you for being so patient.  It really means a lot.  By the way, I love your sweater/earrings/shirt/hat.  Happy holidays, you’re awesome!” 

To which every customer would reply, “It’s no worry/you’re doing a great job/thank you, that’s so nice/happy holidays to you, too!”  Upon which they would take their items and leave…but not before holding the door open for the next shopper.  (Or thanking the person who held it open for them.) 

Was any of this newsworthy?  Would they ever make a movie out of it?  No, probably not.  But did it matter?  You bet.  Because I learned something valuable that day: The real magic of the season isn’t always to be found in lighted trees and carefully-wrapped boxes.  It’s in small gestures of kindness and tiny acts of charity.  It’s in sharing and making allowances for each other; in realizing that it’s in the longest lines and tightest spaces that goodwill can flourish.    

Because when I finally left that tiny, cramped dollar store, I realized something else: The air outside was bitterly cold. 

But I had rarely ever felt so warm.  

We think we all have personal stories like this; the magic is when we take the time to notice and participate in them.  So, on behalf of our team, we wish you a season filled with charity, kindness, and goodwill.  We are all so grateful for you.  Happy Holidays!

Sincerely,

Barbara B. Hudock CIMA®, CPM®
Chief Executive Officer
Founding Partner

Michael J. Hudock, Jr., CPM®
President and Founding Partner
Wealth Consultant