In the Trapezoid of Trade
St. Stephen might be strained in his disbelief, to see what has become of his holiday. After all, when your relics are put in a box and transferred to yet another resting place, you might hope for something more fitting than Boxing Day, right? A holiday nevertheless, even if the holy has gone right out the window. Today is just another red coloured date in retail.
I’m showing remarkable restraint. After all, I could be in my car, driving back and forth, laughing at the crowds politely queued outside the box stores to buy, what? More boxes? Instead, I’ll keep the last of my money close to my heart. Our community no longer has a downtown section. Instead, we have the Trapezoid of Trade.
In a field where people used to go to the drive-in (yes, Virginia, people used to watch movies in their cars, without the DVD player you’ve grown to love), and ducks and foxes played hunted/hunter games, the long arm of retail built box stores, just to let people line up on Boxing Day to buy boxes. How thoughtful! Outside each one, until minutes ago, there were people standing, shivering, sharing their tales of sales from the past. Well, maybe not the place that does brake jobs…
Near the upper corner, there remains a small pond, where ducks still wiggle their toes and dip their bills. I’ve refrained from marking the exact site, just to fool any foxes that are still bound and determined to hunt. Ditto for the bird counters (lost since last Sunday). For the rest, imagine a line of souls in circumnavigation of each building. Disclaimer: I made my post-season purchases online, and it was so much easier!
