I stand at the old PC monitor in my basement. Blinking. Flashing. Scrolling. Changing its colors. Flashing in and out of reality. I wish I could see if I got the electric scooter that I had wanted for the past few months. It was the week before Christmas and all through the house, people were quiet as a mouse, checking their Amazon account recent orders, wondering what their family members had gotten them for Christmas. I, however, were about to do something about it. I went to the workbench and got an Exacto-knife. I put it in a plastic protector and gently placed it in my pocket. I hugged the wall walking to the Christmas tree, which was in the family room. I looked around the room and my parents were in their office, across the house. Good, I thought. I carefully slipped the blade out of its plastic protector. I walked to the desk and got my iPod Touch, which had a sick nasty case that had skull and crossbones plastered all over it. I got the present out of the carefully arranged boxes and memorized the positions of each one. I turned the box upside down and felt the edges of it. I moved the knife to the bottom right corner and cut a rectangle. Bingo! I thought, as the torn edges of the paper slid away under my finger to reveal the Barcode. I took a picture of it and looked it up. It was something called battletag, a game that connects to your computer and you laser shot each other or something. I proceeded to repeat the prior stated procedure on the next box. And the next. And the next. I was feeling very discouraged when, I saw a large, rectangular box stood up next to the tree. I slid the knife carefully through the wrapping paper, making sure not to harm the box. I scanned this barcode, and saw what I had been longing for, a RAZOR X250 blue electric scooter! I took the tape and precariously re-attached the slip of paper to the box. I precariously replace the slip with clear tape. I feel like I have just won something.
I woke up on Christmas morning. It was 7:30 and I was still tired. My parents always refuse to wake up until 1:30 P.M. or some ridiculous time. I go back to bed and wake up. It is now 11:30. I try to persuade my parents to come and open presents. They finally budge at twelve o’clock. I start to place my presents in a pile, face down of course, because it would reveal my secret if I didn’t. I open them quickly and pretend that I didn’t know. I say very stereotypical kid phrases such as “How did you know?’ and “I didn’t even think I would ask for that!” I leave satisfied and ready to play with the new toys I have.
I take my scooter out of the garage, where it has been sitting for the past few weeks. I drive it out of there like Fiddy Cent with his new Caddy. I bet I looked like a two year old with granny. I turn it off and roll down my ¼ mile driveway, all downhill. I turn it back on at the end. It spins out of control, like a kid eating too many Skittles, at their grandma’s house. It spun and skidded and spun, until it fell down, and landed in a snow bank. It broke and I never rode it again. I started to think about if I would have been more appreciative of this if I had not looked at my gift. I thought about it, and decided that I would never open my Christmas presents early again. So, as I lay in the snow, my warm, red, and rosy skin pressed against the ground, like the stereotypical Home Alone movie kid, the first one.
I reflect that I don’t really think opening the presents early was a good idea, because if you get them you do, and if you don’t you don’t, but if you know that you have you present there, it will only make the time go by slower, and as the saying goes, a watched pot never boils.