One pharmacy, 20 minutes and serious holiday desperation

I knew I was in trouble when I pulled into University Village.

There were way too many open parking spaces. And by too many, I mean, almost all of them. It was closing in on 8 p.m. on Christmas Eve and somehow I thought that the capitalist imperative to wring every available dollar out of the holiday season would keep the stores open until 9 p.m., but alas even the monument to the bougie tastes of Montlake and Laurelhurst had buttoned up tight, which left me with a situation.

The lovely folks that I hoped would become my in-laws were staying at our house in West Seattle, we were a little more than 12 hours from opening gifts and I had not yet completed my holiday shopping. Mostly, this was because of my own indecision. Partly, this was because I'd spent too much of the previous month covering the occurrences around a Seattle Seahawks team that was headed to the Super Bowl.

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and I was in fact cursing all the ways I’d gone wrong, and if you think you’re behind the 8 ball, well, I’ve probably got you beat.

First, let’s acknowledge that there’s a high level of stress resting under that fresh blanket of holiday happiness that we drape over everything this time of year. This tension is the result of not just the volume of tasks that must be accomplished in preparation, but the expectations we place our level of execution.

In 2005, a pair of particularly challenging circumstances combined with my eager-to-please ways to put me in a bit of a pickle. First, we were hosting Christmas for my then-girlfriend’s family. It was the first time we’d done that. Second, I began that season covering a Seattle SuperSonics team that won a surprisingly high 52 games, a division title and advanced to the second round of the playoffs. I then switched to the Seahawks beat, which meant August in Cheney. One of those days, my girlfriend -- whom I was living with -- called to inform me that she had made a discovery on the back porch that had her questioning the life decisions she had made up until that point.

"What's the purpose of having a boyfriend," she wondered, "if I have to clean up an actual rat's nest?"

A fair question to which I had no rebuttal. My schedule made me a fairly terrible partner that year, and all I could say is that I was sorry. I would say that’s the closest Sharon ever came to dumping my ass, but that’s probably not true.

Well, my schedule didn’t get any easier after that as the Seahawks embarked on what became the most successful season in franchise history. They had reeled off 10 consecutive victories entering that last game in December, ramping up the pressure and expectation and on Christmas Eve the Seahawks – best team in the NFC – were hosting the Indianapolis Colts, the best team in the AFC.

And on the day of the game, I cleared a window that morning to finish up my shopping. I had purchased my girlfriend’s present, but I still needed something for her parents, her brother and his girlfriend.

Gift giving means different things in different families. I grew up in a family where the gift is a measurement not of utility or even of planning, but emotion. It’s the thought that counts and whimsy carries a lot of weight. You might not even need to buy a gift if you make really big Bambi eyes and tell the other person how hard you tried.

My girlfriend was more pragmatic. Utility is a key criteria for any gift. It should be something that addressed a specific need or played a specific role. One of my best early gifts to my girlfriend: a food processor we use to this day. However, you had to be careful about going too far, a lesson in the Vacuum Cleaner Debacle of 2003.

I am also – it must be said – painfully, neurotically indecisive. Always have been. I was the kind of kid who would spend an hour deciding between two toys at the store, finally make a choice and then come home only to decide 20 minutes later I had picked the wrong one at which point I’d begin crying.

My spotty gift-giving history undercut my confidence, which had two severe downsides. First, it made me procrastinate on the shopping. Then, once I was out doing the shopping, I became reluctant to pull the trigger. All of this is a long way of saying that I had lots of odds and ends by the time the 24th rolled around, items for the stockings, but I needed a couple more main presents. I left the house at 9 a.m., which gave me two hours before I should get to the stadium, two and a half if I wanted to push it.

I started in Fremont. Funky, funky Fremont with it's little artist's shops and record store. Lots of crafty things my Mom would love, but it felt a little too artisanal and small batch for my girlfriend's family. From there, I headed back to SoDo because there was a home goods store on 1st Ave, right? Reuse or Rejuice. Rejuve? Something like that.

I found a cool looking candle to pair with a crème brulee kit for my girlfriend’s brother and his partner. For her Mom, a wooden serving tray that could be used for ... olives? nuts? pigs in blankets? Hell if I know, but it seemed somewhat functional. I was looking at garden pieces that were totally impractical given the fact that her parents live in Southern California when I realized that I had reached that level of holiday desperation I'm sure others will relate to. It's not about finding the right thing anymore. It's not about the price, either, because you'll pay pretty much anything if you knew that you were getting something that would be considered not even a good gift, but just satisfactory. Non-remarkable. Totally and utterly average and therefore acceptable.

That wasn't going to happen here on 1st Ave. SW two hours before the Seahawks game. I'd have to wait until after the game to finish up.

The Seahawks played a game that actually didn’t mean much of anything at all. Peyton Manning threw all of 12 passes in the one quarter he played, giving way to the inimitable Jim Sorgi. Edgerrin James didn’t play in the second half and when the Seahawks scored a touchdown on their opening possession of the third quarter to go up 21-6, the game – for all intents and purposes – was decided.

I do not remember one single play from that game. Nothing. It is a void. I must have written a story because I remained employed. It must have been at least passable though I’ll be damned if I know what I said. When I packed up to leave the stadium it was at least 7 o'clock, perhaps a bit later. I headed to University Village where I planned to look in Restoration Hardware and if I got desperate Barnes & Noble.

The streets felt dark when I left the stadium, emptier than usual given it was a game day. It wasn't until I got to University Village and saw the almost entirely empty parking that I realized the severity of the problem I was facing. The stores were dark. Everything was closed. I was absolutely and utterly screwed.

I had gone past the bargaining stage and performing triage. Was printing out gift certificates that I purchased online worse than asking my girlfriend if I could piggyback on her gifts? But before that, I'd swing by Westwood Village, which had a Target and a Pier One and was near our house.

As I pulled into the center, I saw that the pharmacy there at the left edge of the parking remained open. I think it’s a Rite Aid. Maybe it was a Walgreen’s or perhaps a CVS. I know it wasn’t a Bartell’s because Bartell’s ruled back then and I would have been home free. Nah, this was a chain-store pharmacy right on the south edge of the parking lot.

"We're closing at 9," said the clerk when I entered the door.

That gave me 20 minutes to find Christmas gifts in a pharmacy that would be suitable for the parents of the woman I wanted to marry. No. Not suitable or even acceptable. Non-disqualifying. I wanted to find something that would not be so utterly awful as to cause them to forbid a match with me. One way or another, I was coming out of that pharmacy with some things I could wrap that night so they were waiting under the tree that morning.

And that is the story about how the lovely folks who would become my in-laws received a suite of HoMedics self-care products for Christmas 2005. There was a HoMedics foot spa. Had never heard of that before, but it appeared to be a soaking tub for a salt bath. There were HoMedics Massaging Slippers with Smart Foam. There may have even been some sort of device to use on your back as well.

I have no idea if those products were ever used. I honestly don't know if they even made the trip back to Orange County. What I do know is that they were wrapped that night, placed under the tree and when it came time to open gifts I had the gesture I needed.

When I think of that story now, I can't help but smile because I remember how stressed I was and I realize how little it mattered. Yes, the holidays are stressful, but that's almost entirely because of the expectations we place upon ourselves. Do the best you can even if it's in a pharmacy on Christmas Eve. No wait. Do the best you can especially if it's in the pharmacy on Christmas Eve and in the back of your mind, cut yourself a little slack and realize that you'll be laughing about this in 17 years.

Sharon and I fly out of Newark, N.J. on Saturday, headed to Orange County to see her lovely parents. My best holiday wishes to you all, and I’ll look forward to “seeing” you next week!