The daily digest of Twin Cities culture | Secrets of the City

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For the past eight winters, I've sold Christmas trees in the Twin Cities.  Shopping for a Christmas tree is universally regarded as a joyous yuletide experience.  But selling Christmas trees can be a brutal and sometimes sordid job.  Here is an inside look at life on the Christmas tree lot.

My first customer of the day is a pervish forty year old man in a puffy down jacket and nylon exercise pants.  He is looking for a thick 6' Fraser Fir.  As we chit chat about the finer points of needle retention on Christmas trees, the man grossly nurses a tall coffee.  He takes long exaggerated sips.  Although it is quite nauseating to witness a grown man hum with delight after each gaping mouthful of caramel latte, I nonetheless show him several tree options; some skinny, some wide, and everything in between.  One tree in particular is real dense around the trunk of the tree.

"This Fraser Fir is bottom heavy," I tell the man, pointing to a thicket of branches near the base of the tree.

"Hey man, some guys like big bottoms," he says creepily.  "I like my bottoms skinny.  Know what I mean?" 

"Ugh...kinda," I reply.   

"Do you have any Christmas trees with skinny bottoms and big tops?"  The perv asks me with a skeezy wink.  Yuck.

My next customers are a squabbling family.  Each member of the family wants a different tree.  Within minutes, I turn into a marriage councilor for the parents as they feud over what tree to purchase.  The bickering between the mom and dad has a rolling cadence to it.  

 "What kind of tree are you interested in?"  I ask them.

"Balsam," says the dad. 

"Fraser Fir," snaps the mom.

 "What size of tree?"

 "Nine footer.  Or bigger," says the dad. 

 "Six footer.  Or smaller," snaps the mom.

 After looking at twenty different trees, we get their choice down to two.  I stand before the family with a tree in each hand. 

 "I like the one on the right," the mom says.  "Which one do you like?"

 "I like the one on the right, too," the dad replies flatly.

 "You're just saying that because I said that," the mom retorts.

 "Honey," the dad says sternly.  "I'm not going to encourage you to shop more."

 The mom blows out an annoyed sigh.  She looks at me and asks, "What do you think?"

 "Oh, no," the dad says, stepping in.  "Do not bring this guy into it."

 "I think they are both perfect," I smugly reply.  They select the one in my  left hand.  The whole family is pissed. 

A few minutes later, a Jeep pulls into the parking lot and eight college age kids spill out like it is a clown car.  They buy a tree for their front porch.  As I tie the tree to the roof of their car, one of the party boys boasts, "We're going to decorate this thing so bad it's going to look like Christmas barfed all over our tree."

 Then I mistakenly walk past a silver Cadillac Escalade SUV that is parked in the front parking spot with the engine running.  The driver rolls down her window as I breeze past.

"Excuse me, sir," she says to stop me.  She leans forward from her front seat.  "Can you show me that tree right there?"  She waves a finger out her window towards a tall Balsam.

The woman is shopping for a Christmas tree from the front seat of her warm car. 

I schwoog a bunch of trees over to her car.  She shakes her head in disgust.  She turns down every one.  She is so picky it's as if she is picking out a new spouse.  She says, "That one is too bald at the top.  That one is too frumpy.  I don't like the way that one is looking at me.  Where did they grow that one?  Are your Christmas trees organic?"

After the sixth tree, she tells me that our Christmas trees are too expensive and leaves without buying a single one.

In her wake, this Super Douche walks up to me.  He reeks of money.  With his aviator glasses and barn jacket, he's in his "Hedgefund Manager" Saturday afternoon casual attire.   He's got five kids clopping behind him that are all clad in Edina Hockey jackets.  His waif-ish wife looks like she just walked out of a J Crew catalog.

"You know and I know that you aren't going to sell all of these trees," the Super Douche says to me straight away.  "So how about a deal?"  The man is standing in the parking lot and hasn't looked at a single tree yet.  But he already wants a deal.

"You'd have to talk to the owner if you want a discount," I respond politely.

"What?  You can't give me a deal?  What do...you... do... here?"  He says, eye fucking me as he stares maliciously at my soiled Carhart pants and duct tapped work gloves.  His societal slur hangs in the air above my head like a noose.  I am of no value to him.  "How bout this tree right here?  I'll give you $50 bucks for this tree right here."

"Ah, that's a 9' Fraser and its price at $109.99"

"Why you gotta do me like that bro?  $50 bucks.  Take it or leave it," the Super Douche says to me.  His waif wife stands at a distance and pretends she doesn't know him or her kids.  She hates all of them. 

I don't budge. Super Douche buys the 9'Fraser Fir for full price.  After I give his tree a fresh cut and tie it to the top of his Suburban-the one with the Norm Coleman and McCain stickers- he tells me to "Keep it real."

Later, a woman and her two kids walk up to me for help.  Before she can even open her mouth, the two young boys bolt away and start playfully slamming each other into the tall racks of Christmas trees.

"Boys!  Boys!  Come help me find a tree!"  The mom says sweetly.  But the boys pay their mom no mind and sprint away.  The mom is clearly exasperated by the holiday shopping season.  She looks at me with tears in her eyes.  "I've been shopping all day.  I went to Ikea.  What a flippin' disaster that was.  Then we went to Target, then Southdale, then Best Buy, then back to Target, and then to Pet Co because I lost my son's pet turtle and I had to replace it.  All turtles look alike.  Right?"

"Ugh, right," I say, not knowing quite what to say.    

Just then the two rambunctious boys wheel back around towards their mom.  She gets excited that they've come back to help her shop for their Christmas tree as a family.  The slivered moon hangs in the evening sky and the long strings of lights give the Christmas tree lot a magical look.   But just as the two boys get close, they peel off and sprint away again. 

"We're supposed to be having a Christmas Moment!"  The mom shrieks in frustration.  "We're supposed to be having a Christmas Moment!"