Scott Hollifield: Customer needs assistance... Hello? Anybody?

I was where I did not want to be: standing in a big discount store late on a Sunday afternoon smack dab in the middle of shopping season waiting on customer assistance that would never come.
It started with a promise that was, at the very least, of debatable origin.
"Daddy, can we get a Christmas tree this weekend?"
"Can't talk. Game's on. 10 seconds."
"Please?"
"Maybe. We'll see. Five seconds. Two to tie, three to win."
"Promise we can?"
"YES! Buries the three!"
And I heard no more about it until late Sunday afternoon.
"You promised we'd get a tree this weekend."
"Do what now?"
"I asked and you said YES."
"I don't recall speaking in capital letters — oh, that was during the game. That doesn't count."
"But you promised."
Technically, I could have weaseled out, since the conversation included the phrase "we'll see," which every parent knows is code for "absolutely not." But I did admire her manipulative skills, approaching me at a vulnerable moment in a close game and securing what could be interpreted in family court as a promise.
"OK, we'll get a tree."
Years before, that meant a ride up the mountain on a blustery winter's day to a tree farm, where we selected our fresh-cut jewel, then sipped hot cider with other rosy-cheeked families 'round a pot-bellied stove in the farm's quaint log cabin, a hammered dulcimer-version of "Silent Night" playing softly in the background.
Gradually, that was replaced by tossing anything from the first lot we could find on the truck and arguing about the radio station on the way home.
It's called a tradition.
"If you're getting a tree, you might as well get a new tree stand," said my wife, who wisely had made no promise, debatable or otherwise, and therefore had no obligation to accompany me on this mission.
She was right. The old metal stand was an annual source of unsightly leans and outright topples.
"Might as well," I said, with as much holiday enthusiasm as I could muster.
Normally, a tree stand is the kind of item I would buy at my favorite hardware store, a place where I can walk in and say, "Steve, I need this thing and I don't know what it's called but the toilet won't flush without it" and five minutes later I'm walking out with the thing that makes the toilet flush.
But it was late Sunday afternoon, that store was closed, and my choices were limited.
That's how I found myself standing in a big discount store late on a Sunday afternoon smack dab in the middle of shopping season waiting on customer assistance that would never come.
Unable to locate a stand, I had to leave the Christmas section and trek to fabrics to find someone to help me. Management had apparently nailed this person's foot to the floor because she didn't scurry away when I made eye contact.
"I'm looking for a tree stand."
"That would be in the Christmas section."
"Been there. I'm looking for someone to help me find a tree stand."
"CUSTOMER NEEDS ASSISTANCE IN THE CHRISTMAS SECTION."
I hiked back and began my wait. I watched and listened as a woman shook a stuffed polar bear that played "Jingle Bell Rock" — five straight times. I counted to a hundred — twice. I answered questions from other customers who hoped, just maybe, this guy with a three-day beard and a Ramones beanie cap was a down-on-his-luck seasonal employee who could point them in the right direction.
Nope. Just a fellow traveler, folks.
No assistance came, no stand was found. I did fulfill my promise though, returning home with a tree, the biggest, most beautiful tree $30 and a grocery store bonus card could buy.
Unfortunately, it will take multiple playings of the hammered dulcimer "Silent Night" — or maybe even a hammer itself — to get the stuffed polar bear version of "Jingle Bell Rock" out of my head.