The last quarter of the year is an especially fertile time for holidays—whether national, provincial or local. October 12 is Virgin of Pilar Day. November 1 is All Saints’ Day. November 9 is La Alumdena (i.e., the patron saint of Madrid) Day. December 6 is Constitution Day. December 8 is Immaculate Conception Day. The list goes on and on.
This usually causes consternation amongst my co-workers in places like Finland and South Africa. And year after year, the script remains the same.
SAL’S EMAIL TO CO-WORKERS: “Please be advised that [insert date] is a holiday in Spain, and I will be out of the office and unavailable. If you need assistance during my absence, then please contact one of my colleagues based in a non-Catholic country.”
CO-WORKER’S EMAIL TO SAL: “What?! Another holiday?!!! Which is it this week?”
SAL’S EMAIL: “I’m not sure, but I think it has something to do with the Patron Saint of Peanut Brittle.”
CO-WORKER’S EMAIL: “Unbelievable! I’m heading straight to Human Resources and demanding a transfer to Spain.”
Their envy is understandable, but they fail to grasp the important point: a holiday means twenty-four catatonic hours with NOTHING to do.
Yes, yes, yes…I know that I’m being churlish. But look at it from my perspective. I was raised in the US—a country in which the word “holiday” doesn’t mean a day of rest. It means a day of shopping. A *glorious* day of shopping!
But in Spain, the only retail establishments that open on holidays are bread stores and bars. But that’s it! As soon as I’ve bought a baguette and drunk a café con leche, I find myself pondering the same recurring question: What the hell am I going to do for the next fifteen hours?
The answer is always the same: NOTHING!
Now…before my editors start receiving angry letters, let me make one thing clear. I’m not knocking Spain for any of this. To the contrary, I believe that Spain has gotten it right. A holiday *should* involve staying at home and spending a relaxing, rejuvenating day with one’s family and/or satellite dish. But for me, this scenario is the third ring of hell. Yes, I admit it. *I’m* the one with the problem.
That’s not to say that haven’t tried to overcome the problem. Quite the contrary. During my first years in Spain, I made diligent attempts to embrace—and yes, even to enjoy—the opportunity for reflection and meditation that each holiday brought.
And it worked! It worked beautifully! But, unfortunately, it only worked until I had bought a baguette and drunk a café con leche–after which point, my lower lip would begin sagging to floor until it finally came to rest within an expanding puddle of drool.
But with age comes acceptance—and I’ve now accepted the fact that the Spanish concept of holidays is…well…is unacceptable. So I’ve adopted a different approach. Whenever there’s a holiday, I wake up early…put on a tie…sit at my desk…and write threatening letters to imaginary customers demanding that they pay imaginary invoices or else I’ll be forced to contact my imaginary Legal Department.
I know it’s silly. I know it’s pathetic. But it’s the only way I can cope with the tedium. That’s me. That’s the way I am. And there’s NOTHING that I can do about it.
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