There is a Christmas tree shortage. Yes, it’s another COVID Christmas and this year the supply chain is affecting trees as well as ornaments and gift items. The one thing there doesn’t seem to be a shortage of is traffic.

I have a pre-holiday day off and decide to use it to get practical things done. Weekends are busy with holiday gatherings, so I figure this is the time to get my oil changed and to pick up a Christmas tree. I hop onto I-95 figuring I’ll get the boring item done first. I turn on my Christmas playlist and am zooming along at a good pace when suddenly there’s a sea of brake lights shining in the distance. A sign overhead states that there is a crash and a delay for three exits.

My first instinct is to hope everyone is okay. A crash is bad, but one is especially bad during the holidays. My second instinct is the get off I-95 as quickly as possible. Luckily, I’m able to pull onto an exit ramp right away. Route 1 is no better, though. It’s I-95 without a crash but with a bunch of lights. So, I end up going into a store I hadn’t planned on hitting just to pass time until things are cleared up.

When I emerge back into the light of the outside, I can see that Route 1 is clear. That must mean I-95 is clear. It is—for about an exit. This time it’s too late to pull off a ramp. I’m going to have to ride the bucking bronco of stop and go for a while. It is a while, too. When I finally see an exit ramp, there’s a clog of cars. I won’t be any better off joining that mess.

Stop and go. Stop and crawl. At the next exit things don’t look as congested, so I pull off and while away time at a set of outlet stores. After a while, I’m back on the highway and all is clear. All told with traffic and forced stops it takes 2 ½ hours to reach my destination.

I’m used to this kind of thing in the summer but not in the winter. It seems as if there are so many more people here all the time that there’s never the delightful Labor Day to Memorial Day population drop. It’s endless summer. Only it’s crowded and freezing.

There’s an express lane at my auto shop for those who want a simple oil change. I pull up and am immediately confused. What are all these cars doing in front of the doors? They can’t all be here for oil changes and it’s the middle of the day, so why is everything blocked by vehicles? I find a parking space in no man’s land because that’s all there is and go inside to the office.

“Um, I came for an oil change, but the doors are blocked. That’s not all people waiting, is it?” I ask.

The woman behind the desk tilts her head and grimaces. “Yeah. It is. There’s a two-hour wait for an oil change,” she states.

Not very express.

“Um, I’ll come back.”

I’m glad their business is booming, but I wish I could have been a part of it today. Back to the car, back onto the highway. I figure I’ll swing into the Christmas tree place even though I don’t have much hope. The way the day is going if they have one Charlie-Browner left I’ll be gobsmacked.

I don’t need a big tree. Just a little guy to put on a tabletop. I walk over to where there’s a gaggle of small trees. There’s one that’s so cute and round like Santa’s belly that I know immediately I must have him. I go to pay for him and the cashier offers me hot mulled cider as they do a fresh cut on the trunk.

My mood has now completely changed.

I bring my little tree home and it’s more of a Christmas bush than a tree with a wonderfully wonky branch on top for the star. Oh, Christmas bush, thank you for lifting my Christmas spirits.

Juliana Gribbins is a writer who believes that absurdity is the spice of life. Her book Date Expectations is winner of the 2017 Independent Press Awards, Humor Category and winner of the 2016 IPPY silver medal for humor. Write to her at jeepgribbs@hotmail.com. Read more of her columns at www.zip06.com/shorelineliving.