I’m still unpacking in my new apartment, but even though I carefully numbered each packing box, and kept a list of what’s where, I apparently wasn’t specific enough. So now, in all those boxes labeled “kitchen” and sub-labeled things like “pots and pans” or “vases,” where oh where is my kitchen clock? Or that little knick knack that was so handy for this and that and the other thing? And why doesn’t my old bathroom wastebasket fit in the new bathroom? And, and….

All of this means it’s still rather chaotic around here, boxes and boxes and boxes, packed, unpacked, stacked, crushed, intact. And it also means that, in addition to whatever Christmas shopping I’ve been doing this year (minimal), I’ve also been shopping for apartment supplies.

Hooks of all shapes and sizes. A new toilet paper roll holder (who knew they came in such variety?) And storage, because there’s not much here. Shelves for the closets. Little plastic bins. Medium plastic bins. Big plastic bins. Open plastic bins. Plastic bins with drawers. Something on which to hang pots. A paper towel holder. A smaller microwave. One of those clever things that fits into a kitchen cabinet door and vertically stores Saran wrap and aluminum foil.

They don’t make those anymore, you say? Ah, but you have to go to five stores to find out that sorrowful news. And because it’s Christmas, there are long lines in every store.

And so—at Home Depot, for example—you walk the wide and lonely aisles late one night looking for a certain kind of sink handle (faucet handle? what are those things called?) because yours are very hard to operate. It takes about fifteen minutes to find the helpful guy there. And then it takes him about twenty minutes to advise you, for which you’re grateful. It turns out there is only one kind that might have a chance of fitting the particular arrangement of the holes in your sink.

Armed with your prize—and a cute little metal kitchen thingee to hold sponges and soap, price $6.97—you walk to the cash register. The man ahead of you looks weary, the clerk looks weary, you are weary.

And thirsty. You suddenly realize you are very thirsty, because the meal of supermarket sushi you grabbed on the go and ate there was very salty. Since now you’re in Home Depot instead of the market and there’s no food around, and as you wait…and wait, and wait…you wonder where to go afterwards (if you ever manage to get out of this place) to get something to drink.

And then you notice that slightly to the side of the register where you are standing is a cooler filled with drinks, including your beverage of choice, water. No, it’s not a mirage, merely an item placed there by the thoughtful people at Home Depot who have made it their business to anticipate every moment and need of your life, including this one.

You grab a water bottle and start drinking, grateful again.

And then you notice a woman in another line who appears to have single-handedly taken on the task of representing the Spirit of Christmas Past, Present, and Future. She’s middle-aged and large, as is her husband, and they are waiting patiently for some sort of elaborate ID problem to be resolved. She’s got on one of those Christmas vests, red and green and loaded with appliques of holiday scenes; a chunky Christmas ornament bracelet made of small shiny metal balls, also red and green; and earrings that look like tiny sleighs. What’s more, she’s jolly, a regular Mrs. Claus (perhaps that’s who she is, after all?) and you smile and compliment her on the earrings in particular. Why not?

And then it’s your turn. And the clerk finds that your $6.97 kitchen spongeholder thingee will not scan. It will not be keyed in. It will not register on the register at all.

This causes a halt in the already painfully slow proceedings. You now join the Christmas couple in the task of waiting while a supervisor is called on the phone and a lengthy conversation ensues. You shift your weight from foot to foot. The chat goes on and on. You sip your drink.

And then the clerk turns to you and smiles and says, “The manager says ‘Merry Christmas.'”

Which means that Home Depot has decided to give you the Christmas gift of a $6.97 metal sponge holder. And so you can get a bit of that warm holiday glow after all as you trudge home with the faucet handles that turn out not to fit those holes. The sponge holder, however, is just right.