Boxing Day

December 2006

It was Christmas Day and I was a newly minted flight attendant, and had been transferred to Pan Am’s London base. I had just completed my first trip, and although I knew practically no one, I was excited to be in the land of Charles Dickens. Three days earlier, I had found a room for rent in a suburb of London. I didn’t really know the other flight attendants with whom I was sharing the house, but not wanting to spend Christmas alone, I had high hopes that at least one person would be there when I arrived.

I spent a small fortune on a cab since all public transportation was closed because of the holiday. I turned the key on the door and was greeted by a note, “Welcome James, we all went back to the States for Christmas. All calls by you will be charged to your rent (so don’t call the US). The heat is operated by 50 pence coins. Merry Xmas.”

The only hint of Christmas in the house was a scattering of tinsel and the wreath on the door. There was no television or stereo, just an AM radio with a broken antenna. The cupboards were bare, apart from pita chips and half a bottle of booze lacking a label. I of course had no 50 pence coins so I wrapped myself tightly in a blanket and made the best of a crummy situation. There I was feasting on stale chips, drinking what I hoped was sherry, and listening to an Elvis Christmas on the radio. Ah, good memories. 

I awoke the next day to the radio DJ blaring Happy Boxing Day! Apparently, for the British, it was like a holiday almost as important as Christmas. I took it as a second chance for some yule-tide fun. I searched for a nearby pub and was the first to enter when it opened. I ordered a pint of cider, a big plate of fish and chips, got 10 pounds worth of 50 pence coins for later, and took a prime seat in front of the largest television in the place.

After my third pint, the locals started coming in and I asked the bartender when the matches began. He looked at me with a confused expression. “You know, the boxing matches?” He smiled and asked if I was joking. When he realized I was serious, he called the other bartender over and asked me to repeat what I had just said. I did so, but not as confidently as before. They burst out laughing while many of the patrons overheard and joined in on the hilarity. I was officially the stupid American. Even though they were laughing at me, I decided to laugh with them.

I just figured that since Americans did football on New Year’s Day, the British had boxing matches the day after Christmas. I soon found out that the origin of Boxing Day has several different versions. The one that makes most sense to me is that in Britain many years ago, it was common practice for the servants to carry boxes to their employers when they arrived on the day after Christmas. Their employers would then put coins in the boxes as special end-of-year gifts. Thus the name Boxing Day. This can be compared with the modern day concept of Christmas bonuses. Ask any British citizen and they will tell you a different version but Wikipedia lists them all.

When the laughter in the pub settled to a dull roar I attempted to make an unobtrusive exit. But the bartender grabbed my arm and poured me a complimentary pint, stating he hasn’t laughed that hard in a long time. The word got around the pub quickly and suddenly I became the most popular person in the place, and I quickly got over my initial embarrassment.

The rest of the night was spent playing darts, and drinking too much cider with my new-found friends. Having the ability to laugh at myself, it was truly the best Boxing Day ever. Now that I reside back in the US, the day after Christmas still holds a very special place in my heart.

Happy Boxing Day everyone!

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