I'm bad on Valentine's Day, but even worse on Christmas. I go

Host:
The mall parking lot stretched wide under a cold December night, empty except for the trembling glow of distant lights. Snow was starting to fall — not the soft, storybook kind, but those quick, stubborn flakes that seemed to defy beauty out of principle. Inside the massive Toys ‘R’ Us, the air hummed with the tired sound of holiday music played on repeat — “Jingle Bell Rock” echoing through too much space.

It was 9:00 p.m. on Christmas Eve. The aisles were nearly barren, shelves half-stripped, everything glinting under fluorescent lights that buzzed like loneliness in disguise.

Jack pushed a shopping cart that squeaked with each turn, a box of Legos and a stuffed bear inside. His hair was messy, his coat half-zipped, and his expression was the weary calm of a man who’d lost track of time — or maybe purpose.

Jeeny appeared at the end of the aisle, holding a cheap snow globe in her hands, her eyes catching the sparkle as she turned it slowly.

Jeeny: “Jamie Foxx once said, ‘I’m bad on Valentine’s Day, but even worse on Christmas. I go shopping at nine o’clock on December 24th every year. Nobody else is there. I’m in Toys’R’Us all by myself. I get there five minutes before closing.’”

Jack: [smirking faintly] “That sounds about right. The loneliest man in the happiest store.”

Jeeny: “And the funniest thing? He’s not even talking about gifts. He’s talking about timing — about missing the rhythm of connection.”

Jack: “Yeah. Some people get the date wrong. Some people get the life wrong.”

Host:
The music looped again, quieter now, the store almost closing. Somewhere, a cashier coughed; a janitor swept near the registers, half-listening, half-hoping to go home.

Jack: “You ever notice how Christmas magnifies everything? Joy feels louder, and loneliness feels… infinite.”

Jeeny: “Because the whole world’s pretending it’s okay. And you’re the only one who knows the truth.”

Jack: “That you can be surrounded by blinking lights and still be in the dark.”

Jeeny: [gently] “You sound like a man who’s been here before.”

Jack: “Every year. Maybe not in Toys ‘R’ Us, but in spirit.”

Host:
The lights reflected off the wrapping paper aisle, turning it into a tunnel of color — golds, reds, silvers — like the inside of a broken ornament.

Jeeny: “I think that’s what Foxx was really saying — not that he’s bad at holidays, but that holidays remind him he’s human. He leaves it too late, he rushes, he forgets — and in that chaos, he remembers himself.”

Jack: “Because guilt has a way of feeling like love, doesn’t it?”

Jeeny: “Yes. The desperate kind. The ‘I still care, I’m just terrible at showing it’ kind.”

Jack: “So he runs into the store at the last minute. Not to buy gifts — to buy redemption.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. And the irony is, he’s alone while doing it — in the most family-oriented place in the world.”

Host:
Jack laughed softly, the kind of laugh that doesn’t reach the eyes.

Jack: “You know, when I was a kid, I thought adults had Christmas figured out — the lights, the presents, the perfect timing. Turns out, adulthood’s just scrambling for meaning before the store closes.”

Jeeny: “And praying the meaning’s still in stock.”

Jack: [grinning now] “You think maybe we romanticize chaos because it feels more real than perfection?”

Jeeny: “Absolutely. The last-minute shopper, the crooked tree, the burned cookies — that’s the true nativity of modern life.”

Jack: “And the messier it gets, the more it feels like love.”

Jeeny: “Because love’s never on time.”

Host:
A voice over the intercom broke the moment:
“Attention shoppers, the store will be closing in five minutes. Please bring your final purchases to the front registers.”

The sound was sharp and final — like a curtain falling on an unplanned scene.

Jack looked around — the aisles empty, the shelves half-empty. The bear in his cart stared up with button eyes, its smile unchanging.

Jack: “You know, maybe that’s the poetry of it — the image of a man alone in a toy store, buying joy he won’t get to feel himself.”

Jeeny: “That’s not sad. That’s sacred.”

Jack: [quietly] “You really think so?”

Jeeny: “Yeah. Because the man who still shows up — late, flawed, unprepared — still believes in giving.”

Host:
The lights dimmed slightly; a worker began rolling down the metal grates at the front of the store. The hum of the closing hour vibrated through the air.

Jack took the bear, turned it over in his hands, then looked at Jeeny.

Jack: “You ever think Christmas isn’t about the miracle of arrival, but about the courage to show up — even when you’re late?”

Jeeny: “Always. The best gifts don’t arrive on time. They arrive when you finally realize what they mean.”

Jack: “Then maybe there’s hope for people like me.”

Jeeny: [softly] “Maybe the world runs on people like you.”

Host:
He placed the bear gently on the counter. The cashier, a young woman with tired eyes, gave him a kind smile — the quiet solidarity of one late soul to another.

As the receipt printed, the snow outside thickened, turning the parking lot into a blur of white and reflection.

Jack: “You think Foxx was laughing when he said it?”

Jeeny: “Of course. But the kind of laugh that hides a little ache — the kind that knows loneliness can still be funny, if you hold it right.”

Jack: “Yeah. The kind that turns pain into punchline — and keeps singing through the closing hours.”

Host:
They stepped outside, the automatic doors sighing behind them. The cold hit, sharp and clean. The bear peeked out from the bag, its soft brown head collecting snow.

The camera would pull back — the two of them walking through the empty parking lot, lights glinting off puddles, laughter floating softly into the winter air.

And as the scene dissolved into snow and neon reflection, Jamie Foxx’s words would linger — half confession, half comedy, all truth:

Some people plan their joy.
Others stumble into it —
five minutes before closing,
under bad lighting,
holding something small
and wildly sincere.
It’s never too late to give,
and never too late
to laugh at yourself while trying.