Christmas is a holiday that exploits the materialistic nature of humans in the name of religion. A man that was supposedly conceived from a virgin on December 25th has his birthday celebrated with in house pine trees and presents delivered by an ironically made up man named Santa Claus.
This holiday spirit bleeds into offices across the country and often materializes into Secret Santa gift exchanges. Receiving useless trinkets from an anonymous person that you work with is “fun” because trying to figure out who gave you stale Hershey Kisses and cheap lotion is a cheerful holiday mystery.
Unsurprisingly I didn’t participate in this year’s Secret Santa but like paying for shitty high deductible health insurance, I couldn’t escape it. This morning as I sat at my desk trying to think of an excuse to not attend the office holiday party, a smiling co-workers head appeared over my cube wall. I pulled out my ear buds and put the most pathetic fake smile on my unshaven face.
She walked around to the entrance of my cube and I saw a gift bag with ribbons and decorative paper in her hand. The smiling pipe smoking snow man on the side of the bag eliminated my desire to even attempt smiling.
“Good morning Scott, do you ever go to the first floor?” she asked.
Yes I do go to the first floor. In fact it is impossible to not reach the second floor without going through the first floor. Instead of answering her question directly in a “just ask me the real question you want to ask” tone, I lied “yea I go down there quite a bit.”
“Oh that’s great! Do you mind dropping this off at Bridget’s desk downstairs when you go down there? I am her Secret Santa and I don’t want her to know it’s from me.”
I looked back at the snow man on the cheap gift bag. I envisioned meth being in his pipe that he was smoking and that he wasn’t a snow man at all. He was just a lost soul like me who turned to drugs and was currently dealing with a bad high where he feels like his body is made up of three balls of snow and has twigs for arms. My staring at the drug addict must have lasted longer than I thought as my co-worker said, “It’s ok if you don’t want too.”
Realizing that I was yet again failing at talking to people, I responded “oh yea no problem, I can do that. I won’t tell her who it is from.”
“Great, thanks!” she said and she placed the bag on my desk and walked away.
I stared at the bag. Who is Bridget? Where does she sit? Questions I should have asked ran through my increasingly anxious mind. I took a big swig of my coffee wishing it was Jameson and came to terms with my gift delivering assignment.
As I made my way to the first floor I cringed when I saw my reflection in the window, a fat guy in a sweater vest carrying a little gift bag looks as ridiculous as it sounds. I have only walked through the offices and cube farm on the first floor a couple of times so I didn’t know my way around. I waddled through the area wielding the cute bag scanning for name plates that reads Bridget.
I might as well have been a werewolf walking through the maze as everyone glanced at me, trying to figure out who I was and what I was doing. After a few minutes of searching I found Bridget’s unoccupied desk. I left the bag on her vacant chair and abandoned the area like it was seconds away from exploding into fire.
Relief overcame me as I sat back down at my desk. It was over. It wasn’t that bad. I unlocked my computer, pulled up the instant messenger application and thought of a funny line to send to my co-worker who needed the gift delivered. I typed and sent “the eagle has landed,” thinking that was something someone funny and social would say after completing a secret task.
She replied “what?”
I got too cocky thinking I could successfully interact with someone in a joking manner. The relief went as fast as it came and I quickly explained and said I gave the package to Bridget without her knowing.
I hate Secret Santa, and I have yet to find a way to not attend the holiday party. Day Ruined.
Day Ruined 