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Secret Schmucky Santa

17 Nov

from December 20, 2008

My new place does Secret Santa. That’s where you pick a name and give that person a present. I always used to cheat. I’d just keep picking names until I found someone I wanted to buy for and stuck the other names back in. Sure it went against the spirit of the thing, but if I wanted to buy a pair of sweat socks for some biological toilet then I’d donate to the kids on tv with flies on their faces. Oh sure, they’re hungry. And sure, they’re poor. And yes, they have homes that Brooklyn homeless laugh at, and of course their country has the gross domestic product of an average kindergarten class penny fair and the main export is disease, but man alive, could you just brush the damn flies off your face? Look at that commercial- the flies are crawling in their eyes. How could you let them crawl around your iris like that? Have you corneas? The flies that crawl in their mouths are different. That’s protein. Just swallow. But jeez, flies in the eyes? That’s just wrong.

This year I forgot to pick so I was given the last name in the box. It didn’t matter though, I barely know anybody and quite frankly, I’m not sure why I put my name in. It was just some silly impulse to fit in. Like I ever will. Or want to. It took me six years at Lafayette before I even knew we had a football team.

But I did it and then the other shoe dropped- we give gifts for AN ENTIRE WEEK. Monday through Thursday we give little things, for a couple of dollars, and on Friday we give a bigger thing for around twenty.

MONDAY

I gave a thermal coffee mug which cost me nothing because when my brother went grocery shopping I stuck it in his cart. I picked the only one without a Santa on it because the person getting it was Jewish. I got a nice Ansel Adams calendar. It had great black and white nature photography. I love b+w photography. I think it was regift. It had a crushed corner and the price was way above the limit. Oh, and it was from 2007. (No, not really.)

TUESDAY

I gave a small box of Whitman chocolate and some candy canes. Again, no cost- my brother’s grocery cart. I got a small handwritten note. A love letter? No. A hate letter? More likely, but no. A death threat? Well, I don’t think anyone I ever worked with wanted to kill me (except for Kathy last year, but she needed me too much) so that was out. It was a handwritten note asking me to go the cafeteria and get a free bagel and juice. Nice, but hardly personal. This was school stuff. It cost the giver nothing because she runs Café McKee and didn’t lay out a cent. OK, technically, I didn’t either, but it was akin to me giving an eraser and some chalk.

WEDNESDAY

I gave a small metal reindeer picture holder. Cost to me? Nothing. The family went holiday shopping the night before and when Mom was buying my brother something I just stuck it on the counter. Hey, what’s $3.99 between family? I got a bag of an unknown brand of chocolate coins. Before you think that chocolate coins are appropriate gifts for a Jew at Hanukkah, consider that the coins were chocolate versions of American coins, with a smiling George Washington on the bag. I tried a coin, tasted what may have been chocolate that passed it’s expiration date sometime in the last century, and chucked out coins.

THURSDAY

For the first time, I spent some money- $1.99 for a box (½ price) of Ferro Rocher candy. I got a mug. Pretty nice, standard, actually, with a small ribbon that said ‘excellent teacher.’ Bearing in mind the bad week I had, I tossed out the ribbon. It made a small super-sonic boom on the way to the trash can. The mug is in my closet, waiting to be regifted to the woman in the copy room next week. This gift was too big to fit in my mailbox. When that happens, we just put the gift on the table next to the mailboxes. For some reason my Secret Santa asked Elena next door to bring it to me. For anonymity, Elena went out of her way to tell me that it was from my Secret Santa, not her. Then it turned into a Seinfeld routine. (Not that I wouldn’t give you a gift, not this particular gift, we could exchange gifts, etc.) I think I better get her something because she might have talked herself into getting me something. I wonder if she’d like a slightly rumpled Ansel Adams calendar? For my part, the best gift I could get next week is a couple of days of ‘I’m staying in my room, don’t come in, anyone.’ (Unless it is Elena with a gift.)

FRIDAY

I went to Rite Aid, home of all last minute Secret Santa shoppers, and bought a gift set with a couple of cocoa mugs, some cocoa, and an Irish whiskey flavored powder to put on the rim. I have no idea what that does because when I drink hot chocolate I pour the powder in a mug, add hot water from the tap, nuke it for a minute, and stir. That’s my level of sophistication. I got a Cross pen and pencil set. That was bad. I have bad associations with Cross pen and pencil sets. Almost every job I ever left, I was given a Cross set. I have, no joke, three sets, (now four) in my dresser drawer. Maybe she knows something I don’t. That is bad juju.

Oddly enough my Secret Santa was the same person I was buying for. I knew this a week ago when the person sat down and subtlety pumped me for information. ‘Do you like chocolate? Is that a crossword puzzle book? Can I look at it? What did it cost?’

I also today used the free bagel and juice note for breakfast. (No, I didn’t eat it- I redeemed it.) I had planned to not use it at all. It was just too cheesy. But my Secret Santa, after identifying herself and telling me how much she loved the cocoa thing, acted offended that I didn’t get my bagel, and should she send one down? “Oh man, I forgot all about it! I’ve been so busy! Yes, send me down a bagel with cream cheese and an orange juice! Thanks, you’re the best!”

Next year, God willing, when I’m working way, way out of the public sector, I hope to not have to do a Secret Santa at all. I am just not cut out for it. I like who I like, ignore the rest, and don’t play the game. No wonder I am so beloved.

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People, People, Everywhere People

13 Nov

from December 19, 2007

I want to live in a world without people. No people, nowhere. Oh, I don’t mean you, kind and gentle Readers, (and especially not you, you oh so special Reader you!) but I mean all the people who make life suck. The ones who don’t follow the rules.

Rule Number One: DON’T TELL A WRITER HOW TO WRITE!

OK, Bill is a friend, but I guess he is really a friend of a friend. In other words, if I ever stopped being friends with Ami I’d happily bury Bill out in the desert up to his neck and dump a sack of angry fire ants on his head.

I got a call from him last night. For whatever reason he has no computer but he needs me to send an email for him. A phone call won’t do, he said. I guess this situation didn’t call for the personal touch. Here is his side of the conversation, as best as I can stand to relate it.

“It is going to CraigA5@aol.com. That’s C, like um, car, no, like yeah, car. A, I, um Craig………”

 (skipping, skipping, skipping for sanity…………….)

“So I want you to say that, well, ‘Hi. I am writing for Bill.’ No, say that you were asked to write for Bill, yeah ‘Hi, Bill asked me to write’ um, …………”

(skipping, skipping, skipping for sanity…………….)

“Yeah, and I’ll say, um, maybe I should thank him, Ok good, write this ‘I am looking forward to hearing back…’ Back? What about if I said ‘Hope to receive your response? Or reply, which is better?…………”

Here is the message I sent:

Hi Craig.

Bill has no computer right now and asked me to write and inform you that he sent the payment to your Paypal account last week. He’ll email you himself as soon as he gets online.

Don’t ever tell a writer how to write. Ever. Even if you think I write like shit. (And judging from my last blog maybe you’re right. Sometimes writing them is about as much fun as having a root canal minus being felt up by the dentist after the Novocain hit.)

Imagine if somebody told God how to write.

“Look, God, this line here, ‘In the beginning,‘ I don’t get it. What if you said like ‘There was nothing until I came along.‘ Makes you look strong, you know God? You gotta be strong.”

Rule Number Two: IF WE ARE PRETENDING THAT WE DON’T KNOW EACH OTHER, DON’T WISH ME A MERRY CHRISTMAS AT RITE AID.

I used to work at Kids-R-Us. Toys-R-Us sells toys, you’d think we sold kids, right? But no, we sold kid’s clothes. Too bad, we could have been one-stop shopping for all your pedophile needs.

But years back, in the early 90’s there was a woman named Mary Ann who worked behind the service desk. She was a crossing guard by day and service desk person by night. Oh, she was also having an affair, but that was none of my business. Except when both the husband and boyfriend showed up at the same time to pick her up. Then it was fun!

But I hadn’t seen her in many years. I went into Rite Aid one day and I instantly recognized her. I have a great memory for faces. But a shit memory for names. I have students whose names I don’t know RIGHT NOW. All I knew was that I knew her from……somewhere.

I got on line and she rang me up. I looked at her. She looked at me. We both had the spark of recognition in our eyes. She smiled. I adjusted my headphones. She said “Hi!’ I mumbled “umm.” She said “$13.07.” I paid and left.

When I go in there now I always check to see if she is working. If she is I leave. Sometimes I don’t see her and then she comes off break and I’m in a dilemma: put down my stuff and leave or stay and be awkward? I generally choose awkward. She looks at me, I look at her, I pay and leave. OF COURSE SHE KNOWS WHO I AM. WE WORKED TOGETHER FOR YEARS.

But a couple of days ago I was in there and before I left she said “Merry Christmas Barry.” What did I say? Nothing. I pretended I didn’t hear her.

Damn, now I can’t go back until August.

Rule Number Three: TAKE YOUR CHRISTMAS GIFT IN THE SPIRIT IN WHICH IT WAS GIVEN.

I swear, giving out Christmas presents today was like giving out Kwanzaa candles at a Klan rally. I give presents because I want to, not because I want a gift in return. And please, don’t tell me “you really are a nice guy.” What, you thought I was a gorilla before?

Living in a world without people may not be the answer. But it would sure be relaxing. And I would not have to look at craggy-faced secretary Doreen with the pock marks that look like shrapnel scars and comes into my room to see if THE FUCKING BACKGROUND of her picture is alright. The background will look like a Picasso compared to the walking acne farm in the foreground.

Was that cruel of me?

No.

This reminds me of the time I was in the NYC Writer’s project. (Their motto- “If you are willing to stay at Lafayette until 7:00 we’ll pay you”) We were all asked to pick a book to read in a group and discuss. I wanted to read Understanding Comics by Scott McCloud. This was the first intellectual criticism of the art of writing comic books, and one that I’ve subsequently used in class.

Well, I usually sat next to a teacher from another school. She was young and cute and we had nothing between us at all because, lets face it, after 3:30 all I want to do at LHS is leave LHS.

This other guy from another school was really interested in her, but because she was usually sitting next to me he assumed that he had to go all Alpha Dog on me. On this particular day, I talked about my book, and when it was his turn, all he did was make bad jokes about my book and try to mack on the girl. What was his book? All I Need To Know I Learned in Kindergarten. And he had the never to make fun of my book? What did he learn, how to shit his pants?

The guy was really annoying and wouldn’t leave me alone. Finally I had to tell him off. You know me, it takes a lot for me to do that, but I took him out in the hall and told him, very nicely, that if he didn’t shut up I’d shove his kindergarten book up his ass. Thank god he shut up, because if push came to shove I would have definitely, 100%, not shoved the book up his ass.

P.S. The girl was impressed by the tool, showing that cute she may have been, but smart she was not.

Rules are important. They make the world livable. For me.

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