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Christmas Eve

It was December 24th, and there I sat, slaving away at my desk. At around 4:30, my boss came out of his office to see how everything was going.

“How’s everything going?” he said.

“Fine, sir.” I replied. “Can I go home now?”

“Do you have any decent concepts yet?”

“No, sir.”

“Then get cracking. We can’t afford to lose this account.”

“But, sir, it’s Christmas Eve.”

“And?”

“Well, we should be with our loved ones.”

“Oh really? And what do you plan on doing with your loved ones?”

“Uhhh trimming the tree?”

“Smivey, I know for a fact that you live alone and the only thing you have to do is maybe watch Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer for the upteenth time.”

“I forgot to TiVo it.”

“I’ll buy you the fucking DVD.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Well, unlike you, I do have family to go home to. But you know what? They understand that I also have a job to do. Come to think of it, who the hell decided that Christmas Eve was supposed to be some kind of holiday? All you do is run around, trying to find last-minute gifts and buying things that nobody is going to ever use. Oh, and wrapping presents. Why does everyone put off wrapping presents? Is it so fucking hard?”

“No, sir.”

“Of course not, you idgit. Besides, technically, it’s not even Christmas Eve yet. It’s what we call Christmas Eve Day, which is total bullshit. As far as I’m concerned, the holiday doesn’t start until the 25th. Making you working on Christmas Eve doesn’t make me an evil Scrooge. It just makes me a dick, and I can live with that. But just to show you there are no hard feelings, I’m going to give you a gift.”

“You are?”

“Yes, it’s your job. But it expires in three months. In March, I take it back—unless I see something brilliant on my desk from you before then. How does that sound?”

“Good?”

“Right. Now get your ass out of here and go home to your 34-inch widescreen TV.”

“Thank you, sir. Merry Christmas…”

“If you say ‘everyone’, I’m going to strangle you.”

“Uh, Merry Christmas.”

“Bite me.”

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