The Secret Santa Curse

I think I am officially cursed when it comes to Secret Santas. If you don't believe me, listen to this.

In my office, my momish office co-worker one day arrived with an armful of garish Wal-Mart stockings and hung one on each of our cubes. We were then told that if we wanted to we could all do an office Secret Santa, only the rules were a little untraditional. This sounded interesting. I was in. Instead of one goofy present that you exchange in a stuffy conference room over some stale pecan pie while exchange awkward smiles, we were going to give little things every few days and it didn't have to cost any money. Crap, I want out. An email went out explaining more of the rules and my co-worker even added "You can give whatever you want: jokes, cartoons, funny riddles." OK. My first Secret Santa will be a slip of paper that said "Knock knock. Who's there? Your Secret Santa." This is crap.

Apparently the person who drew my name took this "You don't have to spend money" rule to heart. My first present was a company paperweight commemorating our company's purchase of another company in 2004. It now sits on my desk and keeps my to-do pile at bay. OK, not so bad of a gift, right? I'll give him the benefit of the doubt. Clearly he just forgot today and the next thing will be cool.

The next day I got a golf ball. After that I got a handful of bandaids. Fucking bandaids. Here's the list of things I got after that, if you can believe it, and I'm not making any of this up: a sock of Spanish coins, old halloween candy, a document holder (stolen from the office supply cabinet where I saw it earlier that day), an old mug from Michigan State with coffee grinds still in it, a large flat rock (perhaps another paperweight?), and the piece de resistance: three packets of mustard. I kid you not. I was hoping maybe a hot dog would show up later, but no. I was at a loss... was I supposed to eat the mustard? What the hell?

This all gave me flashbacks to when I participated in the Secret Santa gift exchange last year in my old department. That time it was more normal and we all brought one gift and you could steal gifts from other people. I brough Cranium, and not to brag, but it was the biggest hit of the day. Someone brought one present that was so huge, it became the topic of conversation in the office in the morning leading up to the gift exchange. It was like five feet long and three feet wide. What was in that giant present? A new co-worker?!

So when it got down to opening presents, everyone was skipping over the giant present. I couldn't understand it. The mystery had to be solved! I think because I was a naive little 22 year old and didn't have the wisdom I have now as a 23 year old, I didn't think it through enough. People weren't picking that present because they didn't want to lug whatever it was home from work! Even if it was a maid in a box or something cool. But I didn't think of that and when it was my turn I lunged for the giant present and guess what it was? A giant tupperware box. The room erupted in laughter and I had to fake laugh along with them all, all the while crying inside as I began to wonder how the fuck I was going to get this thing home. Suffice it to say, no one wanted to steal my gift from me. And I never tracked down the bastard who brought it. I dragged the giant tupperware back to my cubicle that afternoon and stuck it under my desk. Someone said I could have fit in it, and I seriously thought a few times of crawling inside it to take a cat nap. I whacked my knee of that thing for the next six months until I remembered to drive to the office and come get it after hours, to hide my shame in darkness.

So in summary, Secret Santa's and I don't mix. You'd think karma would help me out a little, because I'm always a very good and insightful Secret Santa and bring cool things. But when it's been a long day at work, and the mustard packets your Secret Santa brought you that morning start to look good, something's gone terribly wrong.