I started a new job this month. On Friday, I found out that our office organizes a huge Secret Santa exchange, and we were all expected to bring a gift worth $100. I told my boss I wouldn’t be able to participate.
When I arrived at the office on Monday, I saw a bright, oversized gift bag sitting right in the center of my desk, tied with a massive gold bow that seemed to mock my empty bank account. The job was at a high-end marketing firm in downtown Chicago, a place where people wore shoes that cost more than my monthly rent. I had been unemployed for four months before landing this role as a junior copywriter.
My savings were completely drained, and I was currently living on ramen noodles and sheer willpower until my first paycheck arrived. A $100 Secret Santa buy-in wasn’t just an inconvenience; it was a physical impossibility for me. My boss, a man named Sterling who always looked like he was about to step onto a yacht, had seemed disappointed when I pulled him aside on Friday.
He told me the Secret Santa was a “cornerstone of their corporate synergy” and that it was a tradition everyone looked forward to. I felt about two inches tall explaining that I simply didn’t have the funds to join in this year. He had just nodded, adjusted his cufflinks, and said he’d “make a note of it.”
Walking into the office that Monday and seeing that gift bag felt like a punch to the gut.
I assumed someone hadn’t gotten the memo and had bought me something, which meant I would have to endure the public embarrassment of not having a gift to give in return. I stood there, clutching my lukewarm coffee, feeling like the entire floor was watching me. The office was already buzzing with holiday music and the smell of expensive peppermint lattes.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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