I work at a high-end hotel in the food and beverage department. I have many stories from there, as I have a fantastic boss to start. The food and beverage manager is also quite kind, but I can never tell if he is joking or not; he is very deadpan with his sardonic humor.

November first rolls around, and I, justifiably, am a grinch when it comes specifically to holiday music.

Me: “I just can’t stand it. No! I reject the holiday music. Halloween hasn’t had time to breathe, and Thanksgiving hasn’t even happened!”

Boss: “Oh, but I love it! It’s so uppity!”

Me: “But it’s the same d***ed fourteen songs over and over, for two months! It’s the twelve [expletive] days of Christmas, not the [worse series of expletives] sixty!”

The food and beverage manager emerges from the shadows.

Manager: *Completely deadpan* “Our playlist has twenty-three.”

The voice was so monotone and the timing so perfect, I admit that it took me a moment to realize he was being BOTH serious and hilarious. A moment passed, and then I simply lost it. I busted a gut and may have cracked a rib.

I still laugh about it to this day, and I absolutely still insist on the twelve, not sixty, days of Christmas.

It’s the Christmas of 2020, and I’m stuck secluded at home with you-know-what. Everyone in my family lives in another state, so I usually fly out there for Christmas. Not this year. So, there I am, sick and miserable, when I hear the doorbell. Confused and more irritated than I already was, I walk over to the window and open it, planning to tell the person that coming here really isn’t a good idea.

The person in question turns out to be my best friend, who tells me to come to the door and then runs back to a group of some of our other friends. Curious now, I do as I’m told. As soon as I open the door, my friends, who are a safe distance away, start dancing and singing!

Friends: “We wish you a merry Christmas; we wish you a merry Christmas; we wish you a merry Christmas; and a healthy New Year!

“Oh, please stay six feet away; oh, please stay six feet away; oh, please stay six feet away; you’re spreading it through the air!

“We won’t stay if you come outside; we won’t stay if you come outside; we won’t stay if you come outside; so, keep your a** right there!

“We wish you a merry Christmas; we wish you a merry Christmas; we wish you a merry Christmas; and a healthy New Yeeeeeeaaarrr!”

By the end of it, I was alternating between laughing and coughing but felt immensely better emotionally. I also finally spotted the gift boxes at my feet, each of which had a bag of cough drops taped to it. My friends insisted on watching me open my presents right there and requested IOUs for their own gifts.

I have the best friends ever.

I sing with a small band, and we were asked to perform some Christmas songs at the local Christmas market. All was going well until I started on “Let it Snow!”. My accidental spoonerism in the second verse caused some raised eyebrows and sniggers from the audience.

Me: “Man, it doesn’t show signs of stopping, and I brought me some porn for copping…”

Every time I sang the song afterward, I had to concentrate really hard on that section not to repeat the mistake.

I’m twenty years old. My office is very laid back, and even more so during the holidays. A famously dim coworker can’t remember the name of a famous Christmas story and is calling out across the office.

Coworker #1: “What’s the name of the one with… Bob Marley?”

Silence. Confusion? Probably muffled snickers.

I figure it out and kneel up on my desk to look her in the eye over the cubicle wall.

Me: “JACOB. Jacob Marley. A Christmas Carol.”

A few minutes later, another coworker speaks up.

Coworker #2: “Tonight you will be visited by three Buffalo soldiers…”

My family is a big fan of a certain hard rock band that comes to our city every few years to tour, and we go whenever we can.

I am autistic and have a hard time at concerts, which led to a big fight at one point. To cope with this, I wear noise-canceling headphones and sit down at shows; they only play at standing venues, for some reason.

In early 2022, they came to our city again, and I set myself up on the bleachers in the venue with a drink and my headphones.

Something important to note is that I’m not exactly the intended audience for this band; I was one of about four teenagers in the entire venue, including my sibling. It was disproportionately goths and older men with big beards and band tees. Something else to note is that even though I was sixteen, I had a h*** of a baby face and looked about twelve.

A couple of hours in, most people around me were drunk. I was chilling in my spot when a man who was about a foot taller than me, around my dad’s age, and clearly inebriated came up to me. 

Man: “Hey, are you… Are you wearing headphones?”

I nodded.

He then launched into a screaming tirade.

Man: “You’re not appreciating the music! You should be living in the moment! Take your headphones off and respect the band!”

I realized that he thought I was listening to music — I was not, and my phone was dead anyway — but it was too loud for me to clarify, and I was too busy crying. 

This carried on for a bit until my dad, himself very large and bearded, turned around to check on me and found the scene.

He got between me and the man and started tearing into this dude telling him that I’m autistic, that I wasn’t bothering anyone, that I love this band, and that he was being a jerk to a kid for no reason. He said some other stuff I couldn’t catch because I took the opportunity to bolt to the relatively quiet bathroom.

When I scooted back to my seat later, my dad let me know that the man had apologized and said he didn’t know and felt awful. I appreciate it, but I feel like maybe you should think before screaming at a kid you don’t know until they cry.