My dad only dressed as Santa a handful of times when I was a kid, something he stopped doing because my parents discovered that I was way too observant.

At five, Santa visited my ballet class, much to the delight of my fellow classmates. My parents picked me up an hour later and asked if anything interesting happened.

Me: “It was fun! Santa came to visit, but I knew it was Daddy, so that was even better.”

Shocked, my parents tried denying it.

Mom: “Why would you think it was Daddy?”

I rolled my eyes.

Me: “‘Santa’ was wearing Daddy’s wedding ring. Duh.”

Silence. My mom burst out laughing.

Dad: “Santa is married! How do you know that wasn’t from Mrs. Claus?!”

Me: “No, that was Daddy’s hand and his ring.”

I was confused about why they were confused. Wasn’t it so obvious? The three of us used to lay in bed every morning and just hold our hands up to see the difference in sizes, or I’d sit there for like an hour as they slept, tracing every nook and cranny of their hands and faces. I could pick out that ring anywhere, with its dull and scratched surface acting like its own unique design. They continued trying to deny it, but my mom still talks about it years later, amazed at how I knew.

When I was six years old, Dad did another visit, this time to my Girl Scouts Christmas party. Everyone was excited. Moms were taking pictures. We all told him what we wanted and what good deeds we did for the year.

Fast forward to our ride home. My dad asked how the party went, and I was confused.

Me: “You know how it went; you were there.”

Dad: *Quickly* “I was at work!”

Again, I explained that he came dressed as Santa, as if he had forgotten. My dad groaned.

Dad: “How?! Why do you think it was me?!”

Me: “I could see your uniform sticking out of your neck.”

Mom: “How the h*** did she see that?”

To be fair, this was back when military uniforms were bright green camo. It’s not really smart to wear that under bright red.

Dad: *Exasperated* “Yeah, well… Santa was in the military!! Santa needs a day job, too, you know!”

I just giggled. Santa also had Daddy’s eyes, but I decided not to mention it.

There was one more visit that same year. This time, we were all gathered at a neighbor’s house where I was hanging out with a trio of siblings — two older girls and a younger boy — and our parents were drinking at the dinner table. My dad disappeared, and Mom said he’d just gone to the bathroom (which, of course, takes like half an hour).

Santa arrived, this time with a sack full of presents.

Santa didn’t stay long, telling us he just wanted to drop off some “early” gifts, and left quickly after the initial excitement was over. He didn’t sit down and didn’t really let any of us near him for too long. He was not wearing a wedding ring. No familiar clothing was sticking out of his Santa clothes. He was there and he was gone.

We all tore into the presents in seconds only to discover that they were all filled with strips of tissue paper.

The adults all erupted into snickers and laughter. I didn’t notice that my friends were upset; in fact, I was excited. Of course, these weren’t real gifts; it wasn’t even Christmas! In fact, I was having a grand time throwing the tissue into the air and “making it snow”.

Eventually, my friends started to see the fun in this and joined me. The girl closest to my age, around eight, went on a conspiracy rant about how it HAD to have been my dad because “Santa would never do something so mean.” I didn’t really understand what she meant, but I did agree that it was my dad. She thought I was crazy for not being upset.

My dad sneaked in a little later, and I went and jumped on his lap. He asked me what he’d missed, surprised he hadn’t walked into a living room filled with crying kids, and my mom just shook her head.

Mom: “Just your daughter being your daughter.”

My dad immediately understood. 

Dad: *Sighing* “This is why time-outs didn’t work on you. You’d start counting in the corner and forget you were in trouble.”

I looked at my mom, grinning widely as if I, too, were in on this elaborate prank.

Me: “Santa was wearing Daddy’s work boots.”

Oh, silly adults. Didn’t they know I used to spend hours playing in their bedroom, hiding in their closet, and getting into my dad’s shoes to play with the shoe polish and make bracelets out of those little green ropes he put around his ankles?

Quickly, everybody brushed me off and tried to change the subject.

My mom later asked me how the h*** I knew those were my dad’s shoes.

Me: *Shrugging* “They’re just daddy’s shoes.”

After all, he wore them every day. Nothing Mom said or tried to explain away would change my mind.

Suffice it to say, my dad gave up Santa after that!

The president of our company got completely plastered at our company’s Christmas party. His speech started off funny because he was slurring hard and he was playing on it.

Then, he started talking about how he had come from nothing and become something. Then, he proceeded to tell us how if it wasn’t for us working so hard and keeping our clients happy, he wouldn’t have been able to accomplish building his mega-mansion for himself and his family, nor would he have been able to afford his new Mercedes-Benz.

Things got really quiet among the employees, and there was some awkward and disgruntled muttering among the employees. The president became vaguely aware that something had gone south, but his inebriation kept him from figuring it out. Ramping up his false cheer, he then dropped this gem.

President: “Drink up and enjoy, because due to budget cuts, the future Christmas party and bonus budget is canceled from here on out!”

I’m amazed no one got up and punched him in the face or told him what they REALLY thought of him. Many of my coworkers relied on that bonus, and absolutely no one was impressed.

Except for one person, the rest of us quit within the first few months into the new year. The boss, who had apparently been blackout drunk, seemed very confused that he lost so much of his staff in such short order.

My son’s eleventh birthday is coming, and he just wants to have his grandparents over, nothing special. A few weeks before his birthday, my wife and son go to a nearby place to order a cake. We’ve had great success with their cakes in the past and everyone has really enjoyed them, so it was a done deal: use them for this birthday cake.

The day of the birthday, my wife stops at the store and picks up the cake. Things look good. Everything is spelled correctly, and the decoration on the cake looks very nice. Now we’re all set.

It’s about 8:00 pm, and the birthday is coming to an end, so we do cake. I set up the candles and light them, we all sing “Happy Birthday”, and so on. My wife starts cutting pieces of cake and plating them, and she pauses after placing the first piece of cake down.

Wife: “The filling doesn’t look right; it should be chocolate. That doesn’t look chocolate.”

I lean over and look at it. At first, it looks like the filling had some frosting bleed into it from the edges. So, she continues to cut a couple more pieces and plate them.

Wife: “It certainly doesn’t look like chocolate filling. We ordered chocolate filling… What is it?”

Me: “You know, you could just taste it to find out.”

I take a fork, scoop out a little of the filling, and try it.

Me: “I don’t know what it is, but it certainly isn’t just chocolate. It almost tastes like they mixed lemon with it…” *Makes a slight gagging sound* “This is awful. Who the h*** would want a lemon and chocolate mix for a filling in a cake? Lemon and chocolate don’t go together!”

I have a nasty lemon/chocolate flavor just stuck in my mouth for an hour. I can’t get rid of it. So gross. I love lemon-flavored stuff — candy, bars, bread, lemon poppy seed muffins, and the list goes on. I’ll even peel a lemon and eat it. But this, this was awful.

A few other people at the table try it and no one likes it. We’ve got about a quarter of the cake that we all throw out, and the other three-quarters I’m going to return to the store tomorrow morning when they open.

Morning comes, and my wife doesn’t want to accompany me to the store. She just kind of shrugs her shoulders and says it’s no big deal. What? Yes, it is! The cake cost $35. With current gas prices, that’s almost a full tank of gas for one of our cars. I’m not letting $35 go to waste.

I head to the store and speak with the two ladies behind the counter. They’re offended when I say the cake tastes like crap, and they call over the manager.

Me: “I don’t know what you guys did, but the filling for the cake my wife picked up yesterday is awful. Downright awful. It was some nasty lemon and chocolate filling, gross. They ordered chocolate filling.”

Manager: “Here’s the order form. As you can see, the filling section was circled as wanting lemon.”

Me: “My wife and son both asked for a chocolate filling and never once said the word ‘lemon’. The lady who filled out the form even wrote chocolate in the filling area, so I don’t know why they also circled lemon.”

Manager: “There’s nothing I can do about it; it was made correctly.”

Me: “I’ve got the cake with me; you can eat some and let me know how you feel about it. My son was upset the cake tasted like crap, and I don’t blame him.”

Manager: “Like I said, this is the form that was filled out.”

Me: “The customer doesn’t even fill out the form. The employees do as we talk to them.”

The manager just stares at me like I’m stupid.

Me: “So, you’re telling me that no one ever makes a mistake? Who the h*** would want a lemon/chocolate filling? It tastes awful. I love lemon food, candy, bars, and bread, and I’ll even peel lemons and eat them, but this was just disgusting.”

The manager looked over the order form again and noticed that chocolate whipped topping was marked to be in the cake and should have been in the cake, but there was none. After a bit more back and forth, he finally agreed that mistakes can happen and he’d be willing to refund at least half the cost of the cake back to us, but he said that was the best he could do.

In the end, I told him they could keep the other three-quarters of the cake we didn’t touch because it tasted awful, and he refunded me $20 out of the $35 we’d spent on it. I don’t know if they ever tried the cake or not, but I hope they did just so they could be punished for the screw-up.

In the end, it wasn’t a complete loss, but it wasn’t a complete win, either.

I’m helping a client who’s planning his staff party on the cheap.

Client: “I wanted to ask, do we have to buy the confetti or will you be printing it?”

There was a “salsa party” at a community center near me, and I thought, “Aw, h*** yeah! Free chips and salsa!”

I spent all day impatiently waiting for the crunchy goodness that was going to be chips and salsa while I’d maybe chat it up with new faces.

I came to find out as I arrived people that people were salsa dancing and no chips and salsa were waiting for me.

That is all. Pure disappointment.