(I work in a large, open-plan office. A colleague sitting on the bank of desks next to mine starts singing “The Twelve Days of Christmas.”)
Colleague: “FIIIIVE GOOOOLD RIIINGS! Four walking birds, three walking birds, two walking birds, and a partridge in a pear tree.”
Me: *almost crying with laughter* “I really don’t think that’s how it goes.”
(My boss loves Christmas more than any other person I have ever met. One of my coworkers has decided to challenge her to a decorating contest. This conversation happens after he comes to see us on day two since we started. It looks like someone vomited Christmas.)
Coworker: “Oh, my God.”
Boss: “It’s cute, right?!”
Coworker: “I was having a great day until I was told to come to see this.”
Boss: “It looks good!”
Coworker: “You realize I have to crush you now. I love you all, but you will suffer a terrible demise.”
Boss: “I’m not bringing you my tree anymore, then.”
Coworker: “I’m sorry. Please bring the tree.”
Boss: “I’ll bring it tomorrow.”
Coworker: “The trash talk will continue after the tree has arrived.”
Boss: “Merry Christmas, motherf*****.”
(I am in the hospital, having an operation on my hand that requires me to be under general anaesthetic. I am fourteen years old and have previously had two generals, so I know I react well, if very strangely. The anaesthetist is prepping me for surgery, with my dad beside me.)
Anaesthetist: “Okay, now the next drug I’m going to give you is this [medicine], which [does something I now can’t remember]. Okay?”
Me: *already a little bit drugged up and very sluggishly cheerful* “Okay!”
Anaesthetist: *barely started administering the medicine* “Right, so, adults often say that it feels like you’ve had a little drink–”
Me: “Oooh, yep, got that! Wooowwwww! Dad, everything’s blurry!”
Anaesthetist: *trying not to laugh* “Yes, sweetheart, it does that sometimes. I always hear that it’s a bit like having alcohol from the adults, and some people say that it makes them feel very happy.”
Me: “It feels like I’ve had alcohol or something!”
Anaesthetist: “There she goes!”
Me: “And I feel really happy! Did you give me something?”
Anaesthetist: “I’m going to put you to sleep now, sweetheart, okay?”
Me: “Okay! See you in a bit! I like your hat!”
(Out like a light. I apologised to the anaesthetist afterward, while still a bit drugged, and asked where his hat was when he came to tell me that I’d made his day. He’d never been wearing one.)
(My dad still needs Christmas lists from my sister and me, and sends us the following text to remind us.)
Dad: “Attention, daughters. Limited time offer for free stuff. But wait; there’s more! You get free shipping and handling, also, but you must act fast to get lists in before the deadline. This offer is not valid in Italy and Turkey, but if you have turkey on your list you can still get it! Hurry, hurry, hurry!”
(My dad has come to pick me up from work. We’re just wandering around the store so he can do some Christmas shopping and I can pick up a few things while my discount is augmented — corporate’s holiday gift to the employees. He’s wandered off to another part of the store, and it should be known that he’s a bit of an impulsive shopper. I finish up my shopping and find him with a basket, filling it with items from our Hanukkah stock. I figure he’s going to give it to some of his coworkers, but he’s got an awful lot of it.)
Me: “Dad, what are you going to do with all of that?”
Dad: “Give it to your mother for Christmas!”
Me: “Except none of us are Jewish.”
