Word Wielder. Content Creator.

Krissed Off

Christmas.jpg

It was the 15th of December and Aimee had started to feel the weight of Christmas building around her. One morning, a generic email sent from her employer’s head office arrived in her inbox. It contained a single word, the name ‘Jack’. She knew what it meant; it meant Jack would be the recipient of her Kris Kringle gift this year. She scowled at the email, not because Jack was someone deserving of a scowl, but because in the year’s final month, she felt betrayed by her workplace for burdening her with additional, unimportant tasks.

Despite her lack of enthusiasm, and the knotting in her stomach when Jack’s name reminded her she had not yet considered her own Christmas shopping, Aimee decided to remain a cordial member of the staff and nib the obligation in the bud that same afternoon.

She left work and took to the town centre to find Jack an adequate ‘joke’ gift,

She had very little information to go off. Should she get him a bottle opener? Is it presumptuous to assume he likes beer? What if he is gluten intolerant? Does he have dogs? Could she buy them a gift instead to avoid the insult of pointless landfill? She couldn’t quite hit the nail on the head.

Whilst taking a short break from sifting through the array of articles strewn across the local novelty store, Aimee saw a poster for New Years Eve. The idea struck her immediately. Kris Kringle was always strictly anonymous at her office and stringent rules were in place to keep it that way. She decided to shift her perspective and look at this trivial workplace tradition as an opportunity to do something extra-ordinary for a person she barely knew. Aimee purchased a blank 2018 diary, some coloured pens and a bottle of red wine.

When she got home later that evening, Aimee poured herself a glass of wine and got to work making important notes throughout the diary. She penned motivational quotes (“If nothing goes right today, go left tomorrow”); she wrote affirmations (“Great shirt today, man!”); she jotted important dates (“Managing Directors birthday – he likes Pale Ales”); she scribed personal reminders (“EOFY party tonight – remember to hydrate”), she even marked out sections of the diary to be used for goal setting and personal reflection. After hours of craftsmanship and a steady hand, Aimee put down the pens, and closed with a message on December 31st: “You made it! Happy New Year!”

She shut the diary feeling pleased and motivated. As she packed up and refilled her wine glass once more, she had a final idea. Aimee reopened the diary to 15th of December 2018 and wrote her ultimate message in Jack’s soon to be personal schedule.

“It’s Kris Kringle time. Pass it on.”

Originally published in The Murray Pioneer

Paige Leacey