By mid-week after Thanksgiving, he’s already bored with the Christmas music piped in ceaselessly overhead; is ready to borrow a ladder from the Maintenance Department, disable all the speakers in the ceiling, maybe even take a baseball bat to the tape deck in the breakroom.
Everyone knows better than to ask him if he’s planning to do the Secret Santa thing this year. He leaves the staff meeting early, as soon as all the real business is done and the chatter starts up about who’s bring what to the pot luck and how much the company should donate to the Firemen’s Mitten Tree Fund.
He knows what they call him behind his back.
He doesn’t care.
He’s already made his list, and he won’t be checking it twice.