I started a new job this month. On Friday, I found out that our office organizes a huge Secret Santa exchange, and we were all expected to bring a gift worth $100. I told my boss I wouldn’t be able to participate.
When I arrived at the office on Monday, I saw a bright, oversized gift bag sitting right in the center of my desk, tied with a massive gold bow that seemed to mock my empty bank account. The job was at a high-end marketing firm in downtown Chicago, a place where people wore shoes that cost more than my monthly rent. I had been unemployed for four months before landing this role as a junior copywriter.
My savings were completely drained, and I was currently living on ramen noodles and sheer willpower until my first paycheck arrived. A $100 Secret Santa buy-in wasn’t just an inconvenience; it was a physical impossibility for me. My boss, a man named Sterling who always looked like he was about to step onto a yacht, had seemed disappointed when I pulled him aside on Friday.
He told me the Secret Santa was a “cornerstone of their corporate synergy” and that it was a tradition everyone looked forward to. I felt about two inches tall explaining that I simply didn’t have the funds to join in this year. He had just nodded, adjusted his cufflinks, and said he’d “make a note of it.”
Walking into the office that Monday and seeing that gift bag felt like a punch to the gut.
I assumed someone hadn’t gotten the memo and had bought me something, which meant I would have to endure the public embarrassment of not having a gift to give in return. I stood there, clutching my lukewarm coffee, feeling like the entire floor was watching me. The office was already buzzing with holiday music and the smell of expensive peppermint lattes.
I walked over to my desk and looked at the tag attached to the gold ribbon. It didn’t have a name on it, just a simple note that said: “Welcome to the team.” I didn’t open it immediately; instead, I tucked it under my desk, hoping it would just disappear. I spent the morning staring at my computer screen, but I couldn’t focus on a single line of copy.
I kept imagining the moment during the office party when the “Secret Santa” revealed themselves and expected a reciprocal gesture. During lunch, I sat in the breakroom and overheard a group of senior account managers talking about their gifts. One had bought a vintage bottle of scotch, and another had snagged a high-end espresso maker.
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