Love it or hate it, the yearly office ritual is upon us – secret Santa. For me, I love it. It’s a sign that Christmas has arrived. I’m happy to let the festivities roll, adding nicely to that fuzzy feeling of the teach-free time ahead (apart from the endless marking, of course).
However I have empathy for the poor sole who bravely takes it upon themselves to arrange this seemingly simple task. Secret Santa is not straightforward. So in the words of a true academic: let’s break the task down.
Setting the limit
Should it be a joke amount of £5 or something more substantial? This year we settled for £20. Following this monumental decision an email was sent to the team. The strapline read “participants for secret Santa”. I replied “count me in”.
The drop outs
It was at this first hurdle one member of staff fell and in the spirit of Dragons’ Den, declared herself out. The next colleague who opted out I believe many will relate to. As the resident office scrooge, he hates Christmas and everything about it. So the budget being “bloody ridiculous” did not come as a surprise comment.
Who will you get?
With nine in the running, the next task was to pick the names out of the hat / shoebox / tupperware. This stage, alongside the present giving, is the most anticipated. Who are you going to get? Is it the person you sit next to? Or is it the person whom you don’t know much about (apart from that your conversations to date have been on the awkward side)?
In contrast who will get you?
Strike lucky and you may get the person who is not so discretely “rolling in it” and regularly exceeds the spend amount. Or perhaps you’ll be unlucky and be assigned to the colleague who has a reputation for buying odd gifts. For example it was jubilantly relayed to me: “One year he bought her a book about dog grooming because she has a dog”. Amusing to listen to, yes. However I doubt you would receive such a gift with the same level of hilarity.
Buying the present
Should it be sentimental, humorous or a mix of both? I, like many, took on the role of a MI5 agent to extract ideas. Bumping into my victim and, knowing he liked whiskey, I casually struck up a conversation and asked a number of probing questions. How do you know it’s good quality? Where’s the best place to buy it? Genius! I came away with the answer – a single malt, 12 years plus and it was absolutely not to be blended. I walked away from the conversation feeling smug – he had no idea.
Present giving time
After days of trying to sneak your present under the tree without being noticed, it seems pointless. By now word’s got round and most people in our office know whom the other has bought for. The question “I’ve got so and so, do you know what they like” has been asked to the death. In fact lets face it, secret Santa isn’t really secret at all. It’s all a facade. However it’s a festive facade, which I truly enjoy.
We all opened our presents together before our Christmas night out. Most received something they actually wanted. In the end I went half jokey as my secret Santa person proficiently swears (swear box) half serious (single malt whiskey) although deep down I think he would have appreciated a bigger bottle. I received a bottle of Champagne – very apt.
Among the other gifts were perfume, chocolate and even a new office mug to replace a colleague’s ancient / unhealthily stained prized possession. The booby prize of course was present and correct – a Christmas jumper. It wouldn’t be secret Santa unless someone received something odd / disappointing from the colleague expected. It’s all part of the fun of course, as long as they don’t pick me next year…
This week’s anonymous academic is a lecturer at a post-1992 university.
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