Secret Santa? Don't get me started

Being Frank, by Frank Ameduri

As if the holiday shopping process wasn't difficult enough, someone had to throw the "secret Santa" program into the mix. It's not a new thing, I know. I should have gotten over this a long time ago, but I can't get past it. Some of us are not natural shoppers, and any tradition that involves shopping -- especially shopping with a price cap -- is a terrifying proposition.

You know the drill. You pull someone's name out of a hat and then you're supposed to go purchase something nice for them for under $20. Our office even goes the extra mile, for people like me. The form you pull from the hat has a list of favorite hobbies, favorite music, books, etc. on it. In theory, that should make the shopping process easier. It doesn't. As usual, I waited until the eleventh hour to do my secret Santa shopping. As usual, I wasn't the only guy in the office to do so. I bumped into three other guys, doing pretty much the same thing I was doing.

One of them had given up completely. He'd given his list to a customer service rep, and she was leading him around the store and putting nice little items in his basket. He wore an expression of utter amazement as she built a nice little collection of gifts while still remaining under the $20 cap. Inspecting my basket, I realized I'd only managed to pick up a six-pack of coat hangers and two tubes of herbal toothpaste, and I was already at $23.42. The year before that I'd purchased an Ace knee brace, two packages of coffee filters and four light bulbs for a pen light. It cost me $46.18. The card was actually an overstock Halloween card, and I paid $6.19 for it.

One of the other guys I bumped into this year had two Justin Timberlake posters, six Slim Jims and a Great Zamphir CD in his basket. "Who the heck are you buying for?" I asked. "Was all that on the list?"

"I can't remember," he said. "I lost the list. I'm just trying to cover all the bases. I'm going ask Tracy to give this to the right person at the party."

Tracy Ressler is our business manager. She's one of those people who knows exactly what everyone else is supposed to be doing at any given time. Tracy somehow gets her job done despite the constant line of confused people at her office door. She's like the Wizard of Oz, reaching into her desk drawer and pulling out exactly what everyone needs before they even ask for it. Last year I was Tracy's secret Santa. I left the receipt in the bag with her gift. She exchanged the knee brace, coffee filters and light bulbs for a DVD player, a pair of waders for her husband and two sets of studded snow tires. She also got $12.15 in change. Tracy's a much better shopper than I.

This year, Tracy kept her name out of the hat until after I'd drawn my victim.

Next year I'm not doing secret Santa shopping. Next year my victim gets a crisp $20 bill and a card. I'm not even going to wrap it, because wrapping paper costs me $18 per roll. For this year, I only hope I'm not the person who gets the posters and Slim Jims. If I am, I'm asking Tracy to exchange them for a stereo and a year's worth of cable TV. If I'm extra nice about it, she'll probably throw in a Peter Forsberg bobble head just for the heck of it.

Frank Ameduri is an utter failure at being secret Santa.