LUV – Got a job? Good on you, mate. One of those regular hours types of jobs, where it’s a given that Christmas Day will be yours alone to get up to whatever Yuletide shenanigans your gross little mind deems to be acceptable? Whoa! All right, no need to brag. But pray attend to my shift-working decolletage a moment and let me lay on you the amazing shits’n’giggles you’ll never experience if you don’t work at Christmas.
1) The reaction of everyone to the sentence “Yeah, I’m working Christmas Day, actually”; a horrified gasp, a head tilt, the words “Oh, no! Poor you, that’s horrible,” and, if you’re careful about it, the sympathiser feeling compelled to make you a lovely pie or grant you voluntary and mutually beneficial access to their fun parts. It’s a powerful beast.
2) A Royal Mail sorting office at 11am on the Wednesday before Christmas when you’re all at work, there’s no queue and the sods behind the counter don’t look like they’ll rip your spine through your adam’s apple if you failed to bring the correct ID with you. A happy postman. I’ve seen it. Believe.
3) “Oh, can you not come home for Christmas? That’s a shame, love, because Auntie Hazel’s bringing her new boyfriend, you know, the faith healer, and your nephew’s just got to that lovely hair-pulling and explosive snot stage. Oh, and Eileen at Zumba says you should get me onto Tinder. Never mind, next year.” Ha! Because who needs the love and warmth of family at Christmas? Weaklings.
Yeah, I’m working Christmas Day, actually. I’m on Snapchat and I like apple & rhubarb. You know what to do.
– Julia Blyth
HAT – I used to love working at Christmas.
I loved the silence. I loved going out onto the deserted city streets at lunchtime, getting at least one free lunch from Pret (because the staff know my pain), then hurrying back to my silent office to rush through what little work remained and read ghost stories on the internet all afternoon. Hey, you have your festive traditions and I have mine.
BUT THEN IT ALL CHANGED. Someone, I don’t know who, told everyone how brilliant it is to work at Christmas. Now they’re all fucking doing it. Now the office is filled with noise and laughter and questions like “Robyn, what’s that website you’re reading and why does it have a rotating clipart ghost on the homepage?”
The worst part? These people bring their children to the office. So now, not only do I have to do a bunch of work I wouldn’t have had to worry about had my boss just stayed home like a normal, I have to do it while her toddler screams in my face and mince pie-diarrhoeas all over my keyboard.
Which is why this year I am working at Christmas at home. Ker-ching. Ker-chingle.
– Robyn Wilder