I’ve Ruined 1,001 Christmases
By: Bob Dumont
Tags: Life Lessons, Nonfiction, Holiday Story, Inspirational, Christmas

Creative Nonfiction Contest Finalist

I’ve Ruined 1,001 Christmases

Playing Santa for adults isn’t what I expected

Photo by Bilahata at Freepik.com

For 15 years I played Santa Claus. You might think that sounds like a blissful experience, but playing the big red guy for adults requires counseling, coaching, and pot.

Such was the life of being a small, family-run e-commerce retailer during the holidays.

Operating an e-commerce gift business during Christmas meant 16–20 hour days of unpacking pallets into inventory locations and then finding them for customer shipments. The frenzied search to fulfill orders between November 1st through the shipping deadline in December was played out thousands of times against a cacophony of tape guns. Customer inquires were pointed and harried.

Photo author’s own

My teenage daughter, Noelle, assisted in answering phones and shipping on weekends and after school. Days often blurred together and I can remember conversations that went like this:

“What is today?”

“It’s Christmas Eve, Dad.”

“Should I answer the phone anymore?”

“Hell NO!”

Dutifully, I answered it.

Answering the phone on Christmas Eve was always about one thing — where’s my package? Customers were emailed tracking information and I was fully aware they were able to answer their own questions.

“Well, it looks to be somewhere in Vegas,” I said.

“VEGAS? I live in Texas. My tray won’t arrive for Christmas? What the hell am I going to do? You’ve ruined everything!”

There were hundreds of these overbearing incidents in a season. It mattered little that the customer ordered it on December 22nd at 11 PM. It was immaterial that their credit card declined or a storm with two feet of snow created an impenetrable fort around their home and neighborhood. That gift had to arrive by Christmas Eve or their celebration was ruined!

For 15 years our specialty was expensive dinnerware and gifts: dinner plates of $50 or more, $250 trays, and nativity sets that easily cost $1,000. If you want to make someone really mad — have baby Jesus arrive after Christmas.

Playing Santa for well-to-do adults was absurdly awful.

Somewhere around December 27th, the returns would start coming back with agitated follow-up calls.

“I see you received my tray back. When can I expect a refund?

“Yes, we do have your tray,” I replied. “It still has food on it. We can’t give you a refund if you already ate off of it.”

Those calls always ended with a threat and a slamming of the phone.

For 15 years we dealt with customer issues, lost shipments, incorrect addresses, credit card fraud, and our own occasional screwups. We worked tirelessly to the final minute of the “Last day to ship and arrive for Christmas.”

As shipments departed, we then concerned ourselves with the potential squall of snow that might hit an area where 50 orders were still out for delivery. Watching the weather was terrifying. Delays usually meant a return and refund.

Customers left a plethora of cruel messages on December 24th and 25th about how we ruined their holiday. Aunt Jo did not have a Christmas plate. Grandma experienced shortness of breath when she saw the broken angel’s wing on the ornament she just unboxed. These calls were excruciating and expected as we prepared ourselves for the big day of retail psychotherapy — December 26th.

“Miss. Your credit card never went through. We can’t ship you something if you never paid for it.”

“You damn people are unprofessional. Why didn’t anyone CALL ME?”

“It was an online order. We don’t call people, but you were sent an email.”

“You ruined Christmas. Give me my money back.”

We politely mentioned that her card didn’t go through. It never mattered — we ruined Christmas. Again. Ugh.

Like many retail businesses, Amazon Prime was too costly for us to compete against and our business recently failed. Christmas, 2015 left me bankrupt and terrified. For the first time in my life, I didn’t have a job. I became consumed by how I could have done better and recalled the tens of thousands of boxes packed. The sound of packing tape out of a tape gun terrifies me. My daughter can no longer stomach nativity sets.

Five years later, I revel in this season of joy. The twitch of guilt and failure was replaced by the comfort of spending time with people I enjoy. I talk with my wife and kids, eat dinner, and laugh. I can look at a dinner plate and not think of someone else’s mismatched table. I giggle at a broken ornament. I recognized my own 15 ruined holiday seasons.

For the past three years, I spend the week before Christmas preparing meals for food pantries. It makes me think of all those families who thought their joy was in a plate, or a platter, or an ornament. I feel hope in a simple bag of potatoes.