Christmas has passed, but I’d like to give you one more gift; the gift of a story. Although this particular narrative is true (only the names have been changed to protect the innocent), it contains some elements found in fiction.
The setup:
When I’m not writing, I work at a technical high school (fondly referred to as TCHS) in the commercial and graphic arts program as a teacher’s assistant. Three weeks before our winter break, a group of us participated in a Secret Santa exchange.
The rules:
1. Fill out a questionnaire, listing your likes and wishes (provided your wishes don’t exceed the $20 price limit).
2. Fold up the completed questionnaire and place it in a fishbowl (minus the water and the fish).
3. Sometime during the first week (date to be determined by the Secret Santa), secretly deliver a small gift to the recipient’s desk.
4. During the second week (again, determined by “Santa”), secretly deliver a second small gift as described in rule #3.
5. On the day before break, bring a snack to the learning support room for a party and the final reveal of a third, larger gift for your Secret Santa recipient.
The recipient:
The questionnaire I pulled from the fishbowl belonged to Sam, a learning support teacher. This was no big surprise, considering the majority of recipients were learning support teachers. It was after all, a learning support teacher’s idea to do it in the first place. I’m not saying I got involved because the graphic arts classroom just happened to be across the hall from the learning support room, but I can see where one might draw that conclusion, but I digress (and that is definitely NOT an element of a good short story. Of course I never said this was going to be “The Gift of the Magi.”)
Moving on: Sam’s response to the fill-in-the-blank statement, “I absolutely love ____” was “Buddy.” His dog.
Buddy is no stranger to TCHS. In fact, he spends a good part of his day in the animal and vet science classroom. He’s a sweet, well behaved dog that I, along with most of the school, adore. That led me to …
The idea:
Could Jill, the teacher who photographed and printed out student ID badges, create an ID with Buddy’s picture on it? I asked and she readily agreed. All I had to do was email her a picture of Buddy and she’d do the rest.
The learning support room and the animal science room were separated by a long stretch of corridor so I felt confident I could sneak down and take Buddy’s picture with Sam never knowing.
Then I got another flash of inspiration: I could make Buddy’s badge look real by taking a picture of the paneled back wall in the cafeteria where Jill took the student pictures. Through the miracle of Photoshop, I could put Buddy’s picture in front of that backdrop and his ID would look just like a student badge.
Setback 1:
Early one morning I poked my head into the animal science room ready to take the picture. The animal science teacher sat at his desk, but he was the only one – human or animal – in there.
“Where’s Buddy?” I asked.
He looked up. “Not here yet.”
Not wanting to give away too much of my secret plan, I said, “I need to take his picture for a project,” and ducked out of the room.
I’d barely left when Sam and Buddy strolled through the front door. I kept clear of the animal science door so Sam wouldn’t notice me. After what seemed like an adequate amount of time for Sam to drop off Buddy and leave, I circled back for that photo. One step from the doorway I heard Sam’s voice inside. He was still talking to the animal science teacher!
After killing time, planning another one of Sam’s gifts, I returned to animal science. Sam had moved on. Once inside, however, I discovered that the teacher had also. The only occupants were two students, standing near the doorway to the vet science lab.
“Where’s Buddy?” I asked, quickly adding, “I need to take his picture for a project.”
They knew me from the graphic arts class. We’re always doing artsy things in there. Neither questioned the request. They led me to a kennel in the back.
That surprised to me. Whenever I visited animal science, Buddy was always in the classroom. It must have been a surprise to him as well. When they let the poor guy out he looked sadder than Eeyore on a rainy day.
It took some coddling, but I got my shot. That left less than a minute before the first bell to race through the corridor to the cafeteria for the backdrop picture.
The cafeteria door was closed. I gave it a yank.
Locked.
I moved on to the teacher cafeteria since both rooms shared an adjoining door. It, too, was locked.
Not to be outsmarted, I took a picture of the wooden door to my classroom. It wasn’t exact, but it was close enough. I emailed the doctored photo to Jill. An hour later I got her reply.
Success:
Aud,
It is done and it is SO cute! It’s on my desk with the picture side down so no one will see it. It’s on a lanyard too. I’m going to head to lunch. If you don’t have time to come get it, no worries! I’ll bring it to you when I get back. Great idea you had!!
Jill
One look and I knew it was too cool to sneak it to his room that first week. Even though it was technically a “free” gift (the one I paid for would come later), I decided to wait to give it to Sam on that last day so I could see the expression on his face when he opened it.
Setback 2:
Three weeks is a long time to keep a secret. In the middle of week two, during our shared lunch duty, I noticed Sam’s teacher ID badge. It was so faded all you could see with any clarity were his shoulders and torso. “Your badge makes you look like the Invisible Man,” I told him.
“I probably should get a new one,” he said.
If only I’d let it end there. “I’ll bet Jill would make one for you,” I said.
Sam nodded. “I might do that.” Then he grinned. “Better yet, I should put Buddy’s picture on here.” From there he free associated to the possibility of getting a student ID for his dog and laughed over the image of Buddy trotting into school wearing an ID badge attached to his collar.
Fortunately, the subject changed, but I couldn’t forget the conversation. What if he asked Jill to make a badge for his dog? Or worse, what if he thought I stole the idea from him? Now my clever gift didn’t seem so clever.
Back in my classroom I fired off a quick email to Jill, letting her know what happened and if Sam asked for a Buddy badge to please tell him it couldn’t be done.
As the days went on, I periodically checked with Jill to see if Sam said anything about ID badges. He didn’t.
At the end of the agonizing wait, the Secret Santa party arrived. With a twist: for the first round, we had to correctly guess who our Secret Santa was before we could receive our gift. When it was Sam’s turn, he said, “Aud,” without hesitating.
I later learned it wasn’t from anything I’d said, but the fact that he received his little surprise gifts early in the morning when only a handful of staff came in, including me.
At the party, he received two wrapped packages from me: a book about his favorite sports team and the badge. He lifted the wrapped badge first. I watched in eager anticipation. I couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he saw it.
He paused with the unopened gift in his hand so he could focus on a conversation happening in the middle of the room.
Finally, he eased open the first piece of tape. I held my breath, waiting. He stopped in the middle of the process to laugh at someone’s comment and make one of his own. I watched in agony as he carefully loosened a second piece of tape. To make it worse, beneath the wrapping paper I had added a sheet of card stock to hide the shape of the badge.
I couldn’t bear it. “I only paid a buck ninety-nine for the wrapping paper” I cried out. “Just tear it!”
Amy, another learning support teacher said to me, “He always takes forever to unwrap a gift.”
At least Sam opened his gift before we all left for winter break.
He liked it, but probably not as much as I enjoyed coordinating it, setbacks and all. The End 🙂
