By Dylan Marks
Disclaimer: Though this story may seem real in some aspects, I assure you that it’s a complete lie made up for your enjoyment. Just clock in for a good time and enjoy the workflow of fiction!
This is a story about the first Thanksgiving I spent with my “work family.” Now, you may be wondering, “Why would you celebrate Thanksgiving at your deadbeat office job?”
Well first of all, relax with the condescending tone—I get enough of that from my relatives. And second, I didn’t really have a choice because of my general manager, the almighty Matthew Scotch.
Mr. Scotch treats our office like a family. While I completely disagree, I have no ability to give any input because—according to my mother—this is my first “real job.”
As per Mr. Scotch’s request, the employees of the downtown Toronto branch of Sheet Happens Paper Co. came into the office outside of work hours for a hearty family meal and fun Thanksgiving gobbledygook.
I arrived at the office holding a cold tray of sweet potato fries. I was greeted by Apollo, the resident office weirdo, who informed me that I was the last to arrive and, therefore, I would have to be seated at the kids table—a.k.a. an old student desk with gum still stuck to the bottom.
“Chappell Roan finally being appreciated as an artist with no controversy”
Mr. Scotch, who had been in the kitchen for 12 hours cooking, had burned just about everything, including the turkey.
My “work wife” Samantha informed me that despite everything, we would all be pretending to enjoy whatever he put out on the table.
As I waltzed in and placed my fries on the centre of the table’s food spread, the office grump, Hudson Lanley, pointed a gnarly finger at my humble tray and told me I better not have brought “any of that gluten free crap.” I assured him that everything I brought was so artificially processed that nobody could possibly gain any health benefits from it.
In a cloud of billowing black smoke, Mr. Scotch emerged into the room carrying the centre piece—the beautifully burnt turkey.
Everyone seated at the table locked eyes with each other and, in that moment, we subconsciously knew that no matter what, we would not insult the illustrious bird.
Once everyone was settled in, Mr. Scotch informed us that before we started eating, it was time to go around and say what we were thankful for this year.
Eager to please, I raised my hand and offered to go first. I noted that I was thankful to have such a nice group of co-workers to enjoy a meal with. Mr. Scotch shot that one down and told me it was “hella lame.”
Next was Samantha, who said she was thankful for the new shipment of pens she got earlier that day.
Before she could continue, Mr. Scotch suddenly blurted out, “Sam, Sam, Sam, I do not like green eggs and ham. I do not like Sam-I-Am. Would you eat them in a box? Would you eat them with a fox?” He added more but you get the picture.
“Sam, Sam, Sam, I do not like green eggs and ham. I do not like Sam-I-Am”
Then it was Hudson’s turn, who said something about hookers. Brenda was thankful for her parole officer and Apollo raved for 15 minutes about some experimental medicine he’s been putting in everything he eats. I quickly whipped out my phone to remind the work group chat that we probably shouldn’t eat the green beans he brought.
After a few more words from various coworkers at the table, it was Mr. Scotch’s turn to say what he was thankful for.
What followed was around 10-15 minutes of borderline homophobic Dave Chappelle material, an impromptu performance of three Creed songs that he didn’t really know the words to and exclaiming that he was thankful for, “Chappell Roan finally being appreciated as an artist with no controversy.” Nobody wanted to break the news to him so we just let him have it.
At this point everything was cold, but we were starving, so we ate. Dry turkey, watery coleslaw, a bowl of beans and some weird paste that Brenda brought.
According to Brenda, we didn’t have the budget for actual mashed potatoes so she had taken some leftover butter from the fridge and mashed it up with assorted allergy medication from people’s desk drawers. It looked and tasted nothing like mashed potatoes but there was some Bendaryl in there somewhere so we were all pretty chill for the rest of the night.
“It’s not about what’s inside, but what you believe is inside”
As Thanksgiving night came to a close, Mr. Scotch announced that he had one more surprise in store—holiday bonuses for everyone! He began passing out sealed envelopes with pretty signatures and Dollar Tree stickers and instructed us to not open them until he said so.
Once he finished handing them out, he told us to go wild and rip them open. To our bitter surprise, the envelopes were empty.
Mr. Scotch chuckled and explained, “It’s not about what’s inside, but what you believe is inside.” This lesson had no meaning and even less of an impact.
Happy Thanksgiving from Sheet Happens Paper Co.
Leave a Reply