Looking at her watch, Gail’s mood suddenly changed. “Girl, do you know what time it is? It’s almost time for the plane to leave. Where is Sam? He was supposed to be here an hour ago. See, now he is really tripping.”

“You know Sam, he probably got tied up with some Christmas shopping,” I said, hoping that thoughts of a present would make her calm down. “He’s probably buying gifts for us.”

“The only thing Sam can give me is some space.” My plan seemed to have backfired, making her mood even worse. “We all could be doing Christmas shopping. I’m not getting paid to do his job, and neither are you. That’s it, Montana. I said it before, but I mean it this time. I’m writing his ass up. Where’s the employee conduct forms?” Immediately Gail began searching her folders for the form.

“Gail, come on now. Don’t write him up. It’s the holidays. He’s going to be here any minute. He’s always a little late. Give him a minute.”

“I’m not giving him nothing, I’m writing his ass up!” She ignored me and still searched through her files, finally finding the form she wanted and shaking it in the air, triumphant. “Ha! Found it! Employee name, Sam Benson. Reason for complaint: Rude, late, pink—”

With pen in hand, just as she was about to begin, Sam came skipping through the door full of life, laughter, and cheer. He was dressed in red velvet pants and a white ruffled tuxedo top with the sleeves covered with custom-made bells in all shapes, sizes, and colors. On his head he wore a lighted candy cane–striped Santa hat. Sam was the living, breathing personification of the holiday spirit.

“Feliz Navidad! Feliz Navidad! Feliz Navidad! Prospero año y felicidad!”

“Well, look who finally showed up almost an hour late. It’s one of Santa’s little elves. All ready to help Santa squeeze his fat ass down a bunch of tight chimneys.”

“Somebody’s not spreading any holiday cheer. I wonder whom? It must be the holiday horse. Gail, what’s wrong? Did Santa not hire you to pull the sleigh this year?”

“Ha Ha. You’re late and I’m writing your jolly little jingle ass up!”

“That’s not very nice. I’m going to have to tell Santa you’re being naughty, and you know what that means…no holiday hay under your tree this year.”

“You know what, Sam?”

“What, Prancer?”

“Sam, I swear, I’m sick of you calling me out of my name.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Blitzen. Or is Comet or Cupid? Or Donner or Vixen?”

“I am not a horse.”

“Gail, I didn’t call you a horse, I called you a reindeer.”

“What’s the difference?”