Luv Doc: Secret Santa
Maybe your Secret Santa owns a thrift-store Timex and a whiskey-dented 2001 Ford Escort
By The Luv Doc, Fri., Jan. 1, 2016
Dear Luv Doc,
My Secret Santa didn't show up (sad face).
Why does my co-worker hate me?
– Bitters
Well Bitters, like the real imaginary Santa Claus, Secret Santa has a lot of shit on his plate, too. The holidays are a stressful time of year. Not because of the War on Christmas, but because of the moron Christmas. Last week, there were literally millions of Secret Santas driving around like methed-up stock car racers trying to tick items off their holiday to-do lists. Very likely your Secret Santa was out in that desperate scrum trying to find something for under $10 that wouldn't inspire your hatred and derision. Something that wasn't made of plastic, or pipe cleaners, or "breathable polyester." Ahhh, to dream the impossible dream.
This is America in the third millennium – Austin, Texas, to be specific. The only thing that $10 buys in this town anymore is sadness with a side order of frustration, or maybe an Uber ride from the Grackle to the Liberty. Hey, fingerprints ain't cheap. It used to be that back in the Aughts a tenner could buy you a couple of tacos ... or a cocktail ... or a gram of laboratory 'shrooms, but these days people don't even do 'shrooms anymore because this town is already so full of chameleon-colored lizard people there's no need to chemically cook them up in your head.
The drugs of choice for the new Austin are money and ostentatiousness. Notice I didn't spell it "Austintatious." That was the word we used to use for a certain folksy, Texas-tinged flamboyance that used to happen somewhat spontaneously in this burg back when the cover charge wasn't an Apple Watch and Tesla Model S. It's entirely possible that your Secret Santa's sleigh couldn't go from 0-60 in 2.8 seconds. Maybe he owns a thrift-store Timex and a whiskey-dented 2001 Ford Escort. Maybe it never even gets to 60.
Maybe he or she was working a second job doing the duck hunter shift at Tacodeli so he could give each and every one of his five roommates a pint of Doña sauce for Christmas. You probably didn't consider that, did you? And maybe the only reason you didn't get one yourself was because he didn't want to blow his cover ... or his morning shift manager. Doña ain't cheap.
Of course, it's also possible that your Secret Santa just wanted to teach you the true meaning of Christmas: disappointment. Those three wise men walked all over hell's half acre and instead of finding the king of kings, all they found was a baby in a manger. Sad trombone. "Oh, and it looks like his loincloth needs to be changed. Somebody break out that frankincense; it's getting a little stuffy in here." That's the way miracles happen in real life, so cherish this beautiful gift your Secret Santa has given you and pay it forward next year.
