Dear Santa, or should I say Satan?

 

Thanks for nothing, Fat Man.  The past few weeks have been an absolute nightmare.  Some of my fellow elves went to nice single family homes with two, maybe 3 decently well behaved kids.  Some of my fellow elves went to reasonable elementary school classes.  Not me.  I get sent to the third ring of Hades.  On average, 50 kids moved in and out of my view per day.  And I've never seen more tears, more snot, more physical kid-on-kid violence in my life.  Fight Club gave me more warm fuzzies than sitting in this classroom.  You shouldn't have sent an elf.  You should have sent an Archangel.  Or a Slayer.

 I'm out, JellyBelly.  I sat in the blessed and rare relative quiet through the beginning of the Christmas break and I've decided I'm done.  I've always heard awesome things about Cabo.  Either way, I quit, Chubbo.  I'm gone.  I'm taking this job and shoving it.  I'd rather make cookies in trees.  Or shoes.  I'd rather go on quests through Mordor, or chill with Herself.  I'd rather drive scalding nails through my eyeballs than sit another Christmas season in this particularly horrid purgatory. 

 Don't try to find me.  I'll make it super easy.  I'm going to post this blog daily to prove to my fellow elves that there is a whole world out there free from the indentured servitude you call "employment."  Come near me, though, Wide Load, and it won't be pretty.

 Sincerely,

Drifter

 

P.S.  Give the reindeer my sympathies for having to haul your butt around for 24 hours straight