How I Ruined Christmas for the Kids
Christmas Eve, 2010
At 4:30 p.m., I was finally home with my family. That year, we’d invited everyone to stay at our house, and the energy was building. My kids were young, and nobody loves playing Santa more than me.
The Call
Then my phone rang.
“Hello, this is Jim.”
The number wasn’t in my contacts, but I saw the city and state—corporate headquarters.
“Jim, how are you?” my boss asked.
“I guess I’m not doing so well now that you’re calling,” I said. And yes, I actually said that. So much for Christmas cheer.
“We’ve got a problem.”
Mind you, it was Christmas Eve. I’d worked every day from Thanksgiving on—5 a.m. to 7 p.m.—the retail grind that eats December alive. No father-daughter dance, no school concerts, no volleyball playoffs. Just freight, metrics, and caffeine.
“I’m sitting here with my boss,” he said, “and we’ve got quite a few packages that haven’t been delivered. Where are they?”
What? Missing orders? Not possible.
Here’s how it works: as we get closer to the cutoff, we upgrade shipping from ground to next-day, to overnight, to carrier pigeon if necessary. By December 22 everything’s basically flying.
“Umm…” I stalled. “I wasn’t aware we missed any orders.”
Then came the list: “New York, 347. New Jersey, 518. Ohio, 1,312. Where are these orders?”
My brain went straight to WTF.
“It’s Christmas Eve,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “I’ll have to look into it, boss.”
“Well, you better look into it. Do you know how many children won’t get their Christmas gifts because you failed to execute?”
Ah, the kids. They always bring up the kids. That’s when you know you’ve lost the argument.
“On Wednesday morning,” he warned, “we’re going to have a long talk about this.”
“Merry Christmas,” I said, channeling a sick Meg Ryan from You’ve Got Mail.
“Merry Christmas,” he replied, and hung up.
I looked around the living room, relatives laughing in the distance, and poured another eggnog.
Christmas Day, 1 p.m.
The house was finally quiet. I stepped through a minefield of wrapping paper, turned on the TV, and caught the Weather Channel.
“Hi, I’m Mike Seidel,” the reporter said. “The blizzard known as Snowmageddon has buried the East Coast, dumping record snow and leaving thousands of Christmas gifts undelivered by UPS—particularly in New York, Philadelphia, and D.C.”
I stared at the screen. I’m a weather freak. I love storms. And somehow, I had missed this one.
The meeting on the 26th never happened. Nobody ever mentioned the call again.
But I never forgot it.
Leadership Lesson
Look—I get it. Somebody has to take the blame. But here’s the truth: we didn’t sell toys, and no kid ever cried because their mittens showed up on the 27th.
Still, the moment taught me something that never made it into any leadership manual:
In corporate life, accountability often travels faster than facts.
You can do everything right and still be “the guy who ruined Christmas.”
I didn’t get an apology. I didn’t expect one.
It’s just the game.
You either learn to play it—or you learn to see through it.
I still love Christmas… I just keep my phone on silent now.
