TODAY'S page 3 yarn on the best job in the world got me thinking about my worst.
Working for The DEX is obviously the best job.
But Santa Claus was the worst boss I ever had.
And after threatening him with industrial action and a media frenzy on Christmas Eve, I guess I'm the worst employee he's ever had too.
I suppose it's unfair to blame the big man; it was really the company profiting from fake Santas in a shopping centre in Glasgow that was at fault.
Sleigh bells should have rung after I was promoted to head elf on my first day, but I was a desperately poor student who had to find some way to buy Christmas gifts and grog.
But it was Christmas Eve, supposedly pay day, when my employer really got on my naughty list.
I went to fill my car up with petrol, only to discover the grinches hadn't paid me a penny.
"Oh no, Miss Cairney. You'll get a cheque sent to you after Christmas," they said as visions of Mum's anger at her lack of pressie danced through my head.
I'd been duped.
My little teenage voice quivered and threatened to break, but this little upstart wasn't about to be taken for a pudding.
"I, I, I am a journalism student you know," I said barely able to hold it together.
"And, I, I know journalists and stuff.
"And if I don't get paid, like you told me I would, I will strike in front of the Santa stand and invite every media organisation in the city to report on it."
An elf strike on Christmas Eve - it was gold.
The penny dropped with the old grinch and I was swiftly reimbursed, Santa's reputation remained intact.
Needless to say I was surplus to requirements after Christmas and the Easter Bunny never came calling.
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