The Stocking Stuffer: a Ghastly Christmas Meh-rathon

She was in the middle of excitedly laying out some hypothesis about how, if Bill Zagnaret had eliminated all of his relatives, he was now entitled to the massive Zagnaret fortune, when I realized what she was saying. At this point, I interrupted her and let her know that, while I appreciated that she approached all things from the prospective of a storyteller, if she had feedback she would like to share–about how ‘miserable’ the hotel was, about the terrible drinks at the bar, about the apparent abundance of chaos within our halls–she need not couch it in some ridiculous narrative. Moreover, if she truly thought I oversaw an operation full of ‘evil energy,’ she should consider finding other work. She began sputtering something about how I was not understanding her, but I refused to be drawn into an argument. I took the high road, giving her the night off to gather her emotions. Ollie thankfully agreed to fill the role, even though he had worked all day. (Apparently, in his other job, he works hours and hours; I daresay, it does not sound like a union establishment.)

Stick with us all day to see what stuff we have in stock to stuff your stockings. (Ability of all products to fit in a stocking not guaranteed.)