I spent the next hour making people cry, literally. The last lady on my list went the worst.

"I"m fired?" Her tear ducts started welling up with water. I kept the same rhythmic chant in the back of my mind as I tried to explain to her the situation.

Please don't cry.

Please don't cry.

Please don't cry.

It was kind of a lost cause though.

"Yes ma'am, due to budget cuts your position is being laid off. They want you to know it is not your work that is to be blamed for this occurrence, but rather the company as a whole is making efforts to slim down the employment rate at this time."

"To hell with you! Dammit! Of course its not me, it's you! I have a family at home, you know that? Three boys and one that needs to pay for college."

"Ma'am, I need you to understand that this is completely out of our control."

"Do you have a family at home? Do you have three boys who are looking up to you? Huh!?" She was balling now, and her mascara was beginning to stream down her face.

"I... I am not a mother, no."

"Do you even have a husband? Or are you just trying to feed your damn cat? Well to hell with your cat! I have boys at home, three growing boys!"

She stood up now, leveling her mascara covered face with mine, and I was seriously debating whether I should take off and make a break for it. I kept my feet planted however, even though the staircase looked like a perfect escape route right about now. I tried to keep my voice as cool and steady as possible.

"You have one week to make preparations to leave."

That was it. She lost it.

If it wasn't for another man who had been onlooking close by, I'm sure I would've been tackled to the ground. I stumbled back a few steps as the man whose name I didn't know stepped in between me and the lady. He had his massive hands latched on to her shoulders as he tried to console her.

I took that as my queue to leave. I headed for the stair case, throwing away the list of names into a "To Be Shredded " card board box. I scurried down the staircase well with a frantic hurry. It wasn't a very gracious scene as I rounded the last turn nearly tripping in my black heels, but tripping seemed a smaller loss than being mauled by Mama Bear herself. Finally I braked to a stop, catching my breath before opening the heavy door to floor #2. I left the silence of the stair well for a much rather hectic picture on the other side of the door. The sound of copy machienes whirring, the shuffling of feet, and hum of voices greeted me. I was very thankful to disappear into the maze of cubicles and busy conversations.

I passed Ken's office on my route back to the comfort of my swivel chair and sputtered a silent curse on to the man as I did so. Finally, I sat down at my desk and never had I been more relieved to be back in my five by five cubicle space. I stole a glance at my digital clock. It was only nine o'clock in the morning and I had eight more painful hours to get through. Great. Just great...

I leaned back in my chair completely worn out. If there was ever a chance I could time travel into the future this would be it. The day had barely started and I already wanted it to end. Since we're dreaming of magical Back to the Future type stuff, then can I just skip the whole holiday season? I do not need that added stress in my life.

Behind the walls of my single cubicle was a maze of other desks and chairs, people typing frantically away on their keyboards, and others sharing input with their partners. Floor #2, or the Head Floor as it has been nicknamed is always the busiest.

Below us is Floor #1, which makes up the lobby and cafeteria. Above is Floor #3 and #4. Those two floors are called The Body, and the top floor, #5 is The Hands.

It's simple, everyone and anyone on Floor #2 hold top positions within the company, and everyone else is just the laborers. The people who do the work that our bosses like Ken don't want to do.

I have my own section that I'm the leader of, five employees who work on Floor #5. I'm not their boss. More like a manager... The lady with the clicking heels, tight bun, and black skirt. At least that is the look I strive for. I get my point across when I'm dealing with them. Ken has his policy and I have mine. Mine is just a bit less like a children's poetry book, and more straight forward:

You work, while I work to make sure you work right, so that all the work gets done. See. It's works.

Work. Work. Work.

No BS. No Christmas.

Work. Work. Work.

It sounds easy, because it is easy. I mean, isn't it obvious that you come everyday to the office to work. Not to try and pull together a Secret Santa event for our section, like Molly Malone attempted to do last year. She was demoted for not having a very good work ethic. Go figure.

Still don't believe that holiday procrastination isn't that bad? Take Harry Arthur, he decorated the Snack Room with lights and a Charlie Brown Christmas Tree which later caught on fire because he got it off Craigslist. Honestly people, common sense.

Now look at my present struggles. Josh Davis, my high school sweet heart, is back out of the blue. His childlike obsession with me is stressing me out, and therefore has caused me my second strike this week. This is not a Christmas miracle, people. This is a Christmas tragedy.

Now don't get me wrong. I appreciate the week long vacation break, the cozy fire place dreams, and the pretty Christmas sweaters. (Not the ugly ones, that's just a waste of precious money.) At home, in the comfort of my apartment I embrace the holidays. I even put up the stockings on my mantle my mom bought me four years ago for the very first time, but work is a completely different scenario.

Okay, okay. So now, someone is probably saying, "But Gabby! You literally almost got fired trying to save people from getting laid off an hour ago, all because you thought it was to close to the holidays to be doing that to people."

Yeah, I know. It's because I have a heart somewhere deep inside me. Also, the chances of probable back lash from those forty employees is heightened around this time of year. Why? Holiday stress! I've been saying this from the very beginning.

Work is not a place for Christmas, and for those who do try to mix the two. Well, that's just a recipe for disaster. Kind of like my mom's Christmas Spaghetti recipe!