A Long Overdue Update!

It’s been ages since I’ve written and I want to catch you up on a few things. Apologies, as I’m sure many of you have been curious and probably even a little anxious waiting this long to get some news. So, let’s get to it:

Roughly a year ago, due to an online error stemming from a hastily clicked Instacart order I was appointed King of Denmark.

The error has since been amended and I willingly abdicated the throne, but it has been a wild ride, and I’ve learned things.

The first is that Denmark is amazing. It has canals, and bikes, and windmills, and a lot of happy people. The second is that it’s nowhere near Los Angeles! I couldn’t commute there. If I was going to be the King of Denmark I would have to do it in Denmark. I’ve relocated for jobs before, but so far this was the furthest.

When I got on the plane to Denmark, I noticed a man in the row behind me putting on a fake mustache. We made eye contact and I panicked, quickly feigning a fall, and flopping into the aisle yelling, “My ankle bone!” I really hoped this was a sufficient ruse, because it made me sad to think he might suspect me of judging him for wearing a fake mustache. I can promise you I wasn’t.

Four minutes later, it dawned on me as my seatbelt clicked into place that the gentleman behind me could be suffering more than just a lack of confidence about his facial hair. Perhaps he was trying to disguise his identity?

I gasped. Was he my Secret Santa?

Two years ago, I was working in the corporate world at a firm that handled sandwich branding. Around the holidays there was an email sent out asking if anyone wanted to participate in a Secret Santa Gift Exchange. I like giving gifts, so I put my name on the list. The rules were simple: you couldn’t spend more than $6000, and you couldn’t give someone an open bottle of wine.

That night, I bought a recliner for the person whose name I drew. I had it gift-wrapped and delivered to the office where it sat in front of the refrigerator in the break room for the next week and a half, like a troll guarding a bridge people use to keep their food cold. My coworkers were displeased. There were harsh words, and several scuffles. But it all died down on the day of the Secret Santa gift exchange. Despite the animosity over limited fridge access there was excitement in the air. Bill Donner wore his string tie. We gathered in the break room, and I watched Donna Handle’s face as she noticed the tag with her name on it that I had taped to the giant wrapped recliner. There was excitement, shock, then dread, as if she’d noticed a rattlesnake curled at the bottom of her roller coaster car right before it made its first plunge.

A feeling came over me which I’ve since realized was extreme embarrassment, but at the time thought for sure was my body morphing into that of a horse. I galloped from the room (looking back, I’m sure I just quickly walked). What had I been thinking buying a recliner for someone I barely knew? If a gift like that doesn’t scream, “I’D LIKE TO KNOW YOU INTIMATELY!” than I don’t know what does. I could never go back.

Now, I must admit the odds that the mustached passenger in the row behind me was my Secret Santa are slim. I didn’t recognize him. But here’s the thing: I can’t say for sure that he didn’t start a day or two before the Secret Santa exchange and draw my name. It was a company of the size and turnaround rate where there was consistently a face or two you might not recognize. So, naturally, that’s the very first place my mind went when I saw someone in disguise. “Oh, wow, that must be my Secret Santa from a couple years ago.” How awkward would that be considering I didn’t even stick around to get my gift. I have no idea what he got me!

I couldn’t be sure, so I took a different plane (oddly, the one I had been on ended up being hijacked).

When I arrived in Denmark it was closed for the night, and the next morning I started my reign as king before I’d even eaten breakfast. Right away I was thinking, “These hours are a little much,” and I didn’t stop thinking it for the next four months.

I’m going to be honest, I didn’t have any experience being king before this job (unless you count the single day I was a cashier at Arby’s in tenth grade) so it didn’t go too great. I tried like heck though. And I think if there’s anything the good people of Denmark will remember about me it’s that I wasn’t supposed to be there, and it’s kind of terrifying how it all happened so easily. Oh, and also my gait while walking short distances resembles the Scarecrow from “The Wizard of Oz.”

I did come away from it all with a free monogrammed sports towel though. So that’s kind of cool.

Hey, thanks for reading!