A Twenty Thousand Dollar Bill

Jacob tore open the Christmas wrapping paper to reveal a small black notebook.

“I thought it might help with your writing,” said Clare.

“It’s perfect. Thank you,” replied Jacob, smiling at Clare, then down at the gift in his lap.

That was the first gift that actually displayed some prior knowledge of the recipient. By this point, the floor was littered with discarded presents, all mingled together with the crumpled wrapping paper. Sadly, low effort gifts had slowly become part of the tradition at the department’s Secret Santa; most years it was almost impossible to distinguish between the gifts and the trash. Each year everyone hoped it was Clare who pulled their name; she always seemed to know how to find the perfect gift.

“Okay, last but not least, Bill,” said Julia. Organizing this event was always a thankless task, but every year Julia somehow finds the energy to get everyone to participate. Even Old Bill, the IT guy, joins in; not the most creative nickname but somehow it stuck.

“Come on then, who’s got my present?”

“Here you go, Bill,” Sophie leaned over, stretching a card toward Bill. Bill sighed and grunted, like old men do, as he heaved himself out of his chair to take the card from Sophie.

“Don’t worry, I’ll come to you.” If asked, everyone in the office would say they couldn’t remember the last time Bill said something without being sarcastic.

Bill snatched the card and slumped back into his seat, impatiently tearing into the envelope. With twenty people watching, you would think he would at least force a smile to give the impression of gratitude.

“A scratch card,” Bill held up the Lucky Leprechaun scratch card, displaying it for the group. “How thoughtful.”

Sophie laughed awkwardly. Although it may be considered rude to call her out in front of everyone, Bill wasn’t wrong: even for this group, a scratch card was low effort.

“Has anyone got a penny?” Everyone sat around the circle made a feeble attempt to look for a penny, some just patted their pockets and shrugged their shoulders.

Julia came through for Bill and tossed him a penny. Bill scratched the silver foil, stopping every couple of seconds to blow the debris into the middle of the circle.

Julia clapped her hands together, “Okay, so that wraps up another year of gift giving! I hope everyone got something they can use. Thanks everyone for—”

“Christ!” Bill jumped to his feet. “I’ve won!”

The coworkers looked at each other with wry smiles. This was classic Bill, whose only source of fun was antagonizing his colleagues.

“Seriously! I can’t believe it. Three shamrocks! That’s—” Bill flipped the card over a few times trying to decipher his winnings. “—That’s twenty thousand dollars!” Finding it hard to control his legs, Bill steadied himself on the back of his chair. He brandished the card to the circle around him, flashing its green front to everyone before pulling it back in close, cradling it gently in his hands like a newborn bird.

The rest of the team sat in stunned silence, unable at first to comprehend what Bill was telling them. Slowly the group started to glance at one another, realizing a little late that they were supposed to congratulate Bill and look happy for him. One by one they forced a smile, like chimpanzees mimicking a human’s smile, showing far too many teeth to seem natural or genuine.

With contempt, Derek dropped the chipped keyring Bill gave him into the pile of discarded wrapping paper at his feet. Derek had never been to or mentioned any desire to go to Cape Canaveral. However, Bill was always going on and on about his trip to the Kennedy Space Center. Derek muttered to himself, “Unbelievable.”

Eventually, Jacob broke the silence: “so, it turns out Sophie buys the best presents.” A smattering of polite laughter eased the tension.

“Wow! Congratulations, Bill! So, how are you going to split the winnings with Sophie?” asked Barbara.

Bill’s wide smile was quickly replaced with a frown. “What?”

“Well, she bought you the scratch card.”

“And? It was bought for me as a present, so any winnings are mine.”

“Surely it’s in the spirit of Christmas to share the prize?”

“It’s my scratch card and my winnings. Why don’t you keep your beak out of my business?” Bill was the only one on his feet and he loomed over the group. He was back in his more familiar confrontational mode.

“Now Bill—” again Julia was cut off.

“No, I’m sick of it. She’s always sticking her nose in where it isn’t wanted.” Bill jabbed a finger toward Barbara, “You’re a busybody and everyone knows it.”

“That’s enough, Bill,” Jacob pushed himself out of his seat, meeting Bill’s eye line.

“Oh, here he comes! Mr. Ladies Man coming to the rescue. I won’t have you lecture me on morality. I see how you string along the young girls in the office.” Jacob swallowed hard and timidly returned to his seat. He risked a furtive glance at Clare, but she has turned away to avoid his gaze. The group was now shifting uncomfortably. Sophie’s cheeks had slowly made their way through the red color spectrum, starting at pink and ending in a deep rouge.

“Look Sophie, I am very grateful. Thank you. Really, thank you. The card cost five bucks so let me give you that back,” Bill rummaged for his wallet.

An orchestra of scoffs emanated from the group. Someone muttered, “you tight fisted old bast—”

“You know what? Forget it!” Bill waved his arms in exasperation. “I’m going to take all the money and go on a really long cruise. Just me and my wife. And you know what else? I deserve it. I’ve had to put up with you all for years. The constant team meetings about nothing, having to reset your passwords every five minutes, being forced to listen to stories about Barbara’s little ratty dogs. Enough is enough. This,” Bill paused, wielding the scratch card in Derek’s face, “this is my ticket out of here. I’m heading on that cruise and I’ll be glad to see the back of you all.”

The co-workers shrank back into their chairs, each person’s mouth hanging open in shock from Bill’s outburst.

“Bill,” Derek slowly reached his hand out, “Would you mind if I took a look at the card?”

Bill begrudgingly held out the card for Derek to inspect, gripping it tightly in case someone tried to snatch it.

“Bill,” Derek paused, failing to meet Bill’s gaze, “The shamrocks need to be in a line.”

“What?!” Bill’s eyes frantically flitted over the scratch card, trying to make sense of what Derek had just said.

“Three shamrocks in a line gets you the jackpot. Yours aren’t in a line. You won, but it’s only twenty dollars.”

Bill was frozen in place, shoulders dropped. The group looked at one another. This time the smiles were genuine.