Ham Day

Ham Day is coming! Oh ‘ and Christmas. But HAM DAY!

You see, I’m a surely receptionist by trade. It’s an easy, but irritating job with one major exception. Ham Day. Ham Day is my reward for a year of not lashing out at insistent callers. Ham Day is my release from the confines of the front desk. Ham Day is, in essence, my Christmas bonus.

The company I work for gives honey-baked hams to it’s biggest clients during the holiday season and I get to deliver them. This is the fulfillment of my life-long dream to be a mailman. Not to mention, I get paid my hourly wage and get compensated for mileage. Can it be true? I get paid extra to drive around, listen to music and occasionally impart a ham on an unsuspecting stranger.

Last year, the prospect of this blessed day had me so excited I made a few ham day carols: whose ham is this in the back of my station wagon? And have yourself a honey-baked ham or a turkey if you’re Jewish and hams and turkeys too, I will bring them to you at your workplace on this day. I don’t have sugar plums dancing through my head. It’s all about the ham.

This year my boss wants me to wear an elf costume. And I’m ok with this. Because really, I’m in a Santa-like position. Well, except for the whole, I’m not an old man who breaks into people’s houses thing. And instead of toys, I bring people candied pork. I’m also looking forward to the costume because maybe people will think they are supposed to tip me. Not that I would accept tips or anything. (make checks payable to Francesca Rosko. No credit cards, please.)

Yet, despite my obvious selfish joy, I can’t help but think there is something else that makes ham day so dear to me. I guess it has something to do with the surprised and pleased faces I see when I make my deliveries. I can see why Santa hasn’t put in his notice yet. ‘Tis the season of goodwill towards our fellow humans, after all, and even my Grinch-like heart is warmed by giving, even if it is a ham.