The Krampus’s Punishment: Nick
Twas the night before Christmas and all through the cubicle farm, all the headsets were ringing and I wished I was dead.
Okay, maybe that was a bit melodramatic, but I was absolutely the fuck over customers and their bullshit. I thought, like many of my coworkers, that we’d have Christmas Eve and Christmas day off. However, thanks to some recent company changes, a minimal staff was required to be in the office for every holiday. And it just so happened that theminimum staff levelwas roughly equal to everyone.
So yeah… merry fucking Christmas I guess.
I slumped back in my desk chair, the fake leather squeaking in protest as I watched the call queue numbers tick up on my screen. Sixty-seven callers waiting to bitch about why their packages hadn't arrived in time for Christmas. Like I controlled the fucking postal service.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I glanced around to make sure my supervisor wasn't lurking before fishing it out. One new email notification from the men-only bathhouse downtown where I occasionally went to blow off...steam.
KRAMPUS CUMS TONIGHT: XXXmas Party at The Bathhouse. Doors open at 10PM. Clothing is not allowed. Naughty list encouraged. Lube and condoms provided.
I felt a stirring in my jeans that had nothing to do with holiday spirit. It had been weeks since I'd gotten any action, and all my friends were at ugly sweater parties I couldn't attend because I was working. My family was celebrating three states away without me. Meanwhile, I was stuck in customer service purgatory until nearly midnight.
"Thank you for calling Tip Top Toy Barn, this is Nick. How can I assist you today?" I said, forcing cheer into my voice as I took another call.
"Your company ruined Christmas!" screamed the woman on the other end. "The doll I ordered for my daughter is the wrong color! She wanted the blonde one, not the brunette! She's going to be devastated!"
I held the phone away from my ear as she continued her tirade, my eyes drifting back to the email. The bathhouse's parties were legendary. Apparently they were dark, sweaty affairs where inhibitions disappeared along with clothing and the boundaries between humans and monsters. And a Krampus theme? My mind wandered to all the possibilities of punishment for being naughty.
Four more hours of this hell, then I could escape to a different kind of heat altogether.
"Sir, are you even listening to me?" the woman screeched.
I snapped back to attention. "Yes, ma'am. I absolutely understand your frustration. Unfortunately, our inventory system shows we're completely out of the blonde dolls. Perhaps your daughter might enjoy?—"
"She won't enjoy anything but what she asked Santa for! This is unacceptable!"
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "I can offer you a twenty percent discount on your next purchase?—"
"I don't want a discount! I want the right doll!"
The call went on like this for another fifteen minutes before she finally hung up on me. I glanced at the clock. It was barely past eight. Christ, time was crawling.
My supervisor, Janet, a middle-aged woman with cat-eye glasses and a permanent scowl, wandered past my cubicle. "Nick, your metrics are slipping. Try to keep calls under ten minutes."
I forced a smile. "Will do."
As she walked away, I pulled my phone out again and reread the bathhouse email. The Krampus theme was intriguing. Of course, the bathhouse was full of all sorts of monsters. Werewolves, vampires, djinn, kraken, and several others. But I’d never seen a Krampus before. Actually, I was fairly certain that particular one was a myth. Still, the thought of sweaty bodies, the anonymity of the dark, a delicious array of cocks, and the promise of release after this hellish shift had me half-hard in my khakis.
Three more calls, each worse than the last. One guy threatened to find me and "rearrange my face" because his son's action figure had a loose arm. I reminded him that our calls were recorded, which only made him angrier.
By eleven-thirty, I was the last one in my row of cubicles. Janet had mercifully gone home, leaving only a skeleton crew of supervisors. The call volume had finally dropped, giving me a few minutes to breathe between verbal assaults.
My last caller of the night was surprisingly pleasant. She was an elderly woman who just needed help tracking her granddaughter's gift. After I helped her, she actually wished me a Merry Christmas. It almost made the night bearable. Almost.
Two minutes before midnight, I logged out of my system and practically sprinted to the elevator. The bathhouse was only a fifteen-minute drive from the office, which meant I could be there by twelve-thirty if traffic cooperated. I loosened my tie in the elevator, already feeling the weight of customer service hell lifting from my shoulders.
The parking garage was eerily quiet, my footsteps echoing between concrete pillars decorated with half-hearted tinsel. I slid into my car, cranked the heat, and checked the bathhouse email one last time. As I pulled out of the garage, snow began to fall, delicate flakes dancing in my headlights.
I couldn't help but smile. Maybe Christmas Eve wouldn't be a complete loss after all. I might not have family or friends tonight, but I would have warmth, connection, and maybe even some good memories to look back on. Either way, it was going to be a hell of a lot better than being at work or home alone. And that’s what mattered.
The roads were nearly empty, so it only took me twenty minutes to reach the bathhouse. It was buried in the warehouse district, blending in so nobody would ever know it was there. I parked on the road since the parking lot was already full and headed toward the unassuming steel door. There was a single small wreath hanging on it and a neon sign above that readOPEN.
It looked like the party was still happening. I hadn’t missed it.
Pushing inside, I found myself in the sterile looking lobby. It reminded me of work, all vinyl floors and florescent lighting. The man behind the desk was wearing a Santa hat and his usual grumpy expression. Absolutely nothing seemed to cheer him up, ever. And, as usual, he was balls deep in a smutty romance novel. This one looked like it was between a Native American and a cowboy. Classic.
