Why Presents Are Not Always Worth The Price You Pay.

Once upon a time, many thousands of years ago, I used to work for a well known clothing & homeware chain on the shop floor. This was my first "grown-up" job and, me being me, I did my level best to show off just how truly awesome I was. As soon as someone working full-time handed in their notice, I marched into the Manager's office and told them I'd like to replace them, figuring that it would be the perfect opportunity to go from a part-time dog's body to a full-time person. It worked, and I was put in charge of a whole department, over which I declared myself Imperial Department Overlord. As the Overlord, I made it my Divine mission to make it the best gosh-darn department ever in the history of departments. Again, it worked and, despite having arguments with management who seemed to think that employment laws were mere urban legends, I was very proud of my work. I even made my department the most productive of that kind of department in the region; That's how cool I was!

Then came bonus-time at Christmas. I wasn't expecting anything, but I was supposing some kind of recognition for my efforts. So how many millions did I get?

£20.

Now, I wasn't expecting anything before we were told that bonuses were being paid, so I shouldn't have been too fussed, plus £20 is precisely £20 more than £0, so why was I complaining? Because one lady, a part-time person, got more than £200! To me, bearing in mind the effort I'd put in and the result I'd managed to achieve, £20 was an absolute insult. I honestly would have been happier if I'd had nothing so I could kid myself that it was an error. Nope, they'd given me £20, which was a kick in the teeth compared to what others had. It simply told me that this was all they thought of me, and I heard their message loud and clear. I left, and now I hear that the department has fallen back to where it was before I took it by the hand. Serves them right.

Before anyone jumps down my neck and says that I could have had nothing, I have to point out that it wasn't the fact that I didn't get £millions, but that someone must have looked at me in my position and thought "what's the smallest I can give him" right after someone who comes in for 4 hours a day, three days a week and thought "I'll give her a massive amount". It was the message that was the insult more than the money. It's the same if you work as a waiter in a restaurant and someone leaves you a pithy tip of 11p. The fact that they thought about giving you a tip, and left you such a tiny amount is far more insulting than if they forgot about it and left without putting a penny down. The thought-about insult is far worse.

This small rant stems from a conversation I had with a relative of mine the other day. In short, he was complaining that last Christmas he bought me a present that was just over twice the price of what I bought him. This confused me for a second: he'd bought me what I wanted, and I'd bought him what he wanted. Why the complaint about price? Apparently, in his eyes, a present he gets me that is worth double than one I get him is officially twice as good. Oh dear, says I, we have a bit of a problem here. He seems to have confused the retail value of a gift with the sentimental value, and it's for this reason that the impending march of Christmas, 109 days as of today (sorry...) always fills me with dread. It brings with it the most hated of phrases; "that'll do". The idea that you'd buy something for someone as a gift for no reason than to tick it off a list seems more daft than those people who take the battery out of their smoke alarm because it goes off when they cook. Gifts and such aren't bought because we want to show how much money we have, but how much we care. It's like when a company relocates to a massive expensive office that makes them look like King Louis XVI. It's nice, but I'd rather keep the profit, ta!

For this reason last year, I was sorely tempted to tell everyone that wanted to buy me a pressie that they had a price limit of £2. Yes, two measly quid. This might sound daft, but what it will force people to do is ditch their tick-list, avoid the idea of chucking something in the trolley and saying "that'll keep Max happy. Right, who's next...". It will force them to stop and think what they could get me for £2, and I guarantee you that £2 is harder to buy for than £200. It will make them think of me and what I really like, which is the whole point of a gift.  A 60p Creme Egg would mean infinitely more to me than a £10,000 Faberge Egg, because I don't want a marble lump sitting in my house that will make my home insurance soar, despite the value of the thing. Whereas I could eat the Creme Egg and be a very happy bunny, possibly with chocolate all over my face. It's the thought that counts, not the cost.

And it's for this reason that my £20 bonus was an insult. They hadn't thought about the work I'd put in and the effort, instead they inserted the financial equivalent of a middle finger. For that, they lost out on having a fantastic department, and they completely deserved it!

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