I submitted the following flash fiction piece, “The Exchange,” to an online literary publication’s call for holiday-themed stories. Unfortunately, it didn’t make the cut due at least in part to some racial language that could be considered offensive. I understand and respect the editor’s concerns on that matter, but I thought the story was pretty good despite the potentially problematic language, so I’m sharing it here with the appropriate content warning.
The Exchange
Content warning: This story contains racial language that some may consider offensive.
Billy’s in the conference room, hanging out by the punch bowl and snarfing down a gingerbread man cookie, when Sarah from marketing steps up.
“Hey, Billy,” she says as she ladles punch into a red Solo cup. “Guarding the punch bowl, are you?”
“God, I hate these Chinese gift exchanges,” Billy says.
“Um, you’re not supposed to call it that,” Sarah replies.
“Oh, right.” Billy rolls his eyes. “How un-P.C. of me.”
“It’s offensive.”
Billy shrugs. “I don’t see why. It’s not like we have any Chinese people working here, do we? Besides, probably half the shit under that Christmas tree is made in China.”
“Holiday tree,” Sarah says.
“Huh?”
“It’s called a holiday tree now.”
“Okay. Whatever. Jeez.” Billy gestures toward the tree and gifts beneath it. “So what are we supposed to call it nowadays?”
Sarah shrugs. “Just a gift exchange, I guess.”
“But aren’t we still doing thing where you steal someone else’s gift? That’s different from a regular gift exchange, isn’t it?”
Sarah turns away without answering when Courtney from accounting approaches. She’s holding a plastic plate of veggies with a dollop of ranch dip. Billy ladles a cup for her.
“These office parties are so boring,” she says.
“You got that right!” says Greg, who appears out of nowhere and snags a couple of gingerbread men. “Not like the office parties of old, eh, Billy?”
“Yeah. No booze to be found anywhere these days.”
“New ownership’s a bunch of teetotalers,” Greg says. “Maybe we should spike the punch?”
Sarah glares. “Don’t even think about it.”
“The only fun thing about these parties anymore is the Chinese gift exchange,” Courtney says.
“Hey,” Billy says, “we don’t call it that anymore. It’s insensitive to the Chinese.”
“Oh good grief,” Courtney says. “Are you gonna report me to HR?”
“Nah, not today,” Billy says. “It’s Christmas.”
“Thanks.”
“The gift exchanges are pretty lame, though,” Sarah says. “You know what I got last year? A freakin’ company-branded beer koozie. A beer koozie!”
“You’re kidding!” Courtney says.
“Wow!” Greg says. “What loser would gift a beer koozie?”
“Could be anyone in this company,” Sarah says.
Billy looks down at his shoes, excuses himself, and sidles toward the holiday tree. He crouches to grab a bag from under it.
“Hey, what are you doing?” It’s Beth from HR. “We’re just about to start that Chi—er, the gift exchange!”
“Oh, this one’s mine, but I just remembered I forgot something,” Billy says. “I’ll be right back.”
He steps out of the conference room and heads down the hallway to his office, where he dumps the company-branded beer koozie from the bag into the wastebasket. He pulls out his wallet, searching for a five-spot, but all he has is twenties. Reluctantly he removes one, shoves it into the bag, and heads back to the office party.
Image via Pexels.
Andy writes! 