The Payroll Manager Diaries: A Christmas Tale from the SSC

It all started on December 1st, when SSC Director Alistair Preensworth called an emergency meeting. The email subject had read: “URGENT: Let's make this Christmas EXTRA special!”

The payroll team, huddled around their desks with festive mugs of coffee, had groaned in unison. Nobody liked meetings with Preensworth. His voice was syrupy sweet, his words dripping with fake cheer, but his last-minute demands always brought chaos. They all remembered all too vividly his various "initiatives," such as preparing a report worth 40 hours of work two months before the legal deadline because he wanted to ingratiate himself with Union reps.

"Team," he began, standing at the head of the table with a grin wide enough to suggest dental sponsorship. "This year, we’re paying everyone in the region early! December 20th. Think of the joy! The gratitude! The LinkedIn posts about my leadership!" He clasped his hands and looked around expectantly, as if waiting for applause.

Instead, silence.

"Alistair," said Patricia, the EMEA Payroll Manager, flatly. "You know we always pay our EMEA employees a week early in December, right? That's company policy."

Another silence ensued, during which the meeting participants suddenly became very interested in their fingernails. Some of them might also have had internal bleeding from suppressing their laughter so hard.

"Alright," finally said Preensworth, "then this year we'll pay them on the 19th!"

"That’s yet another day taken from a month that's already the shortest of the year. Do you have any idea how tight that makes the timeline?"

"Patricia, Patricia, Patricia," he said, waving his hand as though brushing off a particularly irritating fly. "Where's your Christmas spirit? This really isn't the time for negativity. Besides, it’s just payroll. Push a few buttons, calculate some bonuses… easy peasy!"

Patricia’s jaw tightened. "You’re aware we’re processing holiday bonuses, end-of-year allowances, and… whatever that 'turkey stipend' thing is for the Norway team?"

"Yes and think of the optics!" Preensworth exclaimed. "We’ll be heroes! The board will see us as miracle workers, and I — I mean we — will bask in their praise."

The team exchanged wary glances. Patricia pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fine. But we’ll need IT on standby, Legal’s input on tax compliance, and a miracle from Finance to approve everything on time."

Preensworth’s grin grew even wider. "That’s the spirit! I’ll leave the… details… to you."

The Countdown Begins

By December 5th, the chaos was already palpable. Jeff from IT was hunched over his keyboard, muttering darkly.

"The system isn’t designed for this kind of compression," he grumbled. "If it crashes, don’t come crying to me."

"Noted," said Patricia, handing him a gingerbread cookie as a peace offering. "Now, can you fix whatever is causing the Christmas bonuses to calculate as negative?"

"Oh, that’s easy," Jeff said. "It’s because someone", he squinted at the screen, "decided to enter a decimal point where there shouldn’t be one."

"Was it HR again?"

"You said that, not me," Jeff muttered. "They think Excel macros are magic spells."

Meanwhile, Finance was having its own meltdown. The SSC Director had sent a cheery email titled "Making Spirits Bright," demanding a "little something extra" in everyone’s pay — without specifying how much or who was supposed to cover the cost.

"A little something extra?" growled Greg from Finance. "Does he think money grows on Christmas trees?"

Juggling Work and Christmas

By December 10th, the team’s personal lives were taking a hit. Patricia had resorted to online shopping for her niece’s Christmas gift during her lunch break, only to discover the toy she needed was sold out everywhere. Jeff, meanwhile, muttered darkly about not having time to put up his Christmas tree because of overtime.

"Do you know how long it takes to untangle lights?" he grumbled to no one in particular.

Even Sonia from Legal was feeling the pressure. "I was supposed to bake cookies for the school fair," she said, waving a list of year end regulations. "Guess who’s bringing store-bought shortbread instead?"

To make matters worse, Lucy from Payroll had to bring her six-year-old son, Charlie, to the office. "He’s sick and can’t go to school," she explained apologetically as Charlie, bundled in a blanket, settled onto a makeshift bed of coats in the corner.

Charlie, however, was not a passive patient. By mid-afternoon, he had dismantled an office stapler, spilled juice on Patricia’s desk, and depleted every last sheet of paper in the Xerox machine by attempting to print out an entire colouring book — in colour.

"I swear," Jeff muttered, frantically undoing Charlie’s handiwork, "this kid is one step away from hacking the Pentagon."

"Charlie, sweetheart," Patricia said through gritted teeth, "why don’t you draw me a nice picture instead?"

The Midpoint Meltdown

By December 12th, Patricia’s desk looked like a war zone. Sticky notes covered every available surface, detailing last-minute changes to local tax rates, bonus recalculations, and something ominously labelled "The French Debacle."

Patricia and Lucy had spent half the morning desperately looking for Austria's December checklist before deciding it would be quicker to redo it from scratch.

Desperate for a moment of relief, Patricia and her team had smuggled a small pot of mulled wine into the office. "Just one sip," Patricia muttered, ladling some into a paper cup. "It’s medicinal." The team passed it around in whispers, nervously checking the door.

The door burst open. Sonia from Legal barged in, barking, "We have a problem!"

The team froze, guilty as children caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Patricia quickly slid the pot under her desk, trying to act natural.

"It’s about the turkey stipend," Sonia continued, oblivious to the suspicious smell of cinnamon and cloves wafting through the room. "Norway changed its rules — again. Apparently, if the employee opts for an actual turkey instead of cash, we need to apply a luxury goods tax."

Patricia stared at her. "A luxury goods tax on turkeys?"

Sonia shrugged. "It’s Norway."

The Climax

December 18th arrived like a freight train. The team had worked through the night, fuelled by coffee and leftover Christmas cookies. Charlie was now thankfully back at school, but his drawings were covering the walls of the payroll office.

The payroll system was finally ready to go, the bonuses were (mostly) accurate, and the legal team had signed off on everything — except the Norwegian turkeys, which were now classified as "delicacies."

Just as Patricia was about to hit the final "approve" button, Preensworth appeared, wearing what had every chance of winning the World's Ugly Christmas Jumper Contest and looking insufferably pleased with himself.

"Great news, team!" he announced. "I promised the board we’d send out personalised holiday messages in every payslip."

Patricia froze. "Every payslip?"

"It’ll be a lovely touch! I’ve even written the message myself. Just add it in, will you?" He handed her a crumpled piece of paper covered in glitter.

Patricia read it and groaned. " Preensworth, this doesn’t even fit the character limit."

"Oh, Patricia, always so negative! I’m sure you’ll figure it out."

The Miracle

At 11:58 p.m., the team gathered around Patricia’s desk as she hit "submit" on the final payroll run. The system churned, processing thousands of payments, while everyone held their breath. Finally, the confirmation screen popped up.

"It’s done," Patricia whispered, slumping back in her chair. The team cheered weakly, too exhausted to do more.

One of Charlie's drawings had fallen off the wall. This was the picture of a shark with an unnaturally large smile as well as small, narrow eyes. Patricia felt that it was a decent portrait of Preensworth and had decided to have it framed. She picked it up and noticed that the other face of the sheet looked suspiciously like an Austrian checklist. For a moment there, her eye twitched slightly.

The Christmas Party

December 19th was the SSC Christmas party. Anyone who, on that day, mistook the payroll team with gingerbread cookies munching zombies should not be blamed.

Preensworth, who had of course left the office at 5pm sharp the day before, clapped his hands, oblivious to their fatigue. "See? I knew you could do it! I’ll be sure to mention this in my year-end review."

Patricia reached for the nearest candy cane, then reconsidered. Her eyes fell on a frozen yule log cake from the dessert table, its rock-solid frozen chocolate exterior glinting menacingly under the fairy lights. Now that could double as a weapon, she thought.

Just as the team tried to relax, there was an ominous and suspicious hissing sound. When it became clear that none of the attendees' digestive tubes was to blame, all heads turned to the corner where an enormous inflatable Santa Claus was slowly inflating — and then overinflating. A garbled mechanical “Ho-ho-ho” escaped as Santa expanded to twice his intended size.

“Jeff,” Patricia called, “I thought you said the pump was on a timer!”

“It is!” Jeff replied, panicking. “But someone must have tampered with it!" he said, looking sharply at Preensworth who was doing his very best to look innocent.

Before he could react, the overzealous Santa toppled forward, narrowly missing the dessert table. It landed squarely on the SSC’s holiday mascot, a papier-mâché reindeer, which exploded into a cloud of glitter and glue.

Patricia pinched the bridge of her nose. "I’m taking this out of Preensworth’s next pay."

Epilogue

On Christmas morning, Patricia received an email from an employee in Norway. It read:

"Dear Payroll Team, thank you for the early payment and the turkey stipend. I opted for cash this year and bought a new coat. Merry Christmas!"

Patricia smiled. Payroll wasn’t just a job; it was a monthly recurring Christmas miracle… even if it meant dealing with Preensworth.

Merry Christmas from your Payroll Team!