December 27th is about the time I start to wake up from the morphine-like daze of Christmastime and return to my cranky, cynical self for another 362 days or so. If you woke up this morning realizing how creepy the thought of dancing sugarplums really is, here's a little help getting over your happy holiday hangover: Santa's apparently a worker's comp disaster. From Worker's Comp Insider:
There's no two ways about it - Santa is an underwriter's nightmare. He's overweight, he drives too fast, and there is some evidence that he is tipping brandy while he drives. Plus he smokes a pipe and eats too many cookies.
Interesting. Plus, that's just for him. You factor in the liability for those elves in that factory, with their primitive tools and oversized hands, and you've got a serious W/C policy.
This begs an interesting question, though. Who's Santa's employer? If he's in business for himself, he's probably got some kind of S-corp set up, right? If he's smart, he'd Sam Zell it and pump stock into an ESOP for those elves. If Santa's just pulling a paycheck, though, my money's on God as ER. He is a Saint, after all.
Anyway, if you're having trouble getting that nog taste out of your mouth, or you just can't stop being polite to strangers, just think of the liability insurance the Big Guy's gotta take out on that North Pole operation. That should pull you into frustrated cynicism in time for your overcrowded new year's parties and insincere resolutions.
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