Quaint Hometown Christmas Festivals Are Costing Me All My Best Employees

Look, I want to make one thing clear: I’m not a selfish guy. I’m all for my employees discovering themselves and finding true love. The first time one of my top correspondents emailed out of the blue to say she’d decided to move to a tiny mountain town and take over a struggling antique shop, I said, “Good for you.” The second time it happened, this time with a struggling breakfast diner in an off-season tourist town, I was surprised, but I also said, “Good for you.”

But after the third and fourth times, I began to worry that a pattern was developing. And the twenty-sixth time an employee emailed me a no-notice resignation on account of having discovered both her soulmate and her passion for veterinary work in the quaint English village where I had sent her (all expenses paid) on assignment, I have to admit that I was less than pleased. Her email informed me that she was happy to forfeit her year-end bonus and the extremely competitive promotion she’d been up for because she was going off Wi-Fi forever, effective immediately. Last I knew, she didn’t even have a dog.

I realize that employees come and go, and far be it from me to keep them from their dreams. But do all their dreams have to involve marrying some rough-hewn yet soft-hearted guy from their hometowns and taking over management of a financially dubious small business, farm, or townwide festival?

It’s been a bit of a blow to lose one right-hand woman after another, especially when they’ve spent years building their careers at the firm and have proven their dedication to the cause through hundreds of late nights at the office and last-minute emergency assignments. I’ve personally witnessed many of these women cancel dinner with their fiancés in order to make a deadline—and yet all it takes is one small-town lumberjack, and suddenly, they’re throwing away their career without even giving me a chance to make a competing offer.

It’s getting to the point where I’m afraid to send any of my senior employees out on assignment. I run a major firm where I employ a significant number of high-powered journalists, architects, writers, receptionists, and booksellers. I often need to send a single employee to a quaint, tight-knit small-town community for two to four weeks to get the inside scoop on a local custom or a soon-to-be-demolished community staple.

However, of the thirty-five employees I’ve sent on these assignments in the last two years, only one has returned. And she ended up quitting a week later via a panted ten-second voicemail, with “Last call for boarding” echoing in the background.

It’s not that I’m concerned about all the wasted onboarding paperwork, the years of training, the assignments that fall through the cracks while these employees are off “working remotely” from their bed and breakfasts with spotty cell service and convenient outages. What concerns me is the long-term welfare of my former employees, none of whom I’ve ever heard from again.

Just this week, my top analyst mentioned offhand that she was considering a house swap for the holidays with someone who lives in a snowbound village way up in the sticks of Canada. I asked whether she knew anything about this person, whether she’d done any research on the village, and who her nearest neighbors would be. She told me the only person who lived within a close-enough-to-hear-her-scream distance to the cottage was a thirty-something man whose wife had died and who was known to be surly, taciturn, and hostile to strangers.

“Doesn’t that sound like a setup for a horror movie?” I asked, but she laughed it off and assured me she would continue to work avidly on our end-of-year report during her monthlong stay at the cottage.

Maybe I’m just paranoid, but I’ve lost a lot of good workers right around the holiday season. I’ve seriously considered calling my employees’ fiancés and boyfriends and encouraging them to make some big romantic gesture the day before their partners go off on assignment, maybe delivering some kind of ultimatum. I’m not sure what else I can do. I’ve already tried promoting these women, demoting them, praising them, berating them, and having affairs with them. Nothing seems to help.

I’ll be the first to admit that life at the firm isn’t always easy. Have I had the occasional complaint about work-life balance, the occasional glimpse of my number-one ride-or-die executive assistant in tears at the holiday party, the occasional non-response to my 2 a.m. text about an assignment that needs to be turned in by 6 a.m.? You bet. You can’t make an omelet without breaking some secretaries.

But my employees knew what they were signing up for. And at no point during three rounds of interviews did any of them mention a latent desire to skip town and shotgun marry the first local yokel in flannel that doffed his hunting cap to them.

Fellow CEOs and mid-level managers, HR departments, and men in suits: I don’t know what the hell is going on in these Christmas towns, and I don’t like it. I’ve resorted to sending only male interns on these crucial and, regrettably, Christmassy assignments. But I have a terrible feeling that someday, even my male interns will prove susceptible to whatever web those lumberjacks are weaving.

There’s only one way to get to the bottom of this. I need to go out there myself. I’ve booked a single queen-size bedroom at the only available bed and breakfast in town, and I’ve packed two weeks’ worth of clothes. I’m bringing my work phone, my work laptop, my personal phone, my personal laptop, and enough chargers for both. You can expect me back at my desk with the report written by Monday morning, 8 a.m. sharp, New Year’s Day.