Santa Claus, who rarely visited the workshop anymore, made a surprise appearance one cold November morning. Of course it was cold – Santa’s workshop is located at the North Pole – but there had been a particularly nasty storm the previous evening, leaving behind a thick blanket of snow that glistened like diamonds in the few short hours of sunlight.
The old man was decidedly less jolly than usual; in fact, he seemed perplexed. He sipped his oversized cup of cocoa absently as he waved a Christmas list from an eight-year-old boy from Texas.
“Can someone please tell me what the hell a cosmic branding iron is?” he bellowed.
“Give me a moment,” chirped Raphael. Raphael was a pretty lousy toymaker by elf standards, but he was very good with research and general office work. Contrary to popular belief, all elves at the North Pole do not make toys. Toymaking might be the high profile occupation, but there is plenty of work to do in any community, such as cooking, infrastructure, maintenance, and the like. Raphael had saved himself from a career mucking reindeer stalls with his surprisingly exhaustive knowledge of the Dewey Decimal System and search engine prowess.
Raphael flipped quickly through a thick, leather-bound illustrated toy reference catalog. “Yes, here it is,” he said. “It’s an accessory that is only available with the new JoJo Galaxy Jumpbot Special Edition Cowboy to the Stars.”
“What happened to the old days, when a kid just asked for a ‘dolly’ and left it at that?” Santa sighed to no one in particular.
“Children have become far more educated consumers. Lists today are incredibly detailed,” Raphael offered.
For not the first time, Santa considered retirement. Perhaps the Easter Bunny could do double duty. Oh, who was he kidding? There was no such thing as the Easter Bunny.
“JoJo Jumpbot, what a molded plastic piece of shit,” mumbled Frankie as he struggled to focus on coloring the pile of modeling compound in front of him. He was nursing a wicked hangover well earned from the previous night’s binge. With the ferocity of the storm, he had figured Santa would declare a Snow Day and he’d be able to stay home and sleep it off. Frankie had failed to account for the fact that they were in the North Pole, where every day was pretty much a snow day. There was a reason why Frankie didn’t work on the video game system assembly line.
“You got something to say about the most requested toy three Christmases running, Sneezy?” challenged Jennie, the lead tech on the JoJo line. Her retort was particularly toxic, as there were few things more insulting to an elf than being called the name of a dwarf. “By the way, are we having trouble keeping our hands steady while we play with our dough?”
“Hey, I’m not the one tossing my tinsel with the stocking stuffers,” Frankie fired back. “Your quality control boy Harold over there seems to have found a very special use for the spear-throwing motion of the JoJo Jumpbot Noble Savage of the Milky Way. Haven’t you, you creepy little coal stain?”
Harold was aghast. He stood up from his workbench, tossing aside the JoJo he had been inspecting as if it were covered in poison ivy. “Who told you, I mean, what do you mean, I don’t know what…” he stammered.
“Just stop,” Frankie cut him off. “We all know the gay stuff you do with that robot.”
“It’s not gay, not gay at all.”
“It’s a boy robot!”
“Just because it’s a boy robot does not make it gay.”
“No, I think that’s pretty gay,” Jennie conceded.
“It is most assuredly gay,” Frankie corrected. “Santa, can we get a ruling on this?”
“Gay,” replied Santa, who was starting to rethink the whole JoJo product line, particularly the JoJo Jumpbot Uranus Explorer that Harold had proposed last summer.
“What about Suzie?” Harold blurted. “She’s been working that vibrating Hysterical Hanna for about three years now.”
“Hey!” protested Suzie, an unassuming elf who worked in board games.
“Don’t try to deny it,” Harold attacked, desperately trying to remove the focus from his robotic proclivities. “How many times have I seen you replace that pull string in the past six months alone?”
“Oh, yeah?” Suzie managed, clenching her fists in a losing effort to stop herself from crying. “Well at least I don’t dip my junk in Peppermint Lake and then visit the reindeer!”
Santa spit up his cocoa at this last revelation, the cocoa that had been flavored that very morning with the waters of Peppermint Lake. Apparently, quite a few lonely toy making elves in attendance that day had discovered the affinity Santa’s reindeer had for peppermint – and rather than face the public humiliation of being identified as the most perverted elf in the workshop, which would be quite a feat considering that morning’s string of startling revelations, they decided independently and yet simultaneously to start a riot.
The room erupted into a flurry of elven mayhem. There was wrapping paper everywhere; even the good kind with the cutting guidelines on the back was haphazardly tossed about like used wrapping paper. Gumdrops were thrown in an ineffective effort to recreate a cafeteria food fight. Candy canes became hazardous projectiles, as Sammy, soon to be nicknamed “Blinky,” would later confirm. And one unfortunate jack-in-the-box found himself sprung into a place where the sun did not shine. Frankie was equally unhappy with the arrangement.
Eventually, order was restored. Between lost hours and cleanup efforts, however, more than a day of productivity during a crucial time of the year was lost, which forced Santa to skip Idaho that year. With regard to internal protocols, the riot was the catalyst for establishing a series of seminars addressing elven sexuality, as well as much tighter inventory control over toys with moving or vibrating parts. Access was also restricted to Peppermint Lake, which improved the taste of most meals and beverages in the North Pole, but caused Blitzen to fall into a horrible depression.
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
Friday, February 14, 2014
Another Valentine's Day
It’s just a stupid Hallmark holiday, she told herself. But
she couldn’t make herself believe it. Too many stores filled with too many
displays of silly stuffed animals, insincere greeting cards, and heart-shaped
boxes of overpriced, second-rate chocolates had worn down Wanda’s resolve. She
knew that if a suitor had come calling, any of these items would have been enthusiastically
received.
“It just would have been nice, that’s all,” she told herself in the mirror, applying the final touches to her makeup. The office had been a nightmare today, as if all the boyfriends and husbands of her co-workers had conspired to keep the Valentine’s Day machine in business. Three different floral arrangements had been delivered to the office, as well as one bunch of balloons. Connie was beaming as she showed off a new diamond heart pendant from her boyfriend, and Crystal had positioned her new white teddy bear (holding a giant heart, of course) next to her monitor. Even Tracy, who had been married for more than 25 years, had been treated to candy and the promise of a romantic home-cooked dinner that evening. At least there had been no proposals – Wanda was not sure she could have handled it.
After a solitary meal of Chinese takeout on her couch, Wanda decided to forgo the sappy movies and ice cream – the stereotypical evening of a single woman perilously close to 30 who was alone on Valentine’s Day – and get out of the house. She was reasonably sure Prince Charming wasn’t going to be in Harry’s , but she was determined to not let the holiday completely win. She wore her favorite sweater, a red turtleneck that was tight in all the right places. Let them see why I spend all those hours in the gym, she thought.
Rarely could a man gain ground on February 14th, but he
could very easily lose ground in a relationship. The wrong chocolates, not
enough flowers, no jewelry – Amy got earrings, why didn’t you give me earrings?
Generally, the best results merely maintained the status quo, while the
slightest misstep invited an emotional cold front that could last for weeks.
Matt was almost happy this year that he didn’t have to navigate through the quicksand.
Almost.
As he finished his second beer at Harry’s, Matt noticed the local hangout held a few groups of young professionals like him, sharing drinks and finger foods and probably lying like crazy about why they didn’t have dates tonight. He’d been invited to a similar outing by some of his work friends, but tonight he preferred to sit alone and think about how he his last three or four relationships had failed. The cracks began to show with at least two of them around this time of year, but he wasn’t in the mood to figure out if that reflected poorly on him or them.
Briefly, Matt considered sharing his theories regarding Valentine’s Day with the bartender, but decided that conversation on this day would be perceived as bitter and pathetic. And it would be, Matt agreed to himself silently. It was still early, but better to leave now and be able to return at a later date without being branded as “Mr. Valentine” or something worse by the guy behind the bar. Besides, tomorrow was going to be a long day helping that nonprofit corporation, and he had that workout session with the trainer in the morning. He left a $20 on the bar, put on his leather jacket, and took his leave.
On his way out, Matt opened the door and held it for a shapely brunette. She was a welcome sight, tightly wrapped in a red sweater that complimented her figure and black jeans that added to the presentation. Some guy at Harry’s was really going to enjoy Valentine’s Day … well, if he had purchased the correct tokens of affection and in the right quantities. For just a moment, his eyes met hers, and he couldn’t help but smile. She returned the smile.
“Thank you,” Wanda said, walking through the door. “My pleasure,” he answered. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” He was wearing a bomber jacket over a oxford shirt and loosened tie. A kind smile, she thought. It’s a little early to be getting home, he must be meeting someone special.
Matt held the door open a bit longer than was necessary, enough to admire her walk. She wasn’t looking around for friends or a date, and she didn’t have a cell phone at the ready; no, she made a direct path toward an unoccupied area of the bar. She sat in the seat he had just vacated and called for the bartender.
In or out? Destiny? With a slight shake of his head, he
closed the door. No, that only happens in the movies, he thought with a small,
sad smile. He adjusted his eyeglasses, stuffed his hands in the pockets of his
leather jacket, and strolled toward the subway.
Wanda noticed the seat at the bar wasn’t cold. Someone had just been sitting here. Perhaps it had been the nice looking man who had smiled so warmly at the door. Destiny? She turned toward the door, but it was closed. No doubt he was halfway down the block or stuffed in a taxi by now. She stifled a laugh. No, that only happens in the movies, she thought, and turned toward the bartender to order a drink.
“It just would have been nice, that’s all,” she told herself in the mirror, applying the final touches to her makeup. The office had been a nightmare today, as if all the boyfriends and husbands of her co-workers had conspired to keep the Valentine’s Day machine in business. Three different floral arrangements had been delivered to the office, as well as one bunch of balloons. Connie was beaming as she showed off a new diamond heart pendant from her boyfriend, and Crystal had positioned her new white teddy bear (holding a giant heart, of course) next to her monitor. Even Tracy, who had been married for more than 25 years, had been treated to candy and the promise of a romantic home-cooked dinner that evening. At least there had been no proposals – Wanda was not sure she could have handled it.
After a solitary meal of Chinese takeout on her couch, Wanda decided to forgo the sappy movies and ice cream – the stereotypical evening of a single woman perilously close to 30 who was alone on Valentine’s Day – and get out of the house. She was reasonably sure Prince Charming wasn’t going to be in Harry’s , but she was determined to not let the holiday completely win. She wore her favorite sweater, a red turtleneck that was tight in all the right places. Let them see why I spend all those hours in the gym, she thought.
As he finished his second beer at Harry’s, Matt noticed the local hangout held a few groups of young professionals like him, sharing drinks and finger foods and probably lying like crazy about why they didn’t have dates tonight. He’d been invited to a similar outing by some of his work friends, but tonight he preferred to sit alone and think about how he his last three or four relationships had failed. The cracks began to show with at least two of them around this time of year, but he wasn’t in the mood to figure out if that reflected poorly on him or them.
Briefly, Matt considered sharing his theories regarding Valentine’s Day with the bartender, but decided that conversation on this day would be perceived as bitter and pathetic. And it would be, Matt agreed to himself silently. It was still early, but better to leave now and be able to return at a later date without being branded as “Mr. Valentine” or something worse by the guy behind the bar. Besides, tomorrow was going to be a long day helping that nonprofit corporation, and he had that workout session with the trainer in the morning. He left a $20 on the bar, put on his leather jacket, and took his leave.
On his way out, Matt opened the door and held it for a shapely brunette. She was a welcome sight, tightly wrapped in a red sweater that complimented her figure and black jeans that added to the presentation. Some guy at Harry’s was really going to enjoy Valentine’s Day … well, if he had purchased the correct tokens of affection and in the right quantities. For just a moment, his eyes met hers, and he couldn’t help but smile. She returned the smile.
“Thank you,” Wanda said, walking through the door. “My pleasure,” he answered. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” He was wearing a bomber jacket over a oxford shirt and loosened tie. A kind smile, she thought. It’s a little early to be getting home, he must be meeting someone special.
Matt held the door open a bit longer than was necessary, enough to admire her walk. She wasn’t looking around for friends or a date, and she didn’t have a cell phone at the ready; no, she made a direct path toward an unoccupied area of the bar. She sat in the seat he had just vacated and called for the bartender.
Wanda noticed the seat at the bar wasn’t cold. Someone had just been sitting here. Perhaps it had been the nice looking man who had smiled so warmly at the door. Destiny? She turned toward the door, but it was closed. No doubt he was halfway down the block or stuffed in a taxi by now. She stifled a laugh. No, that only happens in the movies, she thought, and turned toward the bartender to order a drink.
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