Trouble at the North Pole

“ARGHHHH!” The roar from Santa’s office reverberates through the village. It’s so loud that the elves in the workshop grab the fragile glass ornaments to keep them from tumbling from the shelves and shattering into a million pieces.

When Mrs Claus runs into Santa’s office, she finds him pressing buttons on his keyboard. All of the buttons. Numerous times. “San! Cut it out! You’ll break the keyboard!”

“I’ll throw the damned thing out of the window!” Another roar. The elves duck this time, their arms full of spun glass ornaments.

***

“Why’s he yelling?” Speidel, a recent new hire, asks. He looks around at the other elves, who are all suddenly busy looking at their toes or inspecting the ceiling.

“He yells? Santa yells?” Speidel’s tone is at once perplexed and accusatory. “Why did no one in HR tell me this? Hasn’t anyone heard of MEE?”

His words are met with silence. One elf whistles tunelessly as he stares at the ceiling until his neighbor kicks him none too gently in the shin. “Ouch! What? I’m just minding my own busi…”

“MEE? No one’s heard? What are you all? Tiny people with no rights?” Speidel jumps up on to a worktable. “M.E.E.” Hands on hips, Speidel speaks the initials clearly and slowly, until the elves turn their attention to him. There have been rumors.

“Good. Good. Listen up.” Speidel surveys his coworkers. “It’s new. But it’s the only reason I said I’d come work here. MEE. Merry Elf Equality. Started just last year, but guys, it’s gaining traction. Equal rights in every workspace, not just this seasonal gig. And being yelled at by the big boss is strictly verboten.”

***

While Speidel fills his coworkers' pointed ears, Mrs Claus is still trying to calm her husband down. Jolly red cheeks are part of the deal, but so much anger is going to give him apoplexy. “Whatever is the matter, dear? And stop pounding the keyboard.”

Santa stops, flexing his fingers while he frowns at the monitor. “Look at it yourself! Anyone would get angry, I tell you. And at a time like this!”

Mrs Claus rests a hand on his shoulder, leaning closer to read the email. “Message Blocked. What does that mean?”

“Exactly!” he thunders. The grounds quake. The timbers of the beamed ceiling groan in protest. “Message blocked! It’s an email I sent to the yarn company about the shipment. When I called the number, all I got was a recording about a railway strike. This cannot be! Not so close to D Day!”

“Delivery Day. I know, I know, dear.” Mrs Claus may be immune to her husband’s anger, but this can’t be good for his blood pressure. She pats his shoulder repeatedly, looking worriedly up to the ceiling. If his anger continues to shake the buildings, there will soon be a hole in the roof. Snow will get in.

***

The elves have collectively decided to store the most fragile toys and ornaments in cotton wool beds and seat themselves. Prior seasons have taught them that sitting on the floor is the best way to weather the storm.

Speidel is seated too. He looks uneasily at the lighting fixtures overhead, watching them sway alarmingly as the workshop reacts to the thundering anger of their boss.

“I’m telling you guys. We don’t have to put up with this.” He shakes his head dolefully. Who knows how long this has been going on!

Finally, a small voice pipes up from a corner of the room. It’s Tiltina, one of the tiniest elves, one who’s worked here for longer than anyone can remember.

“He’s got a good reason. Santa doesn’t get angry without a good reason.” She speaks calmly, her tone measured. There are murmurs of assent. Tiltina stands, which gains her a few more inches in height. “We’re treated fairly and equally, Speidel. If you don’t agree, I’m sure HR will be happy to transfer you.”

The murmurs of assent grow. Speidel looks down at his clasped hands. It’s a good job, and he knows it. Coveted, even. Elves older and more seasoned than him have been on the waiting list for years to gain a position here.

“Well…alright.” Speidel slides off of the table and picks his way through the seated elves. Tiltina looks up at him when he stops in front of her.

“Something’s amiss. He’s got a good reason. I’ll go find out.” In a flash she’s out the door to whispered ooohs and ahhs at her bravery.

Since the yelling seems to have abated, a few of the older elves resume working. Others soon join in.

***

Within the hour, the door opens. Not the tiny elf entrance, but the big door that Santa uses. Work stops. All eyes are on Santa.

“Sorry for all that yelling earlier,” he says with an embarrassed smile. “Seems I scared the missus and some of our…newer…members.” He doesn’t look directly at Speidel but he may as well have. Speidel holds his place even while his cheeks burn.

“There’s been a small delay that we’re working out with the yarn shipment. May have to get it overnighted. Hoho.” The elves titter in response. Santa’s sleigh is the only truly reliable overnight delivery service. Everyone knows that.

“In the meantime, it’s full steam ahead.” This time Santa’s eyes meet those of Speidel. “We’ve got an important job here. All hands onboard until D Day. Then it’s off to the tropics for the lot of you. Too much snow, you know.” He taps his temple, smiling again. Everyone knows what endless snow does to the mind. It’s been documented.

Santa turns to leave. On his rear end is a hastily applied bumper sticker: I MEE.

The elves erupt into laughter, Speidel’s among the loudest. Cush job, he thinks to himself. The dude in the red suit is alright.


***
979 words

Prompt: Use the following words in your poem or story - BOLDED: buttons, snow, railway strike, yarn company, message blocked.