Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. And there will be a Christmas this year. After months of painful negotiations Santa has reached a labor deal with the elves.
“We have labor peace in our time” said the worn-out Christmas father figure.
These negotiations were tense and there were times when I thought a strike was inevitable and I would have to hire replacement workers for the Christmas rush. I haven’t had to do that since Nixon took the U.S. off the gold standard and devalued the elves wages. There were a lot of compromises. And compromises are like medicine: they go down bitter but produce good fruit. I’m confident that for the foreseeable future many of the contentious issues that almost led to the strike will not be a factor.
Among the points of disagreement that have been resolved are break times, sing-a-longs and Rudolph’s access to the toy factory.
I gave the elves a ten-minute break every morning. I thought that was generous. Hell if it were up to me I wouldn’t have given them any breaks. My workshop is not a safe space. You want to be paid? Earn it motherf*cker. But apparently labor laws have changed and my lawyers advised me to bend on this. So now the short little shits get 15-minute breaks twice a day. Pussies.
Another issue resolved was the dreaded “sing-a-long.”
I used to have the elves sing to me. This was not optional. It was mandatory and laid out in the employee manual. The singing relaxed me. And I think it relaxed the elves as well. They always smiled. I thought it was because they were happy but now I find out it was from fear and they hated singing to me. So the sing-a-long has been abolished. Well screw them. I have my music on my smart phone now anyway. It’s their loss. One less chance to get on my good side. And you do want to be on my good side come employee evaluation time.
Also, Santa’s right-hand man, Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer will be banned from the factory floor.
A lot of the elves didn’t like him and thought he was my snitch. Well, of course he was! How else was I to know who were the happy, loyal elves and who were the malcontents living off my largess? I needed Rudolph on the floor. He looked out for my interests and if perchance there was an elf that we had to take out back to the woodshed, Rudolph was just the one to do it. How did he let me know who was bad? I’ll tell you the secret. It was his nose. He’d make it glow to point out the bad elves. But from now on he will be strictly confined to the executive suites. I guess I’ll have to invest in security cameras on the floor now.
But with labor peace achieved, Santa can get back to preparing for his busiest night of the year, if he survives that is.
“Mrs. Claus is always trying to fatten me up. “Papa, eat! Eat! We need a fat Santa for Christmas.” Personally I think the bitch is trying to kill me.”