Confessions from the shelf

CONFESSIONS FROM THE SHELF

Living a life of lies...on shelves, tables, chairs, etc.

    At first I wasn't sure what to think when this short, tiny boy approached me in the middle of the night with a proposal. "Look, man, I'm too exhausted and bleary-eyed to go stumbling around your house looking for a new hiding spot.  I know you're a travel reporter.  How would you like to go behind the curtain and know everything that goes on with us? You find a new spot for me to wake up in and I'll give you the scoop of a lifetime."

     Now, understand, I had knocked back a couple of glasses of scotch to knock the edge off from a long night of work, but not enough to start hearing a small, red elf talking to me. "Excuse me!" I shockingly exclaimed. "Are you talking to me?"

     "Great, another guy who's seen Taxi Driver." he sighed.  

     "No, no, that's not what I meant.  Are you TALKING, period?"

     "Yes, would you rather I write this stuff down...because that ain't gonna happen. I'm lucky to be stringing words together right now."

     "No, no, talking is fine.  I think.  Go ahead, Cutie...isn't that what my kids call you?"

     "Yeah, but it just sounds weird coming from a grown man...just call me Elf.  The party at the North Pole didn't last as long as I thought it would, but I made the most of it and I'm tired from traveling back. I mean, I could just pass out right here, but then around 6:30 in the morning I'd hear the chitter and chatter and the pitter and patter and have to make a quick run of it to find a new place to appear and man, I just can't do that again. So, if you'll pick me up and tuck me in somewhere new I'll find you tomorrow night with a story that will blow your mind."

     "More so than this one?" I joked.

     "Hahahaha, you're funny.  Not in a comical way, mind you, sort of a sad way. So, whaddaya say, Pal (as he looked at the remants of my scotch glass) how about a nip and a tuck?"

     "Sure, but if I touch you won't you lose your magic?"  

     "We'll find out." He challenged.

     I cautiously picked him up, on a third try, and cradled the small, red guy in my hand...hoping I hadn't ruined Elf. "Are you okay, Elf, can you speak."  Nothing.  My heart was racing.  Had the little guy lost his voice, his magic?  Had I ruined Christmas? I shook him a little, "Elf!"

     "Hahahaha, gotcha.  Just kidding.  Just put me down somewhere.  Normally I'd say find an interesting place that makes it look like I was on a journey, but seriously, man, I just need to sleep."

     I looked around at the fireplace (maybe he was cold), at the kitchen table (maybe he was hungry), at the television (maybe he was bored), at the...

     "Would you just pick a place?  C'mon man, they're going to buy whatever I'm selling." I settled on the Christmas Tree, careful not to poke him.  

     "Boy, you really went out on a limb there." he said.

     "What?" 

     "Never mind, good night."  

     "I haven't forgotten your end of the bargain." I blurted out in a whisper. He didn't answer.

     I set my alarm to wake up at 6:30 the following morning with the kids and rushed out of bed to follow their footsteps around the house.  I almost blew it by galloping straight to the Christmas Tree, but recovered in time to make a detour to the kitchen. "Dad, why are you up?" they asked.  

     "Ummm, gotta get that coffee." 

     "But you never get up before nine."  

     "Ummm, just wanted some coffee...is there anything wrong with that?" I didn't mean to be curt, but felt I was losing this discussion.

     "No, sir, just asking."

     "Have you kids found Cutie yet?" I asked, trying to steer the situation.

     "No, sir, we're going to watch TV first."  "WHAT?" I screamed. "I mean isn't that the first thing you kids do when you wake up?"

     "Sometimes, we're just cold and hungry and bored right now." I knew it. I knew my first instincts were right last night. "Okay, well, let me know when you find him." My words falling on deaf ears. And now, I'm wide awake and the kids don't care. I carefully tiptoed away from them and poked my head in the gathering room to glance at the tree.  There was Cutie, sorry, Elf...lying down on a limb right where I had placed him.  Good thing elves have silent snores. "WHAT?" I shouted with my inside voice.  "He's a doll.  He's not moving...because he's a doll!"  Well, I might as well take a chance that last night actually happened so I started doing research on the whole Elf on a Shelf concept.  

     So, apparently, every holiday season, Santa sends out these tiny, red magical helpers to keep an eye on the kids and update Santa's Naughty and Nice list. They report back to the North Pole each night and then return to their appointed houses in a new location each morning. Sometimes with an assist, I see. I was feeling pretty proud of myself at that point.

     I went on about my work day, not as productive as I'd like, sprinkling in more research. I found some tabloid articles about wild elves and made some notes just in case this "Interview with an Elf", or as I joked in my mind, "Myself with an Elf", went down as scheduled.  

     "I mean, last night did happen, didn't it?" I kept asking myself.

     The clock couldn't move any slower.  It's like waiting for Christmas.  Oh, yeah, okay.  Bad, but timely analogy.  I kept asking the kids if they were tired and ready to go to bed, in hopes of rushing things along.  "Dad, we just ate dinner and it's only 6:30. We have two more hours."

     "Right, right.  Well, I'll be in my office doing some work if you need anything."  I started making more notes for the interview.  What would he say? Where would we sit? Do I offer him a drink? Am I crazy?

     Two hours later, after zipping through bedtime stories like I was a speed reading champion, I poured myself a glass of scotch and sat down at the desk in my office.  "Play it cool", I thought to myself.  He can find you.  Look busy.

     "My man!"  

     "HE'S HERE!" my inner voice screamed while my body leaped a little.  What happened to cool?

     "You going to keep that glass to yourself or hook an elf up?"

     "Sure, you want some scotch, bourbon, beer? Wait, how do you drink?"

     "Same as you.  With my mouth."

     "Yes, sorry.  My bad. Let's see what we have." I said, fumbling around.

     "It's fine.  Just grab one of those airplane bottles you get from your travels.  I swear those were made for elves.  They're perfect. So are you ready?  I still have to get back to the North Pole to report tonight."

     "Yes, just let me set my tape recorder and..."

     "Don't bother.  My voice doesn't record.  You'll just sound like an idiot, talking to himself. Or just sound like yourself. Sorry, couldn't help it."

     "Fine, I'll write everything down.  Is that okay?"

     "Yep.  You starting or am I?"

     We talked for a good three hours and my hand hurts from writer's cramp, but WOW, what a story! What follows is a Q & A version of our discussion.

ME: "So, what exactly do you do?"

ELF: "Well, I sit around your house all day (or so you think) and observe your kids, make mental notes of the good and bad things they do during the day and night.  I return to the North Pole and report to Santa, who keeps an updated journal on what kids will get when the time comes. That list is like the stock exchange...up and down, it's everywhere.  A girl deserves a pony one night, a rock the next.  It's amazing."

ME: "So, you fly around or what?"

ELF: "Sometimes. Depends on if I've been drinking. Look, I can fly.  I can close my eyes and appear somewhere else.  I can walk. It's no big deal.  Is this really what you want to ask me?"

ME: "No, not really, it's just fascinating.  Okay, I don't want to offend you, but I was doing some research and there appear to be some disturbing things with elves."

ELF: "Ha, dude, I'm an elf that drinks and parties. You can't offend me."

ME: "Take me behind the curtain as you said.  What actually goes on in my house late at night?"

ELF: "There we go, big boy. No we're getting into it. Really, it's more early morning than late at night. The good thing is elves can't be heard.  And we have the power to make others like us quiet so when we're crushing a party in your daughter's Barbie House, we don't make a sound and believe me...we're making plenty of sounds."

ME: "DON'T TELL ME THAT! Wait, go ahead."

ELF: "Like the other night, me and the Prince just destroyed Barbie's living room.  Tables, chairs knocked over.  The girls were out of control, dancing, drinks everywhere."

ME: "C'mon, you expect me to believe that?"

ELF: "Did you ever think you'd be talking with an elf? I figured you'd question some of this so I brought some photos for proof.  You can only see them when I hold them.  Again, the whole magic thing and all."

ME: "Wow, looks like you guys had fun."

ELF: "Yeah, those girls are crazy and the Prince, that poor guy can't stay out of his own way.  Wasn't so much fun later in the day when you and the kids finally left the house.  Man, I flew to the bathroom the second the key on your door clicked. As you can see, I paid the price, but what a party!"

ME: "Have you ever been caught partying too much or gotten in trouble with Santa?"

ELF: "Oh yeah, lots of times, but I'm a producer man.  It kills the big guy, but he knows I bring in timely, well-organized notes that make his job easier. I've been punished lots of times, but I deliver for Santa."

ME: "What are some examples?"

ELF: "Well, you know how everything is PC down here? Same at the North Pole.  Me and some of my boys started nicknaming this one Hispanic kid 'El F'.  That didn't go over too well."

ME: "I don't get it."

ELF: "Seriously?  El F? Like El Nino, El Porton.  El F.  And it spells ELF?  What's wrong with you?"

ME: "Ohhhh, hahahaha. Got it. Nice."

ELF: "Yeah, the big guy wasn't too happy.  Made us work outside."

ME: "And...that's bad because?"

ELF: "Because...it's freaking cold out there."

ME: "But you're an elf, living at the North Pole.  Aren't you used to it?"

ELF: "Let me ask you this, how many animated Christmas movies have you seen?"

ME: "Eight, nine, ten maybe."

ELF: "You see the elves working?"

ME: "Yes."

ELF: "Where?"

ME: "In Santa's workshop."

ELF: "Thank you.  Inside. Always inside. Because it's FREAKING COLD outside."

ME: "Sorry, I just thought. Anyway, any other issues you've had with him."

ELF: "Of course.  I mean, Santa's a great guy, but he's old school.  Me and the boys will go caroling and change the lyrics to Christmas songs.  Man, somebody showed him some video of that one night. He lit into us."

ME: "Like what?"

ELF: "Oh, let's see, 'It's The Most Wonderful Time To Drink Beer.'  'Juggle Balls.'  We completely defiled The Twelve Days of Christmas.

ME: "Wow! You need help."

ELF: "Ha, I hear that a lot.  I did seek help from a doctor once, but it turned into an affair.  It was a psychia-tryst."

ME: "What?"

ELF: "You're the one who needs help.  Humor is lost on you. Hey, you have any of those candy cigarettes left around from Halloween?"

ME: "You smoke?"

ELF: "Really? It's...a...candy...cigarette. The sugar keeps me going and I look pretty cool holding them."

ME: "Sorry, no...so, when you're actually working, what do you do in the house?"

ELF: "Well, since you're all serious again, I wait for the kids to fall asleep and then I start inspecting their rooms.  And can I just say, that boy of yours, wow, what a slob.  Look, I can fly and zip and reappear, but it's draining sometimes with my hands clasped together so I'll just choose to walk.  I can't take a step anywhere in that boy's room without tripping over something or holding my breath around his hamper, that's never closed by the way, and rarely with his dirty clothes actually making it in the hamper.  I mean, I'm not blaming you, but get his act together."

ME: "My daughter."

ELF: "Oh, she's fine.  A little boring for my taste.  She could use a night out.  I mean I like clean, but you don't have to go full June Cleaver.  Let's put it this way.  She doesn't bounce around the N 'n N list at all.  The boy? It's like playing Ping Pong.  Sometimes, Santa just cuts me off and says, I got it.  We've got that kid down pat. Good luck to him this Christmas."

ME: "So, it's just keeping a clean room?"

ELF: "Oh, good grief, no. How do they behave? Do they use manners? Santa's got quotas for us to meet.  I can't come back with say, 'Oh, Santa, they were good, clean rooms.'  You know how they say the devil's in the details? Well, you better outline your examples of what they've done and have a good number of them to show you're actually working.  Santa takes this stuff seriously. Why do you think I drink? And would you please get some carpet in those rooms.  When I have to walk, the wood floors creak and it just makes my job that much tougher tiptoeing around the room without being seen.  We're not like those tooth fairies, who can just sprinkle that forget dust and no one remembers a thing.  If I'm spotted, I'm busted."

ME: "What's the hardest part about your job?"

ELF: "That's easy.  Finding a freaking new hiding place each night or morning depending on how long the parties last.  I used to be able to just sit on a shelf, you know, Elf...on a shelf.  But noooooo.  That wasn't good enough for some mothers, who had to get all cute and all.  Now it's all about staging. Who can outstage who?  I have to be flying through the air or sitting up reading a book or holding a bird.  And then the drunk fathers get involved and try to be cute.  So, I'm now in a car accident or riding a reindeer or sleeping with three girls.  Now, that last one's not bad, but I like to choose my own girls."

ME: "Do you get to choose your spots sometimes?"

ELF: "Ha, most times.  Listen, I can't count the number of times I've seen empty wine bottles and mothers passed out, forgetting to place me. That's when I have to think.  Drinking and thinking don't go together.  For either of us.  So, I'll put my report together, return to the North Pole, meet with Santa and then rush back to your house for the party.  Sometimes I'll go straight to my spot after the party, but other times, I'm just too tired and pass out.  And then, like early this morning, I have to make a mad dash for some spot, that I hope is new, and collapse before the kids walk by. It's exhausting."

ME: "Can't you just move if you don't like your sleeping spot."

ELF: "I wish.  No, once you've been placed by someone you can't move.  Now, if they screw up and forget, and they screw up a lot, you can go wherever you want.  Heck, they're not going to remember.  Parents are too drunk or too tired, or both, to remember if they moved me or not.  I have to admit, I love watching them freak out when they wake up in the morning and scramble around trying to remember if they moved me. It's hard to stifle my laugh sometimes."

ME: "It sounds like you don't, and I hate to offend you, but it sounds like you don't really...like your job."

ELF: "Oh, no.  That's not correct at all.  I love what I do.  Hey, it's hard work, but just because I work hard and party hard doesn't mean that I don't cherish seeing children smile and giggle. I mean, I'll admit I still get a kick out of seeing a kid, usually boys, in trouble and staring at me, wondering if I'm going to tell Santa and ruin their Christmas. But I do love my job."

ME: "This is amazing.  I can't wait to write this up and share it with the world."

ELF: "Hahahaha, go ahead.  See how far that gets you."

ME: "What do you mean?"

ELF: "Really? You're going to share with the world that you shared drinks with an elf, who talks. Yeah, that'll be believable.  Hope you enjoyed your career."

ME: "Yeah, that makes sense. It's about the only thing that's made sense tonight."

ELF: "Be a pal, find a new place and lock me down for the morning."

     Christmas morning turned out as everyone had hoped.  My daughter got everything she wanted, including the pony.  My son, well, he got pretty much most of what he wanted.  I chalked that up to Cutie, sorry, Elf taking pity on him.

     I still question if that magical early morning interviewing with Elf actually took place. But I think it"s safe to say, next December, I'll be waking up early each morning to see if the Barbie House is still standing.