December 18, 2022

To whom it may concern,

I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. I am writing you this in hopes that whoever you are, you’ll hear me out. First and foremost, you have to understand something - I have the worst boss on the planet. See, what most folks don’t understand is what truly happens up here in the North Pole.

Everyone assumes that Santa is this jolly man, who practically oozes happiness and good cheer. You know what I say to that? Bah humbug! He’s awful. Short and simple. We’re exactly one week away from Christmas and I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen him walk through the shop, giving his ‘grand’ review. (Spoiler: it’s zero.)

Perhaps you’re wondering why I chose to work for him in the first place, if I’m so miserable. Well, here’s the thing. He sort of ambushed me, because the truth is, is that I’d just been fired from my gig at the mall. Real elf or not, I guess it didn’t matter when I received my pink slip from the mall manager. I thought I was doomed to stay a failure, so I decided to take a stroll Christmas Eve, thinking that the streets would be quiet.

And they were. It was perfect. I needed time to think. I needed to figure out my next plan.

But just like magic, there he was. Santa Clause, sitting in his parked sleigh. Right in the middle of the street. After we exchanged formalities, he began promising me hopes of a better future. He empathized with my rough elf-hood, explaining that he too was bullied as a young child. When he presented me with his offer to come work for him, I couldn’t say no. It was too good to pass up. Besides, what was I supposed to say? ‘Oh hey, that all sounds great, but because I’m a total idiot, I’m going to decline and continue to pity my pathetic life.’

No. So I hopped in the back of his sleigh.

Maybe the first clue should have been when he asked me to go down the rest of the houses’ chimneys that he had left. That’s right - Santa doesn’t go down them. At least, he didn’t with me. The moment we settled onto each roof, he reached into his bag and handed me more presents than I could hold, before giving me a shove down each chimney.

I guess I could’ve asked why he wasn’t going down them himself, but I just assumed he needed help, and why not let the job training start early, right? Oh sure, I had to get some antibiotics a week later from a lung infection from all the soot, but Santa was incredibly remorseful about the situation and ensured that I wouldn’t be charged a single penny for the pills.

That was the first lie, in the lineup of many.

Before I really get into it, there’s something I should clarify though - the North Pole isn’t what you’d imagine. I expected thousands of Christmas lights being hung from miles and miles of garland, Christmas music playing all the time, and not to mention all of the conveyor belts for all the toys. Basically I expected what you’ve all seen in the movies.

Instead, what I saw was something far closer to the automotive shop I’d seen in a movie once. Concrete walls and floors, no music, no twinkling lights and certainly no cheer being spread anywhere. The shop easily held a couple hundred elves, all of whom were coated in grease, wood shavings and various liquids. They all looked miserable, and that was before I watched one elf take a swing at another one over a toy malfunction. They looked like they were at their wits ends.

I remember Santa standing behind me, merely patting my shoulder. He explained that due to the high electricity costs, cuts had to be made to the workshop’s aesthetic, but that my salary and benefits would more than make up for it.

And I believed him. He wouldn’t? He’s Santa Clause. He’s only sort of like the biggest legend around. He’s a big deal, especially for elves like me.

So there I worked, eager to begin each day, only to leave that same evening worn down and exhausted. My hands were covered in callouses and I was pretty sure that my back was beginning to have a permanent curve. On days that he promised to come into the shop to talk with us, I’d set aside some of my best toys so that I could show him.

I have a stack of toys taller than me stacked in the back corner, so I’ll let you guess how many times he’s come in this month.

But, when that first paycheck came in, I mentally prepared to see all my hard work come to fruition. Instead, I was sent into a shock of disbelief. My paycheck was short by at least five hundred dollars. Feeling livid, the following morning I made an appointment to speak with him and show him my paycheck.

I don’t remember his exact words to me that day. All I remember was the way he shook his head, reaching behind his desk and pulling out a file with my name on the tab. He presented me with the contract that he’d made me sign that first night I arrived at the North Pole. I watched him as he flipped to the very last page and point to the sixth clause, sub-section B. ‘All employees accept any changes in pay, regardless of prior notification.’

Accept any changes in pay? With or without any notification? Who does that to an elf? I’ll tell you - your oh-so-precious- Santa Clause. That’s who. I was furious, sure. But I thought that with Christmas being the following night, we as the workers would receive a substantial bonus, or maybe better yet, a vacation. So I let the paycheck issue go.

How naive I was. The other elves laughed at me when they heard, all holding their stomachs gasping for air. They called me ‘ridiculous’ and told me that I, much like them, was doomed.

They were right. We all were in fact, completely doomed.

Christmas came and while the big guy was out, we all sat in the shop silently waiting. Waiting for what? A party? For him to come back and give each of us our bonuses and rewards? A luxury vacation?

The next morning, I rushed into his office, eager to receive (what I assumed would be) my gigantic bonus. I mean, that’s what he’d promised me the night we met. Sure, I had a bit of trouble that first day or two, but I knew I made great toys. (Even though he never did end up seeing any of them). While I waited for his arrival, my mind wandered about where I’d travel, what I would do with all of that money.

Again, my dream was shattered.

“A bonus?” Santa’s face went as red as his coat and he patted me on the shoulder. “Franklin, there aren’t bonuses. I don’t recall telling you about a bonus the night we met. Besides, I can’t afford that, not with the benefits you all already receive and your hourly wage.”

Side note: Elf wages aren’t like magic. We’re not immortal and we have needs too. Needs and desires that are paid for using money. A wage of eight dollars per hour isn’t nearly enough. But what does he care? He’s the guy who has it made. The guy with the songs about him, the commercials, the decorations, the movies. He receives royalties on all of it. Don’t be fooled. It’s not that he’s so busy he forgets about us. It’s that he doesn’t care.

Anyway.

I didn’t think he was serious, so I laughed with him, returning the conversation back to the topic at hand.

“But sir, you have to understand, it’s not just me. All of us - your workers - we don’t feel we’re receiving a fair compensation. And the benefits…”

If I had known what I was truly walking into, I would’ve never accepted his offer. But, I was desperate. And stupid.

“Let me make something very clear to you, Franklin. It was I who saved you last year, do you remember? It was I who supplied with you with steady employment. It is I who…” I watched him scratch at his beard and just when he was about to finish his sentence, his wife came in with a plate of…well, you can guess.

The public is wrong about Santa Clause, but you guys aren’t wrong about Mrs. Clause. She’s as delightful as you’d imagine. Not to mention a hell of a cook. She’s not a dainty woman who just bakes her husband cookies all day. I mean, she does, but it’s not all she does.

Honestly, it’s amazing that her and him have stayed together this long. It has to be because they don’t see each other all that often. Mrs. Clause is currently in the business of marketing her own company, ‘Mrs. Clauses’ famous BBQ.’ (See? I told you - a hell of a cook.)

Anyway, like I was saying. Yeah, so I didn’t get a bonus. But what I did receive? A suspiciously heavier workload the following week. It’s no surprise. Santa’s got a bit of a mean streak, on top of his ability to hold grudges for years. That’s what my co-worker Buddy tells me at least.

It’s been twelve years since my first day here at the shop. In that time, I’ve received zero bonuses, zero raises, zero vacations, zero increase to my benefits, and enough trauma to need therapy for the rest of my life. Before you ask why I don’t leave, it’s got a little something to do with the fourth clause, sub-section C.

The shop is growing quiet now, so I don’t have much time before Santa comes in here with his demands. He can’t see this journal entry, otherwise it’ll be me he’ll be roasting over an open fire. If anyone ever does read this, take to heart everything I’ve written, because this is the truth. Don’t believe the movies, don’t buy his decorations, don’t believe the lies.

Sincerely,

One very resentful elf.