A CHRISTMAS UNION by Matt Butterfield
Ginger the elf began each and every day exactly the same:
Take a nice hot bath,
Put on the green and red uniform he wears to work,
Have a hearty breakfast of cookies and milk,
Feed Candy, his hamster,
Water the sugarplum bush next to his bed,
Shovel the snow off of the pathway in front of his house,
Go to work at Santa’s Workshop.
Each and every morning he took the same route to Santa’s Workshop. Through the piney woods of the North Pole on the pathway every other elf had shoveled the snow off of only minutes before. Each and every morning he met Tinsel, Mistletoe and Fruitcake on his way to work. Each and every morning they would sing the first Christmas carol that came to mind and skip while lost in the joy of song all the way to Santa’s Workshop.
At Santa’s workshop Ginger had always worked the Stocking Stuffing Assembly Line along with Tinsel, Mistletoe and Fruitcake. Neither Ginger, Tinsel, Mistletoe nor Fruitcake could remember a time when they were not working the Stocking Stuffing Assembly Line. They never wanted to leave the Stocking Stuffing Assembly Line because each and every day was filled with singing Christmas carols and eating the candy that would not fit into the stockings of the children with small feet.
Each and every elf in the Stocking Stuffing Assembly Line was very skilled at stuffing as much candy, cookies, trinkets and Christmas cheer into each stocking that came their way. Ginger, however, excelled above all of the other elves in his Stocking Stuffing abilities. He could calculate each stocking’s volume based on the circumference and height of the legging combined with the shoe-size of the footing and would create a perfect cookie-candy-trinket-Christmas cheer ratio.
All of this he did each and every day from dawn ‘til dusk with a smile on is face and a song on his lips, no matter how tired he was from the day before.
Each and every evening as the sun lowered beneath the horizon and the moon rose into the starry night, Ginger, Tinsel, Mistletoe and Fruitcake walked down the now snow-covered, pathway they had walked that morning. However, the walk home for the elves was never decorated with the accessory of song, as they were all extremely tired after a long day at Santa’s Workshop.
After arriving home, Ginger would go to sleep on a full stomach of candy and cookies, kept warm by the little Christmas cheer he was able to sneak home that night.
This was Ginger’s routine for each and every day.
Each and every day except Christmas, of course.
Christmas was the one day every year that the elves received the day off of work at Santa’s Workshop, because, Santa himself needed to catch up on his sleep after a long night of delivering gifts.
Ginger treasured this one day of rest above all other days of the year.
One day, as Ginger sat on his stool in Santa’s Workshop, fulfilling the duties of the Stocking Stuffing Assembly Line, he ran across a peculiar combination of stocking stuffers for one particular stocking. At first Ginger thought nothing of this collection of stocking stuffers, as no two stockings were stuffed the same. However, this particular combination had not only candy, cookies, trinkets and Christmas cheer, but also what seemed to be a rather flimsy paper-back novelette with large, loud, hodgepodged writing all over the front page.
“How peculiar,” exclaimed Ginger, “what to do with this novelette?”
After trying for hours to work this novelette into his candy-cookie-trinket-Christmas cheer formula for stuffing stockings, Ginger eventually decided to keep the novelette, like the other excess candy and cheer that simply would not fit.
He rolled up the novelette and stuffed it into his back pocket without a second thought.
The day went on as usual without interruption and as the sun began to set Ginger, Tinsel, Mistletoe and Fruitcake walked home.
But, Ginger did not go to bed immediately. Instead, Ginger sat on his large-cushy lounge chair and exhaled a squeal filled with comfort. As he sat, he retrieved the novelette from his back pocket and began to read by candlelight.
As he read, Ginger realized that this was no conventional novelette, as it was filled with articles rather than chapters and photographs rather than illustrations.
“O! A magazine! How silly of me!” Ginger exclaimed.
As Ginger continued his reading, he became extremely confused.
One of the articles wrote of another assembly line, more specifically, the people that worked on it. It discussed something called a “union” declaring a “strike” with the assembly line workers demanding “wages” and “weekends” along with other strange combinations of words such as “humane treatment.”
“How strange of these humans,” Ginger observed aloud, “Why do they ‘strike’ rather than simply writing Santa Claus, who, would just bring these gifts to them on Christmas morn?”
Rather than sleeping soundly that night, Ginger dreamed of the strange words he happened across in the magazine. The next morning, Ginger awoke ill-rested and was still bewildered by the article.
He decided he needed to speak with Santa about the matter.
“Santa, I am so sorry to bother you, but I need help with something,” Ginger squeaked into the small speaker-box that sent his voice straight into the office of Santa Claus himself.
“Why of course Ginger! Come right up and have a cup of hot-chocolate!” boomed the voice of Santa over the speaker.
In a fit of nerves, Ginger fell off of his stool and smack onto his back. He recovered quickly and headed up the stairs towards Santa’s office, after narrowly escaping the wrath-filled whip belonging to Nutcracker, the Stocking Stuffing Assembly Line’s supervising elf.
After what seemed like nearly hours of climbing, Ginger finally arrived to the door of Santa Claus’ office.
Ginger had never been to Santa’s office and was immediately overwhelmed by the human-size door, whose knob he could not reach. Ginger desperately, yet politely, wrapped his knuckles against the pinewood door and waited for a reply from within.
Instead, the door flew open. There he stood in all his glory. Santa Claus towered over Ginger and belted out a hearty laugh that immediately filled Ginger with so much Christmas cheer that the little elf felt as if he would float to the ceiling. Leaning over, Santa placed his paw-like hand on Ginger’s shoulder and led him into his office, which reeked of freshly baked cookies, hot fudge and smoldering pine in the fireplace.
Ginger looked to his right where an enormous window looking over the entire world acted as the wall. Ginger looked to this left where Santa’s desk filled up a great portion of the room next to the fireplace. On the desk The List laid decorated with check marks, indicating Nice children, and minus signs, indicating otherwise.
“Come, come, come, Ginger, let us sit at my desk and you can ask me anything you wish” Santa said as his hand, still on Ginger’s shoulder, led Ginger towards his desk.
The chair in front of Santa’s desk was so comfortable it reminded Ginger of his own big-cushy lounge chair at home. After a sip of Santa’s Special Hot Coco the Christmas cheer began to catch up to Ginger as his head became much lighter than it was before.
“Now, now Ginger, don’t drink my Special Coco to quickly or you will regret it tomorrow morning!” Santa laughed whole-heartedly. “What was it that you needed help with? Did you find a glitch in that Stocking-Stuffing formula of yours?”
“Not quite, Mr. Claus,” Ginger said. “You see, yesterday I ran across this magazine that would not fit into the stocking it was meant to be stuffed into. So I took it home and read it cover-to-cover.”
“Ah, yes, earned a bit of commission did you?” Santa winked.
“Um, yes sir,” Ginger nervously grinned, “But this magazine wrote about another assembly line that humans work on. From what I gathered, it seemed that they had something called a ‘strike’ and ‘demanded’ from someone called an ‘employer’ trinkets like ‘wages’ and ‘weekends’. So I guess my first question is, what is a ‘wage’ and why won’t these humans simply write you and ask for it to be under their Christmas Tree?”
The smile and benevolence had faded from Santa. He looked sternly at Ginger. The little elf had avoided eye contact through his entire monologue and suddenly felt embarrassed.
“Ginger, do you know what war is?” Santa asked severely.
“Yes sir, Mr. Claus,” Ginger sheepishly replied.
“Do you know what it means to wage war, Ginger? It means to cause many hurtful things that land you on the Naughty List. That is what wages are.” Santa explained without smile.
“Yes sir, Mr. Claus.”
“Is that all you wanted to ask me?”
“Yes sir, Mr. Claus,” Ginger replied as he took his last sip of Santa’s Special Hot Coco.
“I think it is time you returned to the Stocking Stuffing Assembly Line, Ginger. Now, if you have anything else you need help with just let me know,” Santa exclaimed, with joy returning to his demeanor.
“Yes sir, Mr. Claus,” Ginger said as he left the chair and stumbled out of the room, filled with Christmas cheer, despite being scolded.
That evening Ginger did not go straight to bed after returning home from Santa’s Workshop, yet again. Instead he reached into his dusty bookshelf and retrieved his copy of Every Elf’s Dictionary. He turned each page until he found the word he was looking for:
Wage: Payment for labor or services to a worker, especially remuneration on an hourly, daily, or weekly basis or by the piece.
He looked and looked, read and read. Try as he might, Ginger found nothing that mentioned the “war” Santa spoke of. Ginger spent the rest of the night with his nose stuck in his dictionary, looking up each word he did not understand in the magazine.
Tinsel banged on Ginger’s door, desperately trying to get a response. Ginger had not come to work that morning and failed to show up in the afternoon. Nutcracker was headed towards Ginger’s home to investigate his absence with a large rock-hard candy cane in hand.
Ginger finally cracked open his door.
“Ginger!” squeaked Tinsel, “Where have you been all day?”
“Who wants to know?” moaned Ginger, sounding as if he had just awakened.
“Nutcracker is coming, so you better—oof!” Tinsel shrieked as Nutcracker knocked him to the side and flung the door open.
As Ginger turned to run, he felt a cold, sticky, hook around his neck. A pajama-clad Ginger was lifted off of his feet and dragged into the snowy outdoors. Unable to breathe, Ginger’s resistance to Nutcracker’s candy cane grip wore thin. His vision tunneled and everything became darker and darker.
Ginger suddenly found himself seated on a stool, facing all of the members of the Stocking Stuffing Assembly Line who stared blankly at him.
For the first time in Ginger’s life, he felt the chill of the North Pole.
“Ginger Breadman you have been charged with Second Degree Truancy. How do you plead?” Nutcracker bellowed throughout the Stocking Stuffing Assembly Line Hall.
“What are you talking about? I just needed a day off!” Ginger squeaked.
“Guilty!” Nutcracker squawked, “I hereby sentence you to the ingestion of one lump of coal!”
Ginger watched in horror as a lump of coal twice the size of his hand approached him, floating on a tray. The tray levitated all the way up to Ginger’s face. The room, once silent, began to echo with yelps from the other elves, either chanting for his punishment or crying out in his defense.
Holding the lump of coal in both hands, and Ginger sunk in his weak, candy-coated teeth. At first he tasted only the burnt-chalk like texture of the coal. After his second bite, however, he began to taste something more. He began to taste the taste of his own cracking and crumbling molars, which soon began to fall past his lips, painted in red.
Ginger, now green and sick with coal poisoning, looked to Nutcracker for mercy.
“Keep eating,” was the only mercy granted.
Each bite’s difficulty increased. His incisors loosened and fragmented as he turned a greener and greener. With each nugget of coal forced down his throat, Ginger felt a bit of Christmas cheer fade away. As he took his last bite, fighting the coarse feel of his broken teeth and raw gums, Nutcracker handed him a black stocking, reserved for the fireplace of a naughty child. Ginger accepted it and took it to the end of the Stocking Stuffing Assembly Line Hall. He regurgitated his black chastisement into his black stocking.
He continued as such for the rest of the day, filling stocking after stocking with disgorged coal.
“Why didn’t you meet us on the road this morning? This could have all been so easily avoided!” Tinsel shrieked, holding a snowball to his recently blackened eye.
Ginger, Tinsel, Mistletoe and Fruitcake all walked along the snow covered pathway. Until now, the four elves had remained silent. Tinsel’s sudden outburst seemed to pierce the dusk and caused several songbirds to take flight from a nearby tree.
“Do you not understand that Christmas grows nearer and nearer each and every day?” demanded Mistletoe.
“I thought you were so brave up there,” Fruitcake meekly stated.
“Do any of you know what a weekend is?” Ginger asked, gripping his still rumbling stomach.
Ginger continued down the pathway, avoiding the others elves’ prying stares by looking at the icy ground.
“Have any of you heard of rights?” Ginger asked.
“Yes, the one that doesn’t make an ‘L’ is the right one. What do directions have to do with this?” Mistletoe dismissed.
“There’s nothing I like more than a elf that can take a hit like that, Ginger,” Fruitcake awkwardly let stumble from his lips.
“No, I’m not talking about your hands, Mistletoe,” Ginger explained as they approached his home, “Why don’t all of you come over and I can explain what I am talking about.”
As the four entered his home, Ginger lit the Yule logs in his fireplace and served hot chocolate. He spent the rest of the evening explaining that each and every one of the elves possessed unspoken rights as Santa’s workers, and Santa did not acknowledge many of these rights. He talked and he talked the whole night through, explaining the terms “rights”, “reasonable work hours” and “weekend”.
A few hours before the sun began peeking over the snowy grounds of the North Pole, each elf made his way back to his home. Each elf slept restlessly that night.
In the morning they would begin the revolution.
As Ginger, Tinsel, Mistletoe and Fruitcake were stuffing stockings, they began to secretly pass notes under the watchful eye of Nutcracker. Each and every note told of a meeting behind Santa’s Workshop after the workday had finished. Each and every note instructed an elf to bring a friend from another department of Santa’s Workshop. Each and every note told them that they had a week, in other words seven workdays, or a “week,” before they would strike. Each and every note was passed as the elves echoed The First Noel throughout the Stocking Stuffing Assembly Line Hall.
That evening the elves gathered behind Santa’s workshop. Ginger, Tinsel, Mistletoe and Fruitcake watched as every single one of their co-workers from the Stocking Stuffing Assembly Line and a few others arrived. Many had come out of ignorant duty, thinking that Santa had organized this meeting. Others had gathered to learn what a “week” really was.
Ginger led the meeting despite his broken teeth and raw gums, answering questions and explaining what it meant to have rights as workers. Many agreed, but others’ simplicity proved too dense to break through. Ginger, Tinsel, Mistletoe and Fruitcake told them to continue to bring more elves to the same place at the same time every night until the week had passed.
As the week continued, every single elf had heard of the movement, yet many were not supportive of ceasing work entirely; the fear of missing Christmas loomed in their minds. The night before the strike, Ginger stayed with the doubtful and talked and talked until his gums spilled liquid red down his chin.
As the sun rose that morning, no carols could be heard approaching. Only the sound of hammer to nail against the front door of Santa’s Workshop as Tinsel placed The Elvin Brotherhood of Laborers’ list of demands in order for work to begin once more:
As the day wore on, each elf was forced out of his home by life-size windup toy soldiers many had built with their own hands. Forced into the wilderness, the elves gathered and created their own village of lean-tos they improvised from pinewood branches, in a feeble attempt to keep out the cold.
That night, as the sun settled over the horizon, each and every elf felt the chill of the North Pole, many for the first time in their life.
Day after day went on with Santa’s Workshop at a complete standstill. The elves remained in the Piney Woods of the North Pole, living off the land. Many elves ate only nuts and berries they could find in the bushes, however, some had figured out the sport of hunting and were able to roast a pheasant every few nights. The chill of the North Pole worsened as the weight from eating only cookies and candy faded from their waists.
On Christmas Eve, still the elves’ work had not been finished. Many elves feared a complete lack of Christmas.
“It is a lesson for Santa to learn!” Ginger’s once tiny voice now boomed through the wilderness, “Santa must realize it is up to us whether or not there is a Christmas! Not him! Remember your rights!”
The night’s snow was harsh and thick. As Ginger preached, Mistletoe began to notice something glowing in the distance. As Ginger’s words cut through the weather, Mistletoe began to realize what, or who, was approaching. The red light crept faster and faster, growing larger and brighter.
“Reindeer!” Mistletoe screamed.
With these words, all of the elves began to scatter. Ginger turned to face the coming onslaught and froze in fear. Ginger saw Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner and Blitzen, screaming towards him; all of whom were lead by the ruthless red light of Rudolph’s nose. As Ginger began to watch the flash of his life before his eyes, a force from the side shoved him into the air.
As Ginger fell into the snow, he watched as The Nine raced over the body of Fruitcake, creating a candy-cane combination of red and white snow. Ginger felt the color leave his face. The Nine then broke up the village using only their hooves and horns and attempted to chase down the others, though unsuccessful.
As quickly as The Nine had come, they disappeared and flew into the night. Ginger rushed over to Fruitcake. Ginger looked down into the candy-cane colored snow, at the body of Fruitcake, now mangled and broken like a discarded Christmas tree.
“Ginger,” a tiny voice drifted out of the snow, “Do not give up because of me.”
Ginger looked up to find the entire elf population surrounding Fruitcake as he slipped into a land where everyday was Christmas and stockings stuffed themselves. Each and every elf wore an expression of clear determination, ready to stick it out until the bitter end.
“You heard him. He once told me he loved nothing more than a elf who could take a hit,” Ginger defiantly stated, “We will not give in to this violence.”
“I’m pretty sure Fruitcake meant ‘hit’ in a different way, there, Ginger,” a hidden voice sniggered.
“Tonight, we march.”
The sounds of hammering nails and sloshing paint on the face of plywood echoed through the Christmas fog that decorated The Eve like counterfeit snowfall resting windows of New York City shopping centers. The elves prepared for the march until the sun painted the Christmas Morning horizon with shades of pink and purple reminiscent of cotton candy.
A trail of footprints lead to the silent Santa’s workshop as the elves picketed and sang a carol of freedom to the tune of Ring Christmas Bells, with the perfect harmonies ringing through the North Pole, signs of protest resting on their shoulders.
They reached the great entrance of Santa’s Workshop and ended their march, ceasing all sound and movement. The air was as still as a frozen lake.
Ginger raised his fist and rapped it against the hard pinewood doors, letting the reverberations echo throughout the entire workshop. The elves waited. After a moment, Ginger allowed his fist to fall upon the heavy pinewood a second time with no response. The air remained still and silent. A third time, Ginger let his tiny knuckles break the silence of Christmas morning.
This time, the lock clicked and the door opened slowly to reveal the supervising elves all in a line, facing their subordinates. Nutcracker from the Stocking Stuffing Assembly Line wore a sinister grin. Knotty from the Gift Wrapping and Decoration Department wore an expression of disdain. Vise from the Toy Construction Assembly Line carried with him a hammer, rather than his usual whip. Brassbells from The Reindeer Stable Maintenance Branch jingled with scornful laughter. The Flight Coordination and Air Defense Supervisor, Polar, wore a blank stare, whip in hand. Nog from The Cookie and Candy Creating Team cracked his knuckles like sap-filled logs caught in flame. And from Mail Reception and Recordkeeping stood Mark, looking boring and out of place as usual.
“Finally decide to come to work on your day off, eh?” smirked Nutcracker.
“Hardly,” Ginger replied with a simple, stern tone.
The struggle between the elves and their supervisors was fierce but short. The supervisors ended up either stuffed in a stocking, trapped inside gift-wrapping paper or hammered into wooden boxes and mailed to haphazardly selected countries throughout the world.
The elves now made their way up the several hundred stairs that brought them directly to Santa’s office. They carried more than simple signs of protest. Lumps of coal dirtied their tiny hands and Exacto-Blades, used for cutting gift-wrapping paper danced between their fingers, along with other manual labor supplies. With Ginger in the lead, the trip that once seemed to have taken hours was shortened to a matter of minutes. The elves arrived to the door leading to Santa’s office.
Ginger balanced on Tinsel’s shoulders and opened the door. He lept off as it swung open. Santa stood in front of his desk in his red and furry Christmas Eve Delivery Garb, waiting for the elves.
“Well, Ginger, I certainly hope you are proud of yourself. You ruined Christmas for all the children of the world with your little revolution.” Santa calmly stated, “I hope you are here to tell me you have come to you senses.”
“I came here expecting to hear the same from you,” Ginger replied with a smile across his face.
Santa laughed heartily in reply, warming every elf in the room.
“Well then,” Ginger continued, “Get behind me, Santa!”
As soon as Ginger shouted, each and every elf rushed in front of him and pounced on Santa with irregular yelps of “Remember Fruitcake!”
The elves rid Santa of his Christmas Eve Delivery Garb and threw it in the fire, as Santa shrieked. Soon after the clothing began to crackle in the fireplace, the other elves bound their boss with ribbon. Other elves had found their way to Santa’s shoulders and went to work shaving off his thick beard with the Exacto-Blades. Ginger climbed up Santa’s enormous belly and placed a hearty lump of coal between his lips.
“Chew,” Ginger cackled as his foot connected with Santa’s lower mandible.
All of Santa’s candy-coated teeth cracked and fell on the floor. He lost his balance and fell backwards onto his desk. Santa’s beard, peppered with cinnamon red stains, sprinkled his own desk, falling with as much grace as each and every individual snowflake that fell during winter’s first frost.
The elves started to sing Santa Claus is Coming to Town as they dragged him towards the now shattered window that looked over the entire earth. Santa lifted his completely bald head and realized what was happening.
“Alright! Alright!” Santa howled, “I will give you your weekends, hours, and healthcare! Please! Just don’t—”
“And the lunch break,” Ginger interrupted.
“Of course! Just please! Have mercy!” Santa began to weep.
The elves stopped dragging Santa across the office. They filed out of the room. Santa remained on the floor of his office, completely overwhelmed and lost in his blubbering sobs as Ginger freed him from the binding ribbons around his body.
“Very good, Santa,” Ginger explained, “I believe we have the rest of the day off. See you at work tomorrow.”
//ww
Take a nice hot bath,
Put on the green and red uniform he wears to work,
Have a hearty breakfast of cookies and milk,
Feed Candy, his hamster,
Water the sugarplum bush next to his bed,
Shovel the snow off of the pathway in front of his house,
Go to work at Santa’s Workshop.
Each and every morning he took the same route to Santa’s Workshop. Through the piney woods of the North Pole on the pathway every other elf had shoveled the snow off of only minutes before. Each and every morning he met Tinsel, Mistletoe and Fruitcake on his way to work. Each and every morning they would sing the first Christmas carol that came to mind and skip while lost in the joy of song all the way to Santa’s Workshop.
At Santa’s workshop Ginger had always worked the Stocking Stuffing Assembly Line along with Tinsel, Mistletoe and Fruitcake. Neither Ginger, Tinsel, Mistletoe nor Fruitcake could remember a time when they were not working the Stocking Stuffing Assembly Line. They never wanted to leave the Stocking Stuffing Assembly Line because each and every day was filled with singing Christmas carols and eating the candy that would not fit into the stockings of the children with small feet.
Each and every elf in the Stocking Stuffing Assembly Line was very skilled at stuffing as much candy, cookies, trinkets and Christmas cheer into each stocking that came their way. Ginger, however, excelled above all of the other elves in his Stocking Stuffing abilities. He could calculate each stocking’s volume based on the circumference and height of the legging combined with the shoe-size of the footing and would create a perfect cookie-candy-trinket-Christmas cheer ratio.
All of this he did each and every day from dawn ‘til dusk with a smile on is face and a song on his lips, no matter how tired he was from the day before.
Each and every evening as the sun lowered beneath the horizon and the moon rose into the starry night, Ginger, Tinsel, Mistletoe and Fruitcake walked down the now snow-covered, pathway they had walked that morning. However, the walk home for the elves was never decorated with the accessory of song, as they were all extremely tired after a long day at Santa’s Workshop.
After arriving home, Ginger would go to sleep on a full stomach of candy and cookies, kept warm by the little Christmas cheer he was able to sneak home that night.
This was Ginger’s routine for each and every day.
Each and every day except Christmas, of course.
Christmas was the one day every year that the elves received the day off of work at Santa’s Workshop, because, Santa himself needed to catch up on his sleep after a long night of delivering gifts.
Ginger treasured this one day of rest above all other days of the year.
One day, as Ginger sat on his stool in Santa’s Workshop, fulfilling the duties of the Stocking Stuffing Assembly Line, he ran across a peculiar combination of stocking stuffers for one particular stocking. At first Ginger thought nothing of this collection of stocking stuffers, as no two stockings were stuffed the same. However, this particular combination had not only candy, cookies, trinkets and Christmas cheer, but also what seemed to be a rather flimsy paper-back novelette with large, loud, hodgepodged writing all over the front page.
“How peculiar,” exclaimed Ginger, “what to do with this novelette?”
After trying for hours to work this novelette into his candy-cookie-trinket-Christmas cheer formula for stuffing stockings, Ginger eventually decided to keep the novelette, like the other excess candy and cheer that simply would not fit.
He rolled up the novelette and stuffed it into his back pocket without a second thought.
The day went on as usual without interruption and as the sun began to set Ginger, Tinsel, Mistletoe and Fruitcake walked home.
But, Ginger did not go to bed immediately. Instead, Ginger sat on his large-cushy lounge chair and exhaled a squeal filled with comfort. As he sat, he retrieved the novelette from his back pocket and began to read by candlelight.
As he read, Ginger realized that this was no conventional novelette, as it was filled with articles rather than chapters and photographs rather than illustrations.
“O! A magazine! How silly of me!” Ginger exclaimed.
As Ginger continued his reading, he became extremely confused.
One of the articles wrote of another assembly line, more specifically, the people that worked on it. It discussed something called a “union” declaring a “strike” with the assembly line workers demanding “wages” and “weekends” along with other strange combinations of words such as “humane treatment.”
“How strange of these humans,” Ginger observed aloud, “Why do they ‘strike’ rather than simply writing Santa Claus, who, would just bring these gifts to them on Christmas morn?”
Rather than sleeping soundly that night, Ginger dreamed of the strange words he happened across in the magazine. The next morning, Ginger awoke ill-rested and was still bewildered by the article.
He decided he needed to speak with Santa about the matter.
“Santa, I am so sorry to bother you, but I need help with something,” Ginger squeaked into the small speaker-box that sent his voice straight into the office of Santa Claus himself.
“Why of course Ginger! Come right up and have a cup of hot-chocolate!” boomed the voice of Santa over the speaker.
In a fit of nerves, Ginger fell off of his stool and smack onto his back. He recovered quickly and headed up the stairs towards Santa’s office, after narrowly escaping the wrath-filled whip belonging to Nutcracker, the Stocking Stuffing Assembly Line’s supervising elf.
After what seemed like nearly hours of climbing, Ginger finally arrived to the door of Santa Claus’ office.
Ginger had never been to Santa’s office and was immediately overwhelmed by the human-size door, whose knob he could not reach. Ginger desperately, yet politely, wrapped his knuckles against the pinewood door and waited for a reply from within.
Instead, the door flew open. There he stood in all his glory. Santa Claus towered over Ginger and belted out a hearty laugh that immediately filled Ginger with so much Christmas cheer that the little elf felt as if he would float to the ceiling. Leaning over, Santa placed his paw-like hand on Ginger’s shoulder and led him into his office, which reeked of freshly baked cookies, hot fudge and smoldering pine in the fireplace.
Ginger looked to his right where an enormous window looking over the entire world acted as the wall. Ginger looked to this left where Santa’s desk filled up a great portion of the room next to the fireplace. On the desk The List laid decorated with check marks, indicating Nice children, and minus signs, indicating otherwise.
“Come, come, come, Ginger, let us sit at my desk and you can ask me anything you wish” Santa said as his hand, still on Ginger’s shoulder, led Ginger towards his desk.
The chair in front of Santa’s desk was so comfortable it reminded Ginger of his own big-cushy lounge chair at home. After a sip of Santa’s Special Hot Coco the Christmas cheer began to catch up to Ginger as his head became much lighter than it was before.
“Now, now Ginger, don’t drink my Special Coco to quickly or you will regret it tomorrow morning!” Santa laughed whole-heartedly. “What was it that you needed help with? Did you find a glitch in that Stocking-Stuffing formula of yours?”
“Not quite, Mr. Claus,” Ginger said. “You see, yesterday I ran across this magazine that would not fit into the stocking it was meant to be stuffed into. So I took it home and read it cover-to-cover.”
“Ah, yes, earned a bit of commission did you?” Santa winked.
“Um, yes sir,” Ginger nervously grinned, “But this magazine wrote about another assembly line that humans work on. From what I gathered, it seemed that they had something called a ‘strike’ and ‘demanded’ from someone called an ‘employer’ trinkets like ‘wages’ and ‘weekends’. So I guess my first question is, what is a ‘wage’ and why won’t these humans simply write you and ask for it to be under their Christmas Tree?”
The smile and benevolence had faded from Santa. He looked sternly at Ginger. The little elf had avoided eye contact through his entire monologue and suddenly felt embarrassed.
“Ginger, do you know what war is?” Santa asked severely.
“Yes sir, Mr. Claus,” Ginger sheepishly replied.
“Do you know what it means to wage war, Ginger? It means to cause many hurtful things that land you on the Naughty List. That is what wages are.” Santa explained without smile.
“Yes sir, Mr. Claus.”
“Is that all you wanted to ask me?”
“Yes sir, Mr. Claus,” Ginger replied as he took his last sip of Santa’s Special Hot Coco.
“I think it is time you returned to the Stocking Stuffing Assembly Line, Ginger. Now, if you have anything else you need help with just let me know,” Santa exclaimed, with joy returning to his demeanor.
“Yes sir, Mr. Claus,” Ginger said as he left the chair and stumbled out of the room, filled with Christmas cheer, despite being scolded.
That evening Ginger did not go straight to bed after returning home from Santa’s Workshop, yet again. Instead he reached into his dusty bookshelf and retrieved his copy of Every Elf’s Dictionary. He turned each page until he found the word he was looking for:
Wage: Payment for labor or services to a worker, especially remuneration on an hourly, daily, or weekly basis or by the piece.
He looked and looked, read and read. Try as he might, Ginger found nothing that mentioned the “war” Santa spoke of. Ginger spent the rest of the night with his nose stuck in his dictionary, looking up each word he did not understand in the magazine.
Tinsel banged on Ginger’s door, desperately trying to get a response. Ginger had not come to work that morning and failed to show up in the afternoon. Nutcracker was headed towards Ginger’s home to investigate his absence with a large rock-hard candy cane in hand.
Ginger finally cracked open his door.
“Ginger!” squeaked Tinsel, “Where have you been all day?”
“Who wants to know?” moaned Ginger, sounding as if he had just awakened.
“Nutcracker is coming, so you better—oof!” Tinsel shrieked as Nutcracker knocked him to the side and flung the door open.
As Ginger turned to run, he felt a cold, sticky, hook around his neck. A pajama-clad Ginger was lifted off of his feet and dragged into the snowy outdoors. Unable to breathe, Ginger’s resistance to Nutcracker’s candy cane grip wore thin. His vision tunneled and everything became darker and darker.
Ginger suddenly found himself seated on a stool, facing all of the members of the Stocking Stuffing Assembly Line who stared blankly at him.
For the first time in Ginger’s life, he felt the chill of the North Pole.
“Ginger Breadman you have been charged with Second Degree Truancy. How do you plead?” Nutcracker bellowed throughout the Stocking Stuffing Assembly Line Hall.
“What are you talking about? I just needed a day off!” Ginger squeaked.
“Guilty!” Nutcracker squawked, “I hereby sentence you to the ingestion of one lump of coal!”
Ginger watched in horror as a lump of coal twice the size of his hand approached him, floating on a tray. The tray levitated all the way up to Ginger’s face. The room, once silent, began to echo with yelps from the other elves, either chanting for his punishment or crying out in his defense.
Holding the lump of coal in both hands, and Ginger sunk in his weak, candy-coated teeth. At first he tasted only the burnt-chalk like texture of the coal. After his second bite, however, he began to taste something more. He began to taste the taste of his own cracking and crumbling molars, which soon began to fall past his lips, painted in red.
Ginger, now green and sick with coal poisoning, looked to Nutcracker for mercy.
“Keep eating,” was the only mercy granted.
Each bite’s difficulty increased. His incisors loosened and fragmented as he turned a greener and greener. With each nugget of coal forced down his throat, Ginger felt a bit of Christmas cheer fade away. As he took his last bite, fighting the coarse feel of his broken teeth and raw gums, Nutcracker handed him a black stocking, reserved for the fireplace of a naughty child. Ginger accepted it and took it to the end of the Stocking Stuffing Assembly Line Hall. He regurgitated his black chastisement into his black stocking.
He continued as such for the rest of the day, filling stocking after stocking with disgorged coal.
“Why didn’t you meet us on the road this morning? This could have all been so easily avoided!” Tinsel shrieked, holding a snowball to his recently blackened eye.
Ginger, Tinsel, Mistletoe and Fruitcake all walked along the snow covered pathway. Until now, the four elves had remained silent. Tinsel’s sudden outburst seemed to pierce the dusk and caused several songbirds to take flight from a nearby tree.
“Do you not understand that Christmas grows nearer and nearer each and every day?” demanded Mistletoe.
“I thought you were so brave up there,” Fruitcake meekly stated.
“Do any of you know what a weekend is?” Ginger asked, gripping his still rumbling stomach.
Ginger continued down the pathway, avoiding the others elves’ prying stares by looking at the icy ground.
“Have any of you heard of rights?” Ginger asked.
“Yes, the one that doesn’t make an ‘L’ is the right one. What do directions have to do with this?” Mistletoe dismissed.
“There’s nothing I like more than a elf that can take a hit like that, Ginger,” Fruitcake awkwardly let stumble from his lips.
“No, I’m not talking about your hands, Mistletoe,” Ginger explained as they approached his home, “Why don’t all of you come over and I can explain what I am talking about.”
As the four entered his home, Ginger lit the Yule logs in his fireplace and served hot chocolate. He spent the rest of the evening explaining that each and every one of the elves possessed unspoken rights as Santa’s workers, and Santa did not acknowledge many of these rights. He talked and he talked the whole night through, explaining the terms “rights”, “reasonable work hours” and “weekend”.
A few hours before the sun began peeking over the snowy grounds of the North Pole, each elf made his way back to his home. Each elf slept restlessly that night.
In the morning they would begin the revolution.
As Ginger, Tinsel, Mistletoe and Fruitcake were stuffing stockings, they began to secretly pass notes under the watchful eye of Nutcracker. Each and every note told of a meeting behind Santa’s Workshop after the workday had finished. Each and every note instructed an elf to bring a friend from another department of Santa’s Workshop. Each and every note told them that they had a week, in other words seven workdays, or a “week,” before they would strike. Each and every note was passed as the elves echoed The First Noel throughout the Stocking Stuffing Assembly Line Hall.
That evening the elves gathered behind Santa’s workshop. Ginger, Tinsel, Mistletoe and Fruitcake watched as every single one of their co-workers from the Stocking Stuffing Assembly Line and a few others arrived. Many had come out of ignorant duty, thinking that Santa had organized this meeting. Others had gathered to learn what a “week” really was.
Ginger led the meeting despite his broken teeth and raw gums, answering questions and explaining what it meant to have rights as workers. Many agreed, but others’ simplicity proved too dense to break through. Ginger, Tinsel, Mistletoe and Fruitcake told them to continue to bring more elves to the same place at the same time every night until the week had passed.
As the week continued, every single elf had heard of the movement, yet many were not supportive of ceasing work entirely; the fear of missing Christmas loomed in their minds. The night before the strike, Ginger stayed with the doubtful and talked and talked until his gums spilled liquid red down his chin.
As the sun rose that morning, no carols could be heard approaching. Only the sound of hammer to nail against the front door of Santa’s Workshop as Tinsel placed The Elvin Brotherhood of Laborers’ list of demands in order for work to begin once more:
- Two days of Rest must be granted after fifth day of work.
- Work must last no longer than eight hours each and every day, unless more is volunteered by an individual elf.
- Proper medical attention must be granted to each and every elf in need
- Each and every Supervising Elf must disarm themselves and verbally work out issues within the workplace
- Half an hour must be granted for midday meal each and every day
As the day wore on, each elf was forced out of his home by life-size windup toy soldiers many had built with their own hands. Forced into the wilderness, the elves gathered and created their own village of lean-tos they improvised from pinewood branches, in a feeble attempt to keep out the cold.
That night, as the sun settled over the horizon, each and every elf felt the chill of the North Pole, many for the first time in their life.
Day after day went on with Santa’s Workshop at a complete standstill. The elves remained in the Piney Woods of the North Pole, living off the land. Many elves ate only nuts and berries they could find in the bushes, however, some had figured out the sport of hunting and were able to roast a pheasant every few nights. The chill of the North Pole worsened as the weight from eating only cookies and candy faded from their waists.
On Christmas Eve, still the elves’ work had not been finished. Many elves feared a complete lack of Christmas.
“It is a lesson for Santa to learn!” Ginger’s once tiny voice now boomed through the wilderness, “Santa must realize it is up to us whether or not there is a Christmas! Not him! Remember your rights!”
The night’s snow was harsh and thick. As Ginger preached, Mistletoe began to notice something glowing in the distance. As Ginger’s words cut through the weather, Mistletoe began to realize what, or who, was approaching. The red light crept faster and faster, growing larger and brighter.
“Reindeer!” Mistletoe screamed.
With these words, all of the elves began to scatter. Ginger turned to face the coming onslaught and froze in fear. Ginger saw Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner and Blitzen, screaming towards him; all of whom were lead by the ruthless red light of Rudolph’s nose. As Ginger began to watch the flash of his life before his eyes, a force from the side shoved him into the air.
As Ginger fell into the snow, he watched as The Nine raced over the body of Fruitcake, creating a candy-cane combination of red and white snow. Ginger felt the color leave his face. The Nine then broke up the village using only their hooves and horns and attempted to chase down the others, though unsuccessful.
As quickly as The Nine had come, they disappeared and flew into the night. Ginger rushed over to Fruitcake. Ginger looked down into the candy-cane colored snow, at the body of Fruitcake, now mangled and broken like a discarded Christmas tree.
“Ginger,” a tiny voice drifted out of the snow, “Do not give up because of me.”
Ginger looked up to find the entire elf population surrounding Fruitcake as he slipped into a land where everyday was Christmas and stockings stuffed themselves. Each and every elf wore an expression of clear determination, ready to stick it out until the bitter end.
“You heard him. He once told me he loved nothing more than a elf who could take a hit,” Ginger defiantly stated, “We will not give in to this violence.”
“I’m pretty sure Fruitcake meant ‘hit’ in a different way, there, Ginger,” a hidden voice sniggered.
“Tonight, we march.”
The sounds of hammering nails and sloshing paint on the face of plywood echoed through the Christmas fog that decorated The Eve like counterfeit snowfall resting windows of New York City shopping centers. The elves prepared for the march until the sun painted the Christmas Morning horizon with shades of pink and purple reminiscent of cotton candy.
A trail of footprints lead to the silent Santa’s workshop as the elves picketed and sang a carol of freedom to the tune of Ring Christmas Bells, with the perfect harmonies ringing through the North Pole, signs of protest resting on their shoulders.
They reached the great entrance of Santa’s Workshop and ended their march, ceasing all sound and movement. The air was as still as a frozen lake.
Ginger raised his fist and rapped it against the hard pinewood doors, letting the reverberations echo throughout the entire workshop. The elves waited. After a moment, Ginger allowed his fist to fall upon the heavy pinewood a second time with no response. The air remained still and silent. A third time, Ginger let his tiny knuckles break the silence of Christmas morning.
This time, the lock clicked and the door opened slowly to reveal the supervising elves all in a line, facing their subordinates. Nutcracker from the Stocking Stuffing Assembly Line wore a sinister grin. Knotty from the Gift Wrapping and Decoration Department wore an expression of disdain. Vise from the Toy Construction Assembly Line carried with him a hammer, rather than his usual whip. Brassbells from The Reindeer Stable Maintenance Branch jingled with scornful laughter. The Flight Coordination and Air Defense Supervisor, Polar, wore a blank stare, whip in hand. Nog from The Cookie and Candy Creating Team cracked his knuckles like sap-filled logs caught in flame. And from Mail Reception and Recordkeeping stood Mark, looking boring and out of place as usual.
“Finally decide to come to work on your day off, eh?” smirked Nutcracker.
“Hardly,” Ginger replied with a simple, stern tone.
The struggle between the elves and their supervisors was fierce but short. The supervisors ended up either stuffed in a stocking, trapped inside gift-wrapping paper or hammered into wooden boxes and mailed to haphazardly selected countries throughout the world.
The elves now made their way up the several hundred stairs that brought them directly to Santa’s office. They carried more than simple signs of protest. Lumps of coal dirtied their tiny hands and Exacto-Blades, used for cutting gift-wrapping paper danced between their fingers, along with other manual labor supplies. With Ginger in the lead, the trip that once seemed to have taken hours was shortened to a matter of minutes. The elves arrived to the door leading to Santa’s office.
Ginger balanced on Tinsel’s shoulders and opened the door. He lept off as it swung open. Santa stood in front of his desk in his red and furry Christmas Eve Delivery Garb, waiting for the elves.
“Well, Ginger, I certainly hope you are proud of yourself. You ruined Christmas for all the children of the world with your little revolution.” Santa calmly stated, “I hope you are here to tell me you have come to you senses.”
“I came here expecting to hear the same from you,” Ginger replied with a smile across his face.
Santa laughed heartily in reply, warming every elf in the room.
“Well then,” Ginger continued, “Get behind me, Santa!”
As soon as Ginger shouted, each and every elf rushed in front of him and pounced on Santa with irregular yelps of “Remember Fruitcake!”
The elves rid Santa of his Christmas Eve Delivery Garb and threw it in the fire, as Santa shrieked. Soon after the clothing began to crackle in the fireplace, the other elves bound their boss with ribbon. Other elves had found their way to Santa’s shoulders and went to work shaving off his thick beard with the Exacto-Blades. Ginger climbed up Santa’s enormous belly and placed a hearty lump of coal between his lips.
“Chew,” Ginger cackled as his foot connected with Santa’s lower mandible.
All of Santa’s candy-coated teeth cracked and fell on the floor. He lost his balance and fell backwards onto his desk. Santa’s beard, peppered with cinnamon red stains, sprinkled his own desk, falling with as much grace as each and every individual snowflake that fell during winter’s first frost.
The elves started to sing Santa Claus is Coming to Town as they dragged him towards the now shattered window that looked over the entire earth. Santa lifted his completely bald head and realized what was happening.
“Alright! Alright!” Santa howled, “I will give you your weekends, hours, and healthcare! Please! Just don’t—”
“And the lunch break,” Ginger interrupted.
“Of course! Just please! Have mercy!” Santa began to weep.
The elves stopped dragging Santa across the office. They filed out of the room. Santa remained on the floor of his office, completely overwhelmed and lost in his blubbering sobs as Ginger freed him from the binding ribbons around his body.
“Very good, Santa,” Ginger explained, “I believe we have the rest of the day off. See you at work tomorrow.”
//ww