A Missed Elf Connection

A Missed Elf Connection

Me:  Adorable Elf filled with holiday cheer

You:  Holding a little red wagon that was missing a wheel

Me:  The adorable elf who said “Do you need me to get you a wheel for that wagon?”

You:  Scowling at me and saying “Why don’t you mind your own business?”

Me:  Laughing at what I’m sure what a joke on your part and saying “Oh, come on.  That’s no way to talk at Christmas!”

You:  Continuing to scowl and saying “It’s always Christmas here.  We live in the North Pole for crying out loud.”

Me:  Continuing to hope that you’re joking but realizing you might not be, and saying “Well, I’m excellent at fixing little red wagons.  I could do it in a jiffy.”

You:  Looking down at the little red wagon with a perplexed look on your face and saying “Who even asked for this?  Who still wants little red wagons?  What is this—1887?”

Me:  “Well, as someone who was around in 1887, I can tell you that cowboy hats were the popular item of THAT year.”

You:  “Oh my God, how old are you?”

Me:  Clearly not wanting to reveal my age since I am a lady after all, but reluctantly divulging that I’m two hundred and nine.

You:  Aghast—Ewwwww!

Me:  What, I said, what is it?

You:  I’m only 102!

Me:  Okay.

You:  And you’re FLIRTING with me?  That’s gross!  You’re a century older than me!

Me:  Looking around to make sure nobody was staring at us—“Well, it’s so hard to tell.  Elves age so slowly.  You know my great-aunt married someone much younger than her.”

You:  Nearly dropping the little red wagon—“Marriage?  Who said anything about marriage?”

Me:  Turning as red as that little red wagon—“Never mind.  Let’s just go back to work.”

You:  Fine.

Me:  Fine.

You:  Returning to work.

Me:  Also returning to work, and trying not to cry.

You:  Noticing that I was trying not to cry, and slowly—I imagine—feeling guilty about how mean you were.

Me:  Beginning to forgive you in my mind, because Christmas is a difficult time for some, and we can’t all be holly and jolly.

You:  Continuing to struggle with getting a fourth wheel on the little red wagon.  Finally, clearly frustrated, you threw the wagon down and walked off, muttering something about getting a new job in Marketing.

Me:  Unbeknownst to you, walking over to your station, and fixing the little wagon for you in no time flat, then disappearing behind the Employee of the Month Wall, which is pretty much just a wall covered in photos of me.

You:  Returning to your station to find that your little red wagon has been fixed.  Smiling from ear-to-ear, you go back to your work.

Me:  Thinking to myself—Hmm, how can I let him know that I’m the one who fixed his little red wagon?

And here we are.

If you’d like to thank me and/or ask me out to lunch, I’ll be at my station tomorrow, where I have been for the past hundred years.

And please, don’t be shy.