I’m a present packer at Santa’s Workshop. It’s a pretty good gig to get if you’re a guy like me. You know, a conventionally unhireable guy. The kind of guy that’s gotten so spectacularly fired from so many different places that nobody in town will even glance at his resume.
I had usually gotten fired for gross negligence. And a few times for grossout negligence. But at the North Pole, it didn’t matter. Santa’s pretty nice in that regard. He really only cares if kids are naughty. If you’re an adult who acts up, who cares, he says. Can you shove presents into boxes in a frozen wasteland? And will you do it for a low salary? Yes? You’re hired.
It’s a pretty easy job, but I’ve found there’s not a lot of room for career progression. Because all the good positions are taken up by people who just won’t die. At first I had dreams of being the next Santa. Then I found out that Santa is like nine hundred years old with no sign of dying anytime soon.
Then I thought maybe I could be a Head Elf, or at least an Elf Middle Manager. But those spots are all taken by, you guessed it, elves who won’t die. At least I don’t think they can die. Or feel pain. You can smack ‘em around and throw ‘em against the walls, but they’ll get right back up and laugh it off.
The only good role that’s filled by a normal human is the Polar Express Conductor. So I set my eyes on that. Anytime I was around Santa, I made sure to mention how much I loved trains and how much I loved conducting them. I told a little white lie to Santa and said that before I came to the North Pole, I was a good train conductor and even won an award for it. It was a lie because the award I’d won was a letter of termination from Amtrak for gross negligence.
Earlier this year though, the old Polar Express Conductor finally met his fate. Retirement. He was done with the North Pole, and the spot was mine. Santa gave me a conductor hat and told me to get started growing a conductor mustache.
It felt good to finally have a role that meant something. I could take this train away from the North Pole and go somewhere that was warmer and had human women.
All I had to do in preparation for the big day was give tickets to some of the kids on the Nice List. I’m not a very detail-oriented person though. When Santa was explaining to me which list was the nice one and which list was the naughty one, I was completely zoned out. I’m pretty sure I was thinking about what if Santa had monkeys instead of elves.
Anyway, I nodded and told Santa I was on it and then went to his desk and grabbed the first list I saw. You guessed it–I grabbed the naughty one.
I didn’t realize my mistake until it was Christmas Eve and it was time to pick the kids up. I fired up the Polar express and went to the first house. I said to the kid, "Ready get on this train to the North Pole?”
He replied, “Whatever bozo.” Then he did a jump kick into my stomach and climbed aboard.
The next kid ding-dong-ditched me somehow, even though I was the one ringing his doorbell.
The kid after that seemed nice enough. He got on the train without saying a word and gave me a nice smile. But when I checked my pockets later, I realized he had stolen my wallet. And then when I stopped the Polar Express at a liquor store real quick, I saw him using my ID to buy a forty-ounce beer.
Once everyone was on board, things got even worse. One group of kids kept smoking cigarettes in the main car. I told them they could smoke all they wanted, they just had to go to the smoking car. But they wouldn’t budge.
Some other kids refused to give up their seats to a pregnant woman. I don’t even know how she got on board. Then she gave birth to a naughty baby and it kept flipping me off when it’s mom wasn’t looking.
There was this pack of kids who were less naughty and more evil. I think Santa should add a new list for these kids. One called the Menacing List or something and it’s red with pictures of devils all over it. Because there’s no way I would have accidentally grabbed a list like that.
I couldn’t stand those evil kids. They all sat in the back of the train and glared at me the whole ride. I went back there, to explain to them that the Polar Express is a special opportunity and they shouldn’t be glaring about it. Then they pinned me down and zip-tied my hands and duct-taped my mouth shut. I guess I should’ve done a pat-down before they got on.
After that, they crammed me into the carry-on rack in the empty car behind us. They checked in on me now and then, saying they were planning on “Stockholm Syndrome-ing” me as part of their plan to take over the North Pole. I don’t know where kids get these ideas. Probably the media.
Eventually an elf on board found me and got me down. I tried to throw the kids off the train, but they reminded me that they had tickets. And the tickets said they were guaranteed passage even if they turned out to be naughty. When I leaned in to read the ticket, they smashed my face into a cream pie they’d smuggled on board. At that point I decided to live with it and let them keep riding.
We finally got to the North Pole and let the kids into the workshop. Santa was waiting there to greet them, and the kids all swarmed to tug on his beard. To my surprise, it was fake and they ripped it right off.
“You’re not the real Santa! You’re not the real Santa!” they chanted. “You’re just a fat man who lives in the North Pole!”
“I am the real Santa,” Santa said, snapping his fingers. A bunch of candy canes appeared out of thin air and landed at the kids feet. That seemed to satisfy them.
While the kids licked the ends of the candy canes into pointy shivs and stabbed each other, Santa pulled me aside. He asked me what was going on.
I told him that I'd brought a bunch of naughty kids somehow. It was an honest mistake. I figured he’d be mad. I figured his jolly glow would turn into a rageful glow. But he just looked scared.
“Did you see them pull at my beard?” he asked. “They’re going to find me out.”
“What?”
“I’m not the real Santa. The real Santa is in Miami. He’s taking a season off and left me in charge. I’m just a normal human Present Packer.”
“How’d Santa pick you?”
“I told a white lie and said my last job was delivering presents to children around the world. And I showed him how fat I was. But here’s the thing, I didn’t deliver many presents at all. I was a mailman and lost a bunch of presents. And I was just wearing a fat suit.”
“I see. We’re very similar, you and I. But if you aren’t Santa, how did you get those candy canes to appear out of thin air?”
“I used a series of mirrors and some fishing wire.”
“Gotcha. So what do we do now?”
Fake Santa and I decided the best course of action was to send the kids home and act like nothing happened. The only problem was they were all spread out, causing all sorts of chaos around the workshop. I rounded up a few of them who were pantsing elves. I found some more asking the elves if they could make drugs as a present if a kid really wanted some for Christmas.
The evil kids had Mrs. Claus backed into a corner and were advancing on her with their sharpened candy canes. I pulled them away, but first I grabbed one of the candy cane spears and waved it in Mrs. Claus’s face. I made her promise not to say a word to the real Santa when he got back. Sometimes you gotta threaten the boss’s wife. That’s just part of being the Polar Express Conductor.
After a while, we got all the kids hogtied and back on the Polar Express. I fired it up and dropped them all off. One of the evil kids asked me if he'd be invited again next year. I told him that would depend on how hungover I was when I was grabbing the Naughty and Nice Lists.
I got back to the North Pole exhausted. I crawled into bed and slept soundly. Christmas Eve was finished, and I didn’t have work again until next year. What a great gig I wound up with.
