Magic
8-Balls A Christmas Comedy
Stuart
Gingersnaps walked the Magic 8-Ball line in Santa's workshop for
the first time. Santa had pulled him from his usual role as foreman
of Thomas the Tank Engine toys. Being an elf who didn't care for
change, Stuart protested at first.
"But
your line practically runs itself, my boy," Santa said. Well, yeah,
because Stuart was in charge of it. "The Magic 8-Ball line is a bit
behind. Can't afford to have those guys turn into imps for an
entire production day because Figgy Jingle Toes can't handle his
desserts. Ho ho ho." Santa often laughed at his own jokes.
Figgy,
the line's usual supervisor, called out sick with stomach cramps
having overdosed on gingerbread cookies after the annual decorating
contest winners were announced the previous night. No discipline,
Stuart thought.
As
he strolled the creaky wooden floors, Stuart straightened his long,
green and red striped hat behind his pointed ears. Twenty elves sat
on dark-stained oak stools around tables stacked with black,
hollowed, half-domed plastic pieces with the black number eight
perched in the center of a white circle. The cylinders filled with
blue-dyed alcohol housed the white icosahedron die bobbing at the
ready with answers such as 'it is certain', 'cannot predict
now', and 'don't count on it' to the innumerable questions
they would later be presented with.
Stuart
lifted his chin. With a deep breath he strolled about the tables.
Weakened sunlight of early winter fell across the room through the
oversized windows. He stopped behind an older elf assembling the
domes into a sphere around one of the aforementioned cylinders. Once
glued into place, the elf set it inside a plastic box atop other
completed toys before turning with a smile to Stuart. Stuart nodded
and walked on...not sure exactly what quality control entailed for
these particular toys.
It
was at this moment he caught Jimmy Kringle-Krab slip his diminutive
hand into the pocket of his red vest. He pulled out something which
Stuart couldn't quite see, and quickly tucked said something into
the Magic 8-Ball before rushing to close to it. He snatched up the
glue gun. Once the toy was sealed he looked over in Stuart's
direction. Stuart turned away, pretending to have been focused
elsewhere.
Not
sure what he'd just witnessed, he walked on as if seeing nothing.
While Jimmy certainly seemed to be acting rather suspicious, maybe
Stuart just didn't know the finer details of this particular
workshop. But he decided to keep a closer eye on Jimmy...just in
case.
A
jumpy little elf named Duckey Blitzen-Ray suddenly called out in his
high-pitched voice, "Probably missing all the bright colors over at
the Thomas workshop, eh, Stuart?"
"Didn't
really cross my mind, Duckey."
"Yeah,
well, we don't get the fun of testing out trains and stuff over
here, of course."
"I
think I rather enjoy the quiet of this shop actually," Stuart said.
And out of the corner of his eye, it happened again. Jimmy slipped
his hand into his pocket and immediately nestled something beside the
cylinder before closing the sphere and taking up the glue gun. "Hey!"
Stuart shouted. "Put down that gun!"
The
room froze.
Everyone
looked at Jimmy, who carefully placed the glue gun back on the table
and raised his hands. He chuckled, "What's up, boss?"
Stuart
strode closer with his outstretched hand. "What do you have there?"
"What?
This?" Jimmy picked up the glue gun.
"No,
what are the things you're putting in the 8-Balls?"
Jimmy
shrugged. "Not sure what you're talkin' about," he said
snapping up the sphere and running a line of hot glue around the
seam.
Stuart
grabbed Jimmy's wrist. "Stop doing that!"
Jimmy
glared up at Stuart. "The big guy'll be pretty upset if we fall
further behind, don't you think, Stuey?"
Stuart
snatched the toy. The glue not yet set, elasticized as he opened it
to find a small baggy of white powder. He pulled it out between his
thumb and index finger. Holding it up to the light, he inspected the
tiny bag. "What in Whoville is this?"
Jimmy
raised his brows, and with a grin said, "Umm, confectioners'
sugar?"
"Guess
I'll have to find out for myself," Stuart said, storming off with
the baggy in hand.
"Hold
up, boss," Jimmy said leaping off his stool to follow. "Can I
talk to you for a minute?"
"Sure...as
soon as I get to the bottom of what we have here," Stuart said
waving the plastic bag of powder.
It
was Jimmy's turn to encroach on personal space. He grabbed Stuart's
arm, and without a word, directed him into a small office off the
side of the main floor.
Jimmy
slammed the door.
"Excuse
me!" Stuart exclaimed, flabbergasted at Jimmy's forcefulness.
"Shhhhh,"
Jimmy said as he held a finger up to Stuart's mouth. "Relax,
okay?" Jimmy paced back and forth, occasionally rubbing his
forehead.
Stuart
watched him in quiet shock. "What's all this about?" He held up
the plastic bag. "Tell me what this is immediately, or I'm
getting Santa down here."
"Okay,
okay." Jimmy drew a deep breath and folded his arms. "It's
coke."
After
a moment, Stuart dropped his gaze and shook his head. "I don't
know what kind of fool you take me for." He raised his eyes with a
squint. "But it's clearly not Coke. Coke comes in a can, is
liquid in form, and Santa gets residuals for his image on their
product every year."
"Not
Coca-cola,
Stuey."
Jimmy leaned in. "Cocaine."
Stuart...roared
with laughter. "Oh, okay. Cocaine!" he guffawed.
"There's
a reason why they call them "magic" 8-balls, Stuart."
Catching
his breath once his merriment subsided, Stuart realized Jimmy wasn't
laughing with him. "Wait. Are you being serious?" Through the
office window to the workshop, Stuart caught every pair of elf eyes
facing in their direction. He whipped the door open. "Get back to
work!"
Slam!
With
a hand on Stuart's shoulder, Jimmy said, "Take it easy, Stu. I
assure you, this is completely management sanctioned." He shrugged.
"More or less."
Stuart
spun on Jimmy. "You mean Saint Nick himself knows about this??"
"Well,
no. Father Christmas needs to have plausible deniability. That's
what the Ice Queen says."
"Who
the numb fingers is the Ice Queen?"
"Oh,
right. Sorry. That's what we call Mrs. Claus. She's the
mastermind behind the whole thing."
Stuart
took off his hat and ran a hand through his reddish hair. "And what
is the 'whole thing' exactly?"
"What
do you think people mean when they wish for a 'white Christmas'?"
Jimmy grabbed the coke from Stuart's hand and waved it in his face.
"Hell, they can't wait for snow blow. People are always
talkin' about it."
Stuart
snatched the baggy back. "They mean cleaning up the white stuff
from their driveways!"
Jimmy
tilted his head. "In Florida?" He leaned against a shelf holding
boxes of assembled toys. "If that's what you want to believe,
Stuey. Don't you get why Rudolph's nose is so red? And how the
rest of his team flies around the world in one night? Does that seem
natural to you??"
"It's
magic."
"Come
on, Stu. You think we could keep an operation of global toy logistics
running year after year without a steady stream of income? Santa had
blinders on to the mammoth financial hurdles of making EVERY boy and
girl happy on Christmas morning. He was bleeding money. The Missus?
She gets it."
"She's
a drug trafficker."
"She's
a genius. Santa's the only one who can go country to country with
absolutely NO
border control or customs inspections. It made total sense to take
advantage."
Wrestling
the hat back on his head, Stuart muttered to himself, "This is not
good. Gotta get White Christmas PR in here immediately. This could be
the biggest scandal since Santa kissed that kid's mommy." He
picked up the phone receiver resembling antlers sitting on the desk.
Jimmy
guided his supervisor's hand to replace the receiver. "I think
you're making a bigger deal of this than it needs to be. This stuff
is all over the place. Heck, Frosty the Snowman's one of our key
distributors."
"Oh,
no. Not Frosty." Stuart fell back into the desk chair.
Jimmy
sat on the edge of the desk, and lowered his voice. "Wasn't
always smooth sailing from the beginning though, I'll admit. The
Grinch's cartel tried taking over Santa's vast territory for
ages. Luckily, he wised up...but only after Mrs. Claus sent the
Nutcracker after him." Jimmy sniggered. "News flash, it's not
really his name so much as what he does," he said with a wink.
Stuart
cupped his hands around his enormous pointy ears, but to no avail;
Jimmy's tale kept seeping through.
"How
do you think parents make it through the holiday season? Zoom calls?
PTO meetings? You might recall some of our biggest customers. Bing
was always dreamin' of a white Christmas. Sinatra couldn't wait
until we let it snow. Bobby Helms jammed on jingle bell rock. And
Andy Williams always agreed...it's the most wonderful time of the
year. So why would you put a stop to it? Think about what you're
saying."
"How
could Santa NOT know about this?" Stuart asked.
"He
only has eyes on the kids' naughty/nice list, while Mrs. Claus
maintains the adult naughty list." Jimmy rose and plucked one of
the magic 8-balls from a box. "Everyone on that
list gets one of these amazing balls to help get them through the
insanity of living. Recreationally, of course."
Jimmy
tossed it in the air and caught it. "Bless those parents and adults
who don't need these." He turned it over in his hands. "Sometimes
even I think about cracking one open right on the workshop line when
we're falling behind."
"Could
speed up production," Stuart agreed.
"Now
you're talkin', boss!" Jimmy lobbed the ball to Stuart. "Why
don't you let fate decide for you?"
"Fate?"
"Give
it a whirl, Stu."
Stuart
looked at the open area to see the die swimming around. "Should I
report this clandestine operation?" He vigorously shook the ball
and then froze until the answer revealed itself:
MY
SOURCES SAY NO
Jimmy
smiled. "Just remember, if Mrs. Claus hadn't picked up on the
idea to supply the demand, some kids would never have a proper
Christmas. Now how about letting me get back to work." Jimmy
scooped the baggy off the table and made for the door.
Stuart
stood. "Jimmy?"
"Yeah."
Stuart
stretched out his hand. "Why don't I hold onto one. You know, for
safe keeping?"
Jimmy
dropped the baggy into his hand. "Merry Christmas, Stu. And a Happy
New Year."
WORD
COUNT: 1773
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