“Excuse me,” a woman said in the tone of voice that told you she was about to demand to speak to the manager.
I plastered on my best customer service smile.
“Merry Christmas! How can I—”
“We have been waiting for hours to see Santa,” she said. “I don’t understand what type of operation you’re running here.”
“It’s Christmas, ma’am, and lots of people want to see Santa.”
“There are people here with their dogs,” the woman complained.
A big golden retriever came up and stuck his face in my crotch.
I yelped.
“Where is your owner?”
“Barksly,” a man called, his phone pressed to his ear, “Barksly, come.”
The dog ignored him.
The reindeer looked at the dog, looked at me, then also shoved his face in my crotch.
“No,” I said, pushing the animals away.
The woman in front of me was scandalized.
“There are children present,” she said, covering the eyes of a boy who was so large that he probably wouldn’t be carded trying to buy a beer. “You shouldn’t let people bring their dogs.”
“Barksly,” the golden retriever’s owner said in a bored tone. “Barksly.”
“Elves assemble!” Santa called out from the gazebo.
“Excuse me,” I said to the woman, trying to squeeze around her.
“I want a refund,” she demanded.
“This is a free event,” I yelled back.
“I want to speak to the manager.”
There it is.
The only other elf that appeared in the gazebo was the same dark-haired girl. She was standing behind a tripod. No one else was around.
I see why they made the job posting.
“Yes, Santa!” I saluted him.
He took off his glasses and peered at me.
“This is not a war movie. This is a Christmas scene. Elves don’t salute,” he said. “Now we need some order here. You were hired for crowd control, not to pet the animals. And get that reindeer out of here!”
“Prancer,” I yelled. (Seemed like as good a name as any.) The reindeer had stuffed himself under the gazebo.
“Prancer out.” In the confined space, it became very clear just how large a reindeer was. His antlers almost brushed the top of the ceiling.
“Shoo,” I told him. “Shoo.”
