GREAT THINGS ENTERPRISE
CLAUDE BLACK
CHRISTMAS EVE 2030
Christmas Eve 2030
“Wake up, Nick,” Ethel said.
“Go away.”
Jerking back the covers, she said, “No. Now. Dinner’s ready.”
“I’m too tired,” he moaned.
“That’s not what you said last night. And the night before. And the night before that. So get out’a bed.”
Groaning, he rolled to the side of the bed and sat, rubbing his eyes, trying to motivate himself to change from his blue pajamas to the red suit. Red. Why did everything have to be red? he thought—red suit, red hat, red sleigh, red lights. He was more comfortable with blue, any color but red. And that white fur around the collar made his skin itch. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Lucky Charms,” she called from the dining room
Oh, God, no, not Lucky Charms again, he thought as he dressed. Ever since that cereal company persuaded him to allow Leprechaun #429 to make that silly commercial, it kept sending him free samples. What did they call #429? Oh, yes, “Lucky,” “Lucky the Leprechaun.” Ha! #429 was so clumsy that he was always spilling his milk, tripping over the workbench, smashing his fingers—yeah, “Lucky” indeed.
He shuffled toward the table, remembering that after the cereal commercial aired, he received a call from the Alaska Department of Human Services, wanting to know about the Leprechaun employment situation. “Employment situation?” Nick answered. “They’re not employees; they’re Leprechauns.”
“Yes, but, Mr. Claus, we need to know about the working conditions.”
Nick’s voice hardened like when he was trying to get Vixen into his harness. That reindeer kept trying to push his way to the front, but his nose was not the right color. “Working conditions? They work till the job’s done,” he said.
“What’s the pay scale?” the agent pressed.
“Pay scale? There’s no ‘pay scale.’ They’re Leprechauns. They work for room and board.”
“What is the retirement program?”
Chopping off his words, Nick growled, “Retirement program? There’s no retirement program. They never retire. They’re Leprechauns. They’ve been here as long as this shop’s been here.”
Nick thought that the change in the tone of his voice would stop the bureaucrat, but the agent continued with questions about vacation time, sick leave, maternity leave, and overtime pay. He ended the call by setting a date to visit the workshop and check on the working conditions and look over the employment contract for himself. Nick tried to tell him there was no employment contract: the Leprechauns came with the job.
“Now, don’t spill any milk on that suit,” Ethel said, seeing his hand shaking and his face growing red. “#273 worked a long time to clean and repair it since last year.”
“How was I to know the Pennyworths had a Rottweiler guard dog? Most people have simple motion sensors. But no, the Pennyworths had to have a Rottweiler. Two bites and that long tear in my suit for the rest of the evening. I tell you, Ethel, I’m not going back there.”
“Now, Dear, Billy and Susie Pennyworth are on your list, so you’ll have to stop by.”
“What does the kid want this year—a stun gun?”
“Don’t be silly. He just wants a stock portfolio in Tesla.”
“What? Stock portfolio?” Nick repeated, shaking his head. “And Susie? What does she want?”
“A red Ferrari convertible,” Ethel said.
“Stock portfolios? Red Ferraris? Ethel, where have the days of Ken and Barbie gone?”
Finishing the last of his Lucky Charms and pushing away from the table, he said, “Is that new contraption ready?” “Contraption” was what he called his new sleigh, refusing to use the word “sleigh,” which he reserved almost reverently for his much-loved original sleigh.
“Yes, Dear, the fuel truck pulled away a few minutes ago.”
“I tell you, Ethel, that thing will be the death of me yet. I thought the FAA would outlaw it after last year.”
“Well, you did scare that American Airlines pilot.”
“Ethel, he was poking along at just 570 miles per hour in that 747. I didn’t have all night. I signaled to him that I wanted to pass, but he ignored me. I reached down to flash the strobe light on that tin-Rudolph’s nose, but I hit the turbo-thrust by mistake. I swung far enough around him that the contraption’s wash wouldn’t vibrate the plane.”
“You saw the control panel in that thing—GPS, rangefinder, heater control, radar avoidance, altimeter—Ethel, there are nearly a dozen dials and buttons for those two turbo jets. I told them that I wanted the original style after my sleigh slid off that icy roof and crashed, but they said that model went out of production decades ago.”
“I know, Dear, don’t make yourself upset this evening,” Ethel said. “But the pilot did report you as an ‘Unidentified Flying Object.’”
“Yeah. Then NORAD scrambled three fighter jets from Whiteman. I tell you, Ethel, if it had been Rudolph and that bunch, I’d be a goner,” Nick said. “I bumped those turbos up to 95% and left those fly jockeys in the clouds. One even fired a missile, but I hit that big, red avoidance button, and you know what? That new contraption did weird maneuvers and confused the missile. The thing finally hit right in the middle of Main Street in some small village. It made a boom and a flash of light, but I don’t think anyone was hurt.”
“I miss Rudolph and the rest of them,” Ethel said, her voice quivering as a tear came in the corner of her eye. She dabbed it with a tissue.
“Well, he was getting old, and his nose was a dull red. But I’ll never understand him eloping with a moose,” Nick said. “I should have seen trouble—the way he was always rubbing around on that her—that moose.”
“Now, now, Dear, don’t be mean.”
“Those animal-rights busybodies complained that he was gettin’ too old for this work ‘cause his nose didn’t shine bright any more.” The tone of his voice rose. “I told ‘em that he only worked one night a year.” He pounded his fist on the table. “But no, that wasn’t good enough for ‘em. They had red-nosed reindeer declared an endangered species, so now Rudolph and that moose could prance off to the sunset. Well, ‘Live happily ever after,’ I say”
“Those replacements—well, they’re just not the same,” Ethel said, her eyes moistening again.
“Tin monsters—that’s what I call ‘em. But everyone said it wouldn’t be the same without ‘em. The animal-rights crusaders wouldn’t let me use reindeer, so I have to settle for those tin monstrosities. They said it wouldn’t be the same if people didn’t see reindeer. Well, they might look like reindeer from a distance, but, Ethel, they don’t have any personality. And that strobe light they put on that tin-Rudolph’s nose is ghastly. Well, at least I don’t have to clean out the stalls. Just pull ’em into the tunnel, park ’em, and forget about ‘em till next year.”
“You comin’?” he asked, a hopeful tone in his voice as he pushed himself up from the table. “It may be the last, you know.”
“No, Dear, you know there’s not room for two. And besides, you always tell me I drive like a woman. It’s time, so off with you.”