Merbie Smickle-figus

August 16, 2011
By MerebRussom SILVER, Springfield, Virginia
MerebRussom SILVER, Springfield, Virginia
9 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Before I even open my eyes, I feel a surge of excitement jolt through every vein in my body. As I spring right up on my bed, my eyes widen and my mouth broadens into a huge smile. Everything looks better on this day. The walls are redder, the sweet pine smell in the air is richer, and- though it seems impossible- the music being projected throughout our enormous wonderland is jollier. After what seems like ages of me staring in awe at the room before me, I hear a familiar voice say on the intercom, “ Rise and shine everyone! We have a long day ahead of us!” I turn around and look at the enormous wall to see just how many names are still scrawled on there, waiting to be erased. Ten thousand. Ten thousand more kids waiting to be delivered an angelic morning, or an empty stocking. With the exciting image of a busy day in mind, I quickly put on my green slippers and red hat. I’m so wound up I don’t even fix my bed, I just slide down the ladder and shoot out a couple of good mornings as I pass each of the fellow workers. When I finally reach the floor after a good five minutes, I am pleased to find that I am the first one up and ready to go from my section. I quickly walk to Pastry Palace right next door and take a quick shot of eggnog- there’s no time to have my usual ornament shaped chocolate chip cookies. With the much needed boost from the eggnog, I run over to the toy making station and prepare it for the day ahead of us.
After several minutes, the rest of my team saunters through the colossal doors singing Jingle Bells louder than the intercom itself. The toy makers have always had the reputation of being the most spirited- well, except for Fluffy. Tootsie Fluffy-Paws is the oldest and perhaps the only grumpy worker known to elf. All the elves know the only reason why he’s still around is because Fluffy is the greatest toy maker of all. He can make a dollhouse quicker than our Boss can finish off a plate of chocolate chip cookies- and that is fast. As my section dramatically finishes the last verse of Jingle Bells, Fluffy marches through the tight nit ensemble, shoving everyone in sight. “Oh shut up,” he croaks. “We have a lot of work to do today. These toys aren’t going to make themselves, so stop your singing!” With Fluffy’s typical, crabby Christmas Eve speech out of the way, we are off to work.
As I make the toys that are written on the list, I often daydream about other things. I think about the beautiful sleigh ride through the clouds, and the glory of sitting next to the boss while handing him the presents for each house. I get so immersed in my little dream, I am surprised to find a mountain of unfinished toys in front of me.

“ Merebie Smickle-figus!” Fluffy barks across the room. “ The Boss wants to see you in his office!” This must be trouble, I thought to myself. The Boss never calls anyone to his office unless someone is in trouble. As I open the candy cane door of his colorful office, I find Mr. Claus sitting on his sleigh shaped desk eating the remains of his chocolate chip cookie. “Why hello there!” Mr. Claus exclaims with a genuine smile. His friendliness makes me less nervous and I calmly reply, “Hi Mr. Claus, how can I help you?” “Oh there are many things you can do for me!” I give him a confused look and he insists that I sit down on his classic ornament shaped chair. “Cookie?” Mr. Claus asks. He hands me an empty plate that magically becomes filled with soft cookies a moment later. I politely decline- after discovering the amount of sugar the Kitchen Elves put in Mr. Claus’s cookies, I knew I was saving myself. “So,” Mr. Claus begins, already wolfing down his 5th cookie. “I’ve noticed that you are a very hard worker, you may not be the best, but you work very hard. Am I right?” He asks, now little bits of milk dripping from his white beard. “Yes, I would say so,” I reply wondering where Mr. Claus is going with this. “Well Ms. Smickle-figus,” he began, “I don’t know if you may have heard of this already, but I’ve decided that Fluffy will not be joining me on my delivery this year. It seems he is a bit too… bitter for the job. You see, I need someone who’s like a cookie….sweet. Well speaking of cookies, this one here is fantastic! Look at it, look at how rich…”. Mr. Claus entered his own world and stood there transfixed on the last bit of his cookie that was inches from his eyes. “Oh! Where was I ….yes….I need an elf cookie”. Realizing what he said, Mr. Claus tugged his beard and snapped out of his sweet dream. He devoured his last bit of cookie, licked his fingers and continued, “ I want an elf who has mountains of Christmas spirit and more!” He says this with a manic expression on his face. “Oh well I’ll be glad to ask around my station for you Mr. Claus,” I reply slowly, still wondering how someone could be so infatuated with a piece of dough. After I said this, Mr. Claus explodes into his signature “Ho-ho-ho” laugh, stands up, gently grabs me by the shoulders and exclaims, “No Ms. Smickle-figus, I want you! What do you say to that?” My mouth exploded into a broad smile and my eyes gleamed with excitement. I think Mr. Claus knew my answer.

As I lay there in my bed fantasizing about my future job as Santa’s little helper, I knew that tonight was the night. I had been waiting eight years to finally begin this new career, even though for three of those years I didn't even know that this gift-giving god existed. I had the plan all figured out. I would eat dinner and watch Christmas movies with my family as usual. Then as everyone finally goes to bed, I would pretend to be asleep as well. The trick was that as long as your eyes were closed, Santa would never know whether you were asleep or not. After an hour or so, Santa would creep down our white brick fireplace with his huge bag of presents. That is when I would run out from my room, walk right up to Santa, and explain to him that I would be the perfect helper. My speech would go a little like this: Hey Santa, I’m Mereb it’s nice to finally meet you. Thanks for giving me all these gifts, you’re a very nice person. Did you know I’ve been on the Nice list every year I’ve been alive? That’s eight whole years! I bet you don’t know anyone THAT good. Anyways, wouldn’t you rather have a really good girl who loves Christmas to be your helper? Or someone who knows how to make cookies that are good for you AND taste good? Don’t worry, I’m sure Fluffy would understand if you replace him. I know you’ll make the right choice. Then his eyes would get watery and he would hire me right on the spot. Operation Get-Santa-to-Hire-Me-and-Replace-the-Grouchy-Elf was just too good to fail.
Before my brilliant plan would begin, I still had to prepare everything for Santa. I baked him twelve cookies- one for every month I had been waiting for him- and I made sure my Christmas list was right under the tree (I still needed my SpongeBob slippers). Finally, at around nine, my family and I sat around the living room, ready to watch Home Alone. Those two hours were the longest two hours of my entire life. Thankfully, after two tortuous hours of jittering, nail biting, and crazed hyena looking faces, everyone was off to bed- except for me.
At around one in the morning, I heard shuffling in the distance. I was sure it was Santa so I very carefully crept out of my bed, and into the dark hallway. In the distance I saw a light and distant voices of women, which was odd since Santa didn’t need to turn on a light and Santa was a man. Ignoring any doubts in my mind, I continued to walk down the hallway. When I finally approached the end of the hall, I peered over the corner into the family room, awaiting Santa’s round figure, his jolly laugh, his snow-white beard, and his blazing red outfit. Instead, I saw my Mom and my aunt’s tiny little bodies carelessly wrapping gifts. Their backs were facing me so they couldn’t possibly see the horrified look on my face, my twitching eye, or my limp body practically turning into spaghetti. Before letting my spaghetti-turned legs fall to the floor, I desperately tried coming up with any possible excuse. Maybe the cookies made him sick…he could have a diabete! Or maybe the Grinch ruined Christmas. But my lame excuses were put to rest: one, I had no idea what a diabete was. Two, the Grinch isn’t real- people can’t be green. And three, every single one of the gifts I had asked for was on the floor. My SpongeBob slippers, my Space Jam movie, everything. The final blow was when my aunt reminded my Mom, who seemed to be the Writer Elf, “Don’t forget to write ‘from Santa’ on all of the gifts”. With my mouth in a gaping expression and my legs in full spaghetti form, I willed myself to crawl back into my room. I fell into my cold bed, pulled the covers over my head and pitifully lied to myself one last time. Santa probably got sick. Rather than flying in the sky with Santa ready for a new life by his side, I was sprawled out miserably in my bed thinking that I would soon become as grumpy and cynical as Tootsie Fluffy-Paws.

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