Nurse the Hate: Hate The Elf

Mondays can be tough.  Maybe you are heading back to work a job you don’t particularly care about.  Maybe you hate your co-workers.  Maybe you dread the consistent wave of nonsensical emails and counter intuitive direction from corporate.  Maybe if you just didn’t show up, no one would notice for a month.  “Hey, what ever happened to that guy that sat in the last cubicle?  I haven’t seen him since, God I don’t know, October?” 

It could definitely be worse.  How would you like to be on the line with that asshole Foreman Elf on your ass?  That fucking guy is on you all day long.  Sure, Santa probably chews him a new asshole after every shift in his little sweat shop on the North Pole.  The pressure must be crushing to produce enough toys for the planet’s Christian population.  Back in the good old days, kids wanted blocks and dolls.  Now these little ingrates want iPads and video game systems.  How can you train a crew of elves to make sophisticated electronics that were making Lincoln Logs twenty years ago?  Those little fuckers are not exactly career minded, are they?  Every two seconds they want to run off to choir practice.  You think they are paying attention during training seminars?  No chance. 

 Still, is there any reason for that Foreman Elf to be such an asshole?  He knew what he was getting into.  He worked the line for years.  Everybody liked him, even though he always was kind of a hardass.  He grew that goatee out when he played bass in that Death Metal trio that used to gig in Norway.  He was an OK guy in those days.  He smoked out back by the break area and did an impression of Santa fucking Mrs. Claus that would make you weep with laughter.  He’s got that tattoo of the Slayer logo on his back he shows off at the company picnic in July when he’s playing volleyball.   “Whoa!  Look who’s taking his shirt off!  Shit’s getting serious now!”   Yeah, he used to be OK… 

I’m not sure if he still plays the bass.  Those guys haven’t played out in forever.  I heard they might do a reunion show in February, but that’s only if they can get the tall elf with the glasses to fill in on drums.  The original drummer OD’d on bath salts in 2008 I think.  That was after he joined King Diamond.  It’s tough to go back to making toys in that tense atmosphere after you’ve played a few Euro Outdoor Festivals.  One minute you are being fellated by a dark eyed Spanish girl at a 100,000 person Metal Festival, and the next your old bass player is screaming at you in Santa’s Workshop because of your bad seams on an iPhone.  No wonder he skated from that whole North Pole scene.  Dude couldn’t keep it on the rails though.  It’s tough up there, always cold and dark.  Plus they still run the business like it’s 1958. 

I don’t know who handles HR up there on the North Pole, but they should be concerned about how Foreman Elf is handling things.  He is obviously fueled up on whiskey, cocaine and gallons of coffee, ready to blow up at the drop of a hat.  His handling of the obviously “alternative lifestyle” Hermey is a lawsuit waiting to happen.  If Hermey lawyers up, calls into question the unique punishments he receives due to his sexual preferences, and then asks about their non-existent dental coverage?  I see a big settlement coming to that delicate little elf.  The key for him is to start documenting what is going on.  Start using words like “uncomfortable” and “unfairly singled out”.  His lawyer can help him with that.  Santa needs to cut that Foreman Elf loose, or at least hide him back in shipping. He won't though.  He's too Old School.

You know that Foreman Elf has horrible coffee breath.  I bet you can feel it cover you like a wet quilt when he gets up in your face to scream at you.  Spittle probably flies at you, getting into your eye as you try to concentrate on what he says through his rotten teeth.  You know that he is writing all kinds of shit about everyone on forms and documents they’ll never see much less be able to address.  Then after work Mr. Tough Guy Foreman Elf is laughing it up with Santa, kissing ass like you can’t believe.  “Hahahaha!  That’s a good one Santa!  If we moved any slower we'd be dead!  Hahahahaha!  You crack me up!  If you didn’t do this toy delivery thing, you could be a comedian!  Whew!  Let me catch my breath!”.  It’s all back slaps and good times in Santa’s office. 

Take a look around.  As you sit at your job today, remember it could be much worse.  You could be working up North for those assholes.