House # 7

House # 7

Today in Santaland, Phil, the scheduling manager, told me to go take over in one of the houses as a Santa Elf. Being a “Santa Elf” is  somewhat prestigious as you get to hang out in the santa house with "the man". The Santa Elf's job is to assist whichever Santa you are assigned and to see to it that guests get in and out of the “house” quickly and smoothly.


Now, being as this is my first year in Santaland, I still sometimes get confused and lost in the maze. The maze is a just that. A series of intertwining passages in a glittery and sparkly forest of cardboard trees and polystyrene snow that leads to 6 different Santa houses, each one containing a different Santa. On a crowded and crazy Saturday afternoon there are as many as 6 actors playing Santa in 6  different, but well hidden houses.


And it was that. A crazy Saturday afternoon.
“Snowglob(e), go replace Skittlez in house # 6!”


“Right-o, Phillipe!”


I'm not really sure that I remember where House #6 is to be truthful, but I really want to get out of the stuffy scheduling office and be on my own. I figure I'll find it along the way.
I stop and ask Dash, a small Goth elf from the far-off borough of Brooklyn.


“Go that way, it's easier!”, she says, “Past the Wishing Well and then go around the back of the house to avoid the other lines.”


I only catch half of what she says, because there is “parent drama” going on as a very aggressive mom argues with Winterland about stepping out of line to go to the bathroom.




I'm in a decent mood for once today. I move quickly past the Wishing Well and as I do so, I stop and place my head in the darkened hole. “Reeeeeeleeeeeeease the angelssssss!” , I say in a silly soprano voice, hoping for an echo. It's made of plastic and no echo comes.
I laugh and pull my head out of the dark, and ...I'm not really sure where I am.


The glittery lights are still illuminating the route from the direction I just came, but I don't see any of the other elves. I stare down three diverging paths.


“Holy shit, I'm lost in Santaland,” I muse.


The unmistakable smell of Evergreen plays in my nostrils, which is a nice touch that I didn't notice before.


“Okay, where's the last house?” I pick the middle path and start to walk down it, then stop.


“Walt Whitman.”, I say to no one in particular and reverse direction and head down the path that I determine to be the one less traveled.
The polystyrene snow crunches under my red Chucks.


I notice that the store has changed the soundtrack. Normally, tried and true orchestral versions of traditional Christmas Carols are piped through the carefully hidden speakers above. But the tunes have changed. Wind-chimes and ...wind.


Nice.


Finally, I come to a large oak door marked
“House #7.”


I'm pretty sure I'm in the wrong place, but what the hell. I jiggle the iron door handle and it releases.

As I push the door slowly, it opens into a room that I've not seen before. Most Santa houses have slatted beadboard floors with painted-on “Welcome” mats and fake moldings. There is always a “throne” with green and red pillows in the corner. This is where the “man in red” sits and waits for his visitors.

This room is nothing like that. There's sawdust on the cracked floor and a certain mustiness. It's brightly lit and what I first thought to be a pretty convincing fake fire in the hearth, looks to be real. And there is the smell of chocolate chip cookies...

What I don't notice is the large man working at a bench in the far corner, until he bellows,

“ROBERT FROST, you jackass!”

I jump.

“I-I beg your pardon?”

He turns and looks me up and down. He's rather large and commanding. And although he has a full white beard and wire glasses, he isn't wearing a Santa suit. 

He's in some sort of white long underwear, with burgundy pants and some very sturdy looking steel toed boots.

“Frost. It was Frost. Not Whitman.”

I stare at him dumbly.

He sighs.

  “TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,

  And sorry I could not travel both

  And be one traveler, long I stood

  And looked down one as far as I could

  To where it bent in the undergrowth”

“Uh...thanks.”

I must admit I'm confused at this point, but also kind of amused.

“Well, ” he sets down his woodworking plane. “What do you want?”

“Um...I think I'm your Santa Elf,” I stammer out.

“No. 

What do you want? Why are you here?” 

He takes a step toward me, it's not threatening, but I still unwittingly take a step backwards over the threshold.

“I-I don't know.”

“Okay,” he says ushering me out, “Come back tomorrow then.”

And with that he closes the large wooden door in my face.

I let out a breath. "Double-Yew. Tee. Eff?"

I shrug my shoulders and somehow manage to find my way back to the scheduling office and Phil.

“Sorry, got a little lost - I was over in House #7.”

Phil blinks at me like I'm an idiot. 

“We've only got 6 houses."

Then dismissively, he turns back to his paperwork and says,

"There is no House #7.”