The Chat Up

A surprising amount of people like chatting up elves.


You'd think the garish, ill-fitting costume, the skin rubbed raw by excessive face paint and the fact that every time we move a bell rings, would have a negative impact on our attractiveness, but apparently not. 


Bounce generally gets the older men, older older. I think it's cause she's from Mauritius and men in Belfast over 60 are still amazed they have met someone so exotic, even if she is dressed as an elf.


Snapshot gets the middle-aged. Often married with a glaring wife. This is partly because she knows and has been out with a large percentage of the middle-aged population of Belfast.


And Ice. Ice attracts the younger crowd. Generally 13-18, sometimes toddlers. It's always full of awkward adolescence and finishes with the crushing realisation that I won't come home and play video games with them because I am actually 10 years older than they think. Oh yeah, and married. 


But all of us agree we are definitely receiving more attention in the grotto than we have anywhere else. I sure Freud would have a field day.


In reverse, Magic, the only male elf, stands all day ogling the beautiful Chinese girl who works at the stall behind us. He has yet to stay hello.

The Swearing

*disclaimer. In order to discuss swearing, Ice must use swear words, but will soften them down with '1's and '*'s so as to avoid offence. It is Christmas after all.


Ice is not generally a swearing elf, though, on occasion, I've been tempted to direct a torrent of abuse at customers or, more often, Rocky the Singing Raccoon who pops out of the creepy enchanted tree every five minutes. On Christmas Eve that raccoon is going down. But I am continually surprised at the amount of parents who swear at their kids. Call me conservative, but it's a Christmas grotto, it kind of ruins some of the magic when echoes of 'you wee sh*t' reverberate around the tree.


They also swear at me. Not aggressively, just by way of conversation. 'She wouldn't smile, the little b*tch', a father said to me at the back till. I looked down expecting to see some monster of a child. The pretty, ringleted, 4 year old looked back at me shyly, still obviously traumatised by her visit to Santa.


I try to glare them from under my jungle bell hat to show them the error of their ways. Guess who's going to be on the naughty list this year.

The Misunderstanding

Santa asks the child what they want for Christmas. Santa gives the child a present. You can see where a misunderstanding might occur.


Admittedly Santa does try to explain to them that this is just a small present to remind them to be good until Christmas Eve when he will come with their big presents, but the message doesn't always sink in.


A child leaves the grotto excitedly holding their present. 'What do you think it is?' Parent asks. 'A Nintendo DS,' the child states confidently. Moments later the child is crying, assuming that they weren't good enough and the present they have just asked Santa for will not be coming. A storybook worth 1-2 pounds is lying on the floor. 

The Out of Context Elf

Everyone, at least once in their life, should try doing ordinary things dressed as an elf.


This week, for the first time, I took a toilet break during a shift. The nearest facilities to the grotto are in the food court upstairs so I got the escalator up and began working my way through the crowd and various fast food chains. I had seen a few heads turning but it wasn't until I was outside KFC that I noticed the tension in the atmosphere. A boy turned to me as I tried to slip past; 'You're Santa's elf. What are you doing here?' he said accusingly. I realised he was voicing what everyone was thinking. I was dressed as an elf, and this was not somewhere I was welcome. At any moment I expected leftover pieces of pizza and fried chicken to be thrown my way amidst chants of 'Out Elf!'


I made it to the bathroom safely and joined the queue. There again I felt the heat of suspicious glares, as if the people behind me were angry that one of my kind was preventing them from getting to the toilet quicker. When I was finished a little girl watched me wash my hands. Part of me felt bad, like I was ruining some kind of illusion; elves go to the toilet too. But then I thought it would've been much worse if she'd watched me not wash my hands.


Yesterday I went to the bank to get more change for the grotto. As I approached the desk, I couldn't help feel that as I was in costume and everything, they half expected me to, and perhaps I should've, held them up and robbed the bank. I didn't.

The Divorced Dad

Divorced Dad can be spotted a mile away. It's his day with the kids and they've guilt tripped him in to taking them to see Santa. He stands awkwardly in the queue, sure that he's not doing something right. When asked the children's name and age he reddens, under pressure as if in an exam hall. 'What age are you again?', he jokingly asks them. He fidgets and taps his foot until it is time to go in.


With Divorced Dad, taking the photo is easy. Regardless of it's quality, he will always say he's happy with the first picture. The visit is brief, the photo is collected and he moves on as quickly as possible. He knows that the kids will probably come again next week with mummy and assumes they will have a much better time.

The Half Way Point

We are now over half way into the grotto's lifetime. 


Whilst it's been lots of fun and we all enjoy working together, we are all also getting a little tired. The twinkling of the trees doesn't seem so bright anymore, you could say. And we all, we suspect, are going a little crazy.


We continuously sing 'Santa Claus is coming to town', even on our breaks, we hear our jingle bell hats and children's cries in our sleep, and we now all think it's normal to repeatedly shout 'smile' and shake a rattle in toddlers' faces.


We are all also slowly beginning to hate the human race.


I wouldn't be surprised if some day soon we go awol. There will be ripping of tickets, breaking of rattles and shouts of 'That's a ridiculous name of course I can't spell it / How can I get a good photo if your child hates Santa? / MOVE OUT OF THE WAY / I DON'T CARE ABOUT KEYRINGS, MAGNETS AND PHOTOS JUST MAKE A DECISION / WHY CAN'T YOU SEE THERE'S 50 OTHER PEOPLE IN THE QUEUE / YOU'RE NOT GETTING ANY PRESENTS FROM SANTA'


I'm looking forward to the day Santa goes awol.

The Day of the Jacky

I saw him run up the queue, past those in front and bound past me into the grotto. I ran to catch and encourage back in my best 'I'm not touching your child' moves. I served the next customer and he was gone.


Ten minutes later he decided to come back, this time trailed by his weary mother. In broken English we began to establish if she wanted a photo or gift or both or whatever. He was off again. This time out of the grotto. Weary mother ended our conversation and set about following. He ran round a few stalls and back up to the grotto.


This time we complete the conversation and transaction and Jacky was allowed in to officially see Santa. 


He sat surprisingly well for his photo, and mother and son left to go about their business.


I watched their business for the rest of the day. It was simply Jacky running various places in the shopping centre and mother walking slowly in the same direction. 


A few hours later he was back at my till. Confused I began asking mother if he was coming in again. No, he just decided to walk this way and it was her job to follow.


I decided to do some Christmas shopping after my shift. I walked past the closed grotto only to see Jacky opening the gate and running back up the empty line. Mother stood nervously watching. I stood with her.


I took a quick scout down before leaving the centre relieved to see Jacky lying in the middle of the animal cushion stall. Somebody else's problem.