What Happens in The Kitchen

Charlie Cobbler fought his urge to collapse once he heard the tea kettle whistle. He had spent the past nine hours on outlet duty, running electrons from their source, the wall outlet, through various electric cords, and delivering them by the bucketful to workers all over the kitchen in different appliances. It was exhausting work that should have been handled by a younger elf. But, these days Charlie would do any job his foreman would give him.

His last delivery had brought him to the microwave, which gave him the perfect view of Mrs. Lovitz entering the kitchen to pour her afternoon tea. She had a cup at the same time every day, so Charlie’s superiors deemed it wise to have shift changes happen at the sound of her kettle’s whistle. She was a slender woman, who was growing into middle age with grace that reminded Charlie of his wife. 

“Move it oldtimer!” cried a young elf with overalls and a pointy hat like Charlie’s and a jaw like an anvil. “Mister Lovitz’ll be home any minute, and you know they’re having leftovers tonight. We need this microwave clear of all nonessentials.”

Charlie had been called nonessential so many times, the word had started to lose its meaning. He almost thanked the rude, young elf for distracting him from the incoming thoughts of his late wife. Charlie didn’t need any more rumors of him losing control of his emotions in his old age.  

He left through the microwave’s back entrance—all appliances have one—and dropped down to the counter.

Mrs. Lovitz was singing a tune to herself that Charlie found quite vulgar, but she probably found it nostalgic.  That’s how you know you’re too old, thought Charlie, when the things you once thought inappropriate or exciting become old-fashioned to the next generation.  

Charlie stepped over to the wall, which was covered in white tile. Every few squares, there was a smaller black tile that was tilted to the side. He walked up to the nearest one and gave the secret knock—the one that humans can’t hear. The tile pulled back into the wall and slid to the side making a large door for Charlie to enter the elf section of the house.  

The door opened to a large room—by elf standards—with long tables occupied by hundreds of elves who had finished shifts as long as Charlie’s but seemed half as tired. Charlie went for his usual meal after a long shift: a cup of cold coffee. He grabbed a small cup and dipped it into the thimble filled with the glorious liquid taken from the Lovitzs’ coffee pot every morning as payment for services rendered. 

Charlie rested his decaying, yet living corpse on the nearest seat. He preferred to sit alone after a long shift, but that wasn’t always possible. When Charlie was a young man, one small family of elves was all it took to run a house. Nowadays, it takes hundreds to run one room. So many appliances, so many cables, so many elves.  

He may have preferred his previous work making shoes, but he didn’t hate his current job. He couldn’t hate any job. That’s what separated elves from humans. With humans, everything is a transaction. They work for money. They marry for their own pleasure.  

Elves were selfless. They worked for the satisfaction of an honest day’s work, taking only a pittance like the coffee Charlie drank. They married for the satisfaction of their partners. Charlie’s eye twitched as it prepared tears. His thoughts wandered to the past when he and his wife would argue about how they could better serve each other.  

He wanted to keep them stable, staying in the same place as long as possible. But, she knew that Charlie wanted adventure. She was the one who always pushed him to try new things and go to new places. The greatest centuries of his life were with her.

It was a beautiful time that Charlie didn’t dare remember. Carolina was gone, and like a productive Elf, Charlie would redirect the energy he used to spend on her to his work.  

A high-pitched bell rang and every elf in the cafeteria silenced themselves and looked up to the source of the sound. It came from the opposite end of the room from the door where Charlie sat. The bell was small enough to be carried in an elf’s tiny hand, making an appropriately small size that could only be heard with an elf’s pointed ears.

The elf ringing the bell was their foreman. He was too young for the position—a mere four hundred and fifty. And, he never wore the traditional pointy hat of an elf. Instead, he wore a combover for his bald spot. The worst part about him was his refusal to be addressed by anything other than his first name, Brandon. It was unprofessional and made every conversation with him awkward for Charlie. All the young elves adored him.

“I’d like to have your attention,” said Brandon. “Has Charlie come back from his shift yet?”

Charlie was a common enough name among elves. Maybe he was looking for someone else?

The crowd murmured amongst themselves, seeking an answer to Brandon’s question.

“Cobbler,” said Brandon. “Has anyone seen Charlie Cobbler?”

The other Elves snickered. Most Elves took the name of the job they fulfilled. There were plenty of Transistors and Resistors in the crowd. But, no other Cobblers. It had been Charlie’s wife’s idea to keep their name when they started working in private residences. She thought it would keep them proud of where they came from. She was a smart woman, but she was wrong in that instance.

Charlie sighed, then rose. “Here sir.”

“Ah,” Brandon looked happy to see him, “could I see you in my office for a moment, Charlie?”

He didn’t need to ask permission. He should have ordered Charlie to report to his office and threatened to sack him if he didn’t comply in a timely enough fashion.  

“Of course sir.”

Charlie rounded the edge of the room, trying to ignore the snickers of those who looked at him as if he were a bratty child on his way to being punished by the schoolmaster.

Brandon was already on his way back to his office through a red, circular door. Charlie followed after him, opening the door to the support beams, which doubled as highways for Elves all over the house.

They passed the nursery where young Elves were being taught how a television remote worked. An elf would hide inside and listen to the buttons a human clicked. Then, the elf used a small mirror to send codes to the elves that ran the television. The codes were complex. Charlie had tried to memorize them, hoping to find a job in the living room, but he was too old to learn such complex work.

Charlie and Brandon made it to a small, humble door with a plaque that read, “CHIEF SUPERVISOR OF KITCHEN.”  

Brandon held the door open for Charlie. Another breach of protocol.

Charlie tried to set things right. “After you sir,” he gestured to the open door.

Brandon smiled, refusing to move. “I insist, you first.”

Charlie had no other alternative. He entered first.

Brandon’s office was too comfortable for Charlie’s tastes. There were two sardine cans, one on each wall. The tops of the cans were peeled off and the insides were stuffed with dried grass from outside. They were heavenly to sit on. Charlie’s legs and back were soothed by the sight of them. But, Charlie didn’t find it appropriate to feel at ease in his foreman’s office. In the corner, there was a pile of trash. Dozens of papers carpeting the floor with no organizational method.

Brandon jumped onto one of his cans as if it were a bed and let out a yawn. “Take a load off Charlie. I’ve got something I want to talk to you about.”

Charlie hoped it wouldn’t be what his mind was already assuming. “Of course, sir.” He sat down on the opposite can as if it were a couch. His weary limbs thanked him for doing so.

“I insist you call me Brandon. I don’t want to be called sir or anything else.”

All the comfort Charlie felt on the couch vanished. “If you insist… Brandon.”

“You’ve been pulling a lot of shifts, Charlie. Aren’t you getting tired?”

Charlie supposed there were worse things than lying to your boss. Losing your job was at the top of that list. “I feel fine.”

“I went over your records. You started doing this after Carolina passed.” He seemed sincere, but Charlie wished he wouldn’t say his wife’s name. “You do realize that filling your time with work isn't going to help you get over the pain, don’t you?”

“With respect, sir,” Charlie’s tone was as firm as he dared to go when speaking to a superior, “is it not customary for an elf to dedicate himself to his work after the death of his spouse?”

Brandon paused for a moment, considering his response. “Yes, but isn’t that a little old-fashioned?”

“Sir…” he remembered his request and corrected himself, “Brandon, I am over nine-hundred years old. I am ‘a little old-fashioned.’”

Brandon sat up, mirroring Charlie’s position on the opposite can. “At the rate you’re going, you’ll work yourself to death. And, that might not be an exaggeration.”

Charlie stood and adjusted his overalls to make sure they looked smart. “Then, so be it. Would an elf ever be prouder than to be found dead at his post after excelling at his work for his house?”

Brandon started to speak, but—in a move that shocked himself—Charlie interrupted him. “I’d like to get started back to work as soon as possible. Please assign me to the next shift.” With that, Charlie started for the door.

“You just got off a double shift,” Brandon said. “You must be exhausted.”

“Someone must show these young elves how to do a good job.” Charlie’s hand was on the small door knob.

“That’s the thing, Charlie.” Brandon’s tone turned dour, like how the doctor’s had when he told Charlie that his wife’s condition wasn’t going to improve. “You’ve not been doing a good job.”

Charlie spun around, realizing the true reason he was here.

Brandon couldn’t look Charlie in the eye. “Your productivity is way down. You can’t run through a power cable, delivering electrons with the same speed a younger elf can.”

The truth was spoken. And, it was the worst possibility Charlie’s mind could imagine. It was something he already knew to be fact. But, in the past, he could lie to himself and say that the other elves wouldn’t mind if he were a little slower than them. They could learn from his wisdom and experience. What foolishness.

Charlie’s anger subsided as he realized there was nothing for him to do but retire. He’d spend the rest of his days wandering across the support beams, chatting with those who’d bother to take an interest, living without purpose. Being alone.

Charlie never could have imagined himself crying in front of his foreman. He wasn’t some young pup being chewed out for the first time. But, he was weeping, unable to control the fear and sadness inside him from leaking out in a liquid form.

Brandon stood, walked over to Charlie, and embraced him. “It’ll be okay.”

Charlie understood his soon-to-be former employer’s predicament. No one wanted a sad, old elf crying in their office. But, he also wanted to slap Brandon for patronizing him. “How can you say any of this is okay? You’re condemning the rest of my life to misery.”

Brandon actually laughed. “Isn’t that a little dramatic?”

“Certainly not!” Charlie knew he’d regret his words and tone later, but he’d say his peace. “You want to rid me of the one thing that brings me satisfaction because I don’t measure up to your productivity quota. You are a cruel elf, with no sense of dignity, nor true appreciation of your employees.”

“Charlie!” Brandon brought his hands up as if he were trying to calm him. “Let me finish before you bite my head off. I knew you wouldn’t want to give up work entirely, so I sent out a few letters about you.”

The embarrassment Charlie anticipated earlier hit him like a hammer. “You did what?”

“I’ll be honest, most of the elves I contacted didn’t like the idea of hiring someone pushing a thousand. But, a cousin of mine seemed interested.” Brandon walked to the back of his office to a pile of papers stacked in the corner. 

Charlie had assumed the papers were part of a trash pile. He was surprised as Brandon skimmed through the pile, snatched up a folded sheet, and brought it over for Charlie to read. There must be some system in place that Charlie had never considered.

“He’s gonna run a new factory in the city as soon as it opens up. He thinks you would be a great asset.”

The momentary hope that Charlie had vanished. He refused to take the paper. “I have never worked in a factory. Eight hundred years ago, I worked in a cobbler’s shop, and have been in private residences for the past several centuries. I am too old to learn a new trade. Thank you for trying to help. And, I am so sorry for speaking to you the way I did.”

Brandon cocked an eyebrow. He grabbed Charlie by the wrist and placed the folded paper in his hand. “Read the letter.”  

Charlie unfolded it. His eyes struggled to read the small letters, but the point came across as a smile formed on Charlie’s face. “It’s a shoe factory?”

Brandon nodded. “He needs an expert on how shoes were made in the old days. He wants to bring back that elf quality that shoes have been missing. But, I’ll only write back to my cousin if you promise you won’t work yourself too hard.”

Charlie’s hands shook as he read the letter over and over. But, his thoughts kept going back to Carolina, and how she always pushed him to new adventures. He supposed one more wouldn’t hurt.