The Party's Over

We just love seeing what they’re doing over in wind-up gadgets. The wind-up gadget department is killing it these days. The winding. The upping. The gadgetry. We’re amazed. We’re marveling. The rumors that we here at bathtime toys are jealous of the wind-up gadget department, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. We are honored and overjoyed to be working under the same umbrella as our wind-up gadget colleagues. We are all here working towards the same goal. We are all part of the same beautiful quilt. Our square on the quilt may be a little bit smaller than the wind-up gadget square, but that does not mean we are lesser. We are vital. We are integral. We are starving. We were promised hors d'oeuvres.

We do think it’s a brilliant idea to have the holiday party the week after Christmas since attempting to celebrate prior to the Big Day would most certainly lead to slowdowns and missed deadlines. As it is, we are sorely understaffed this year. Why, just last week, we were concerned that our latest rubber ducky model wouldn’t be done in time for the 25th. The head of our department was called in for multiple meetings with the Big Guy. Multiple meetings. Words were used. Tones were tense. At one point, it was rumored that the Big Guy raised his voice. We were all worried that the department would be dissolved. That we would be transferred to other departments. Departments like Collectibles and Doll Furniture. We would never say that these are unimpressive departments, but they are obviously not as appealing as Doll Hair or Toys That Promote Violence or--yes--Wind-Up Gadgets.

The dissolution of our department would have meant the disassembling of what has become a family. We all love each other. We adore each other. Yes, one of us screamed at Binkles until Binkles cried and kept crying and went right on crying to the Big Guy, but that was an anomaly. It was unusual. It never happens. It was embarrassing when the Big Guy stormed down to our section of the workshop and demanded that the Head of Our Department--Good Ole Fricassee--get his house in order. That led to a heated exchange between the Big Guy and Fricassee, which left us all on edge. Elves do not typically talk back to the Big Guy, and there was Fricassee, talking back and asking the Big Guy what kind of productivity he can reasonably expect when he’s asking us to do twice the work with half the budget?

These cookies are quite scrumptious this year. Was this catered? Did we get it catered? We heard some scuttlebutt that the catering budget was cut and that Mrs. The Big Guy was going to make all the cookies herself, and while we would never say this out loud, I think we can all agree that baking is not her strong suit.

Considering how stressful this year was, it’s a miracle anybody wanted to come to the holiday party at all. Departments have been jockeying for resources. Layoffs have been doubling in size each month. The espresso machine in the breakroom was replaced with a poster that says ‘Coffee Is Bad For You, But You Know What Isn’t? Hard Work!!!”

It’s such a relief that we can put all that behind us and come together for an evening of fun and frivolity. The DJ is apparently Iggy’s cousin, but she’s not a full-time lawyer. During the day, she works at a reindeer daycare subsidiary. We like that she’s playing all the hits. Last year, the band they hired kept repeating the same four songs and two of them were variations of “Pete Pete the Elf Who Would Only Eat Raisins.”

Despite all the holly jolly smiles, we can sense that when the New Year arrives, changes will be made. Fricassee has already told us that the Big Guy wants to move us to a smaller section of the workshop. We’re going to be the only department not to receive new uniforms. Our daily supply of cookies is now going to be cut in half. It’s just not going to be like it once was. We remember the old days when bathtime toys was a top tier toy department. Others would walk by our desks and ask for our advice on new recreational inventions they were tinkering with, because they knew our advice was worth more than a glass of milk placed lovingly by the fireside.

Now when our colleagues walk by, they avoid eye contact. They have looks of pity resting on their faces. They don’t speak. They hurry along to better sections of the workshop that we are not allowed to visit. Our new ideas grow dusty. Our insights dwindle. We know our work is suffering because of the lack of respect for us throughout the NP. Remember when Dasher told Prancer that inappropriate joke about us, and by the time we found out about it, it had already spread all over the office? The Big Guy said he reprimanded them, but we all know he never disciplines the reindeer. They can say whatever they want, and even if it’s hurtful, they get away with it. Dasher especially takes advantage of the favoritism when he exercises that rancid tongue of his.

Christmas might last forever, but the decor will shift. It will adjust. It will find us slowly clearing out our desks. Throwing out our wrenches. Dumping our dazzle into the dustbins. Once we reach the golden age of 8,021, we will retire to the Home for Somewhat Elderly Elves and spend the rest of eternity thinking about all the baths we improved with our many, many toys. The toy boats. The floating toy hippos. Bobo the Bath Bear That Squirts Water Out of His Eyes for No Discernible Reason. We had some real hits over the years.

Now, we stand here and wonder what happened to the canapes of years gone by. The office parties where there would be special appearances from the Easter Bunny and the Flag Day Fairy. The limbo contest where the winner would get to ride with the Big Guy on his ride around the world. Mrs. The Big Guy doing the Electric Slide with all of us like we were all one big, happy family.

Well. We…are one big happy family, aren’t we?

It’s just that some families grow apart over time. Some send their least useful members to other departments. Some get their budgets cut. Some are no longer allowed to participate in the limbo contest, but they don’t want to anyway, because the prize is now an alarm clock shaped like a broken candy cane.

Isn’t it always a little sad the week after Christmas?

Oh sure, we’re getting a New Year, but what will the New Year bring?

There might not be any point in worrying about it. We may as well just sip our punch, admire the ice sculpture, and hum along to “Pete Pete the Elf Who Would Only Eat Raisins.” It seems even this superior DJ has succumbed to playing it. Not that we blame her.

Some traditions are hard to break.