Angus Teafeather's Toybox

“I suppose I should be grateful I have a job at all at my age,” Gus thought spitefully as he readied the bar for opening. He had come in early to prepare for what was always the busiest night of the year. He had made sure all of the glassware was spotless, and the bar, tables and stools were thoroughly washed of any trace of stickiness that may have lingered from the year prior. Tomorrow he would wash them all down again, and treat the wood with oil, since a year’s worth of sticky drinks will be spilled on everything before this night was over. This was an annual ritual. 

Now, extra batches of eggnog were brewing. This was the evening’s signature drink; even tripling the amount he thought they would need, they would likely run out before the bar declared last call. With this thought, Gus started another batch, just to be on the safe side. The patrons wouldn’t care by the time they ran out; everyone will have had at least one glass, and the die-hards would switch to something stronger by then – likely something schnapps-based. 

The aroma of warm dairy and nutmeg was starting to perfume the small space and frankly, was turning Gus’ stomach a bit. He never could understand the appeal of the concoction. But in this town, with this crowd, at this time of year, the ‘nog carried strong favor. Gus lit the fireplace; some woodsmoke would help to remove the cloying aroma of the ‘nog, and the place could do with a warm-up.

A quick glance at the antique cuckoo clock mounted above the mantle told Gus it was almost 30 minutes before the evening’s mass of customers would pour into his bar. 30 more minutes of peace before roughly six hours of sheer insanity, followed by an hour of belligerent arguments with customers too drunk to want to go home, and another 8 hours of clean up. 

Since he never opened the day after Christmas, he might just sleep in tomorrow, as a delayed gift to himself. “Not having that, pet,” Gus could hear his wife’s voice say. “If you sleep in, you’ll drag the rest of the day; best to get the work done and rest after.” Victoria was always the practical one. Pushing Gus to be the best he could every day. His light of encouragement that kept him going in the right direction.

The half-hour chime of the clock roused Gus from his reverie. As he lugged his already tired frame back behind the bar, he flipped on the vintage radio. It was one of those Bakelite models from the late ‘50s; the once tan color had faded to a sort of copper patina. It hummed electrically for a moment while warming up, and finally tuning-in to the only station within miles that came in clearly. They, of course, were playing classics of the season. The baseline of Vince Guaraldi’s Linus and Lucy streamed from the tiny speaker. This brought a slight smile to Gus’ haggard face. Nothing like a classic to help you fake the mood.

Gus allowed a quick glance at the framed photo next to the radio. An impossibly happy couple in front of a quaint corner pub proudly pointing to a sign above the door proclaiming “Angus Teafeather’s Toybox.” The couple seemed impossibly young; hard to believe this picture of Gus and Victoria was taken just five years ago when they opened. “Happy Anniversary,” Gus grunted, his smile beginning to fade.

“I know,” cried Gus, “the bark. I’m on it, dove.” Peppermint bark. It had been Victoria’s idea. “We don’t serve any food,” she reasoned. “I’d be happy to come up with a proper menu, but there just isn’t any time this first night.” They had been so busy fixing up the former storefront, transforming it into a pub, that they had not devised a food service plan. “I’ll whip up a batch of peppermint bark; we’ll put bowls of it out. It will help to curb the intoxication.” It had been a stop-gap measure, but turned into an annual tradition. It was festive, and the clientele thought they were getting something extra for their patronage.

Gus starting filling the small bowls from a large sack of peppermint bark behind the counter. He had started batches of the stuff at the beginning of the month in anticipation of this night. Lining them up on the bar at regular intervals, Gus noted that he’d have to remember to keep these stocked throughout the night. Yet another thing to keep track of. 

With the last bowl filled, Gus hazarded one last glance at the clock. To his surprise, and a little dismay, he had 10 minutes to spare. “I guess I can have one for myself.” There was a small electrical burner on the back bar counter, on top of which was a heavy pot. In the pot was a batch of special mulled wine; those of this regulars with no love for the ‘nog were fond of Gus’ secret blend of mulling spice. The real secret was the brandy, of course, but Gus let them think it was the spices. Gus grabbed the good brandy from the top shelf and added a hefty pour to the pot, and a small bit to a glass. He ladled some of the warm wine to the extra shot, and gave it a quick swirl before waddling over to the chair next to the fireplace.

“If I sit, I’m not going to want to get up,” Gus thought as he eased himself into the most comfortable chair in the bar. “Yep, I could sit here all night,” he confirmed to no one. And that’s when the last traces of his earlier smile left his face.

The thoughts came quickly, as quick as these last five years had been. He had been a loyal employee at the factory for as long as he could remember. But the products kept changing, becoming more complicated every year. He couldn’t keep up with the technology and his productivity took a dip. No matter, they’d probably promote him. That’s usually how it went in this company town. But no. His supervisor brought him into the office one day and let him down as gently as possible. They let him go without so much as a thank you for your years of service.

The pub had been Victoria’s idea. They weren’t really using the storefront below their apartment for anything, why not convert it into a useful space? A place where all of his friends can come after work, and they could give a little something back to the community instead of retirement. And to Gus’ surprise, it worked! They had a huge business that first opening night, which settled into a steady stream of regulars during the rest of the following year. And they had remained loyal, his friends. The subsequent years were the same; packed house on the holiday, and regulars every night for the rest of the year.

This year it changed. Right after the holiday, Victoria caught a cold. Their people didn’t tend to take ill so it was a bit odd, but not worrisome. They thought she would recover quickly. But she didn’t. Quite the opposite, in fact. She declined rapidly and within a week was gone. The whole town attended her funeral, even taking care of the memorial in the bar. Gus didn’t have to do anything. The wives brought food and cleaned up afterward. And just like that Gus was alone. Didn’t know what to do with himself.

So, he didn’t do anything differently. He opened the bar every night. And for a while it seemed nothing had changed. But it had. Gus had lost his spark. He became a little less friendly; had stopped engaging in conversation. Had stopped smiling. Little by little, his regulars started spending less time at the bar. Until they stopped coming altogether. For last few months, it was down to one or two customers a week. 

These memories and facts all hit Gus like a swift punch to the chest. And Gus started to cry, just as It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year started to play on the radio. Which actually made Gus chuckle at the irony. The cuckoo started chiming the hour and a second later Gus heard the factory whistle blow. Quitting time for some, but it was like a starting pistol for Gus.

The next few hours were a blur of festive workers in bright red and green celebrating the year. Gus saw faces he hadn’t seen since last Christmas. Many of his regulars even came in for the first time in months to celebrate the holiday. A couple of his friends offered to help with the throng of customers, but Gus waived them off. He found the busy work took his mind off of everything else. The holiday music helped to keep him in as festive a mood as his customers, since he was likely the only one who could hear the tunes emitting from the tiny speaker behind the bar over the din in the room. 

Before he knew it, the last of the drunken horde was leaving; Gus bolted the door and his pub was empty again. He took in the pub from its entrance; the place was a shambles. Unidentifiable ponds of goo, mixed with crushed pieces of candy cane from the peppermint bark, were spread throughout; he hoped it was spilled eggnog but more than likely some of it was puke. Glasses were everywhere, overturned bowls on every table; confetti and jokes from Christmas crackers littered the floor, mixing with the questionable puddles of (he hoped) spilled drinks; red and white striped sock hung from a wall sconce. Gus sighed as he started to gather the dirty dishes into a bus tub.

And then a knock came at the front door. “Sorry,” cried Gus. “We’re closed. I’m closed,” he said, more to himself. But the knock came again, harder. “Maybe it’s the person who belongs to that sock,” thought Gus. To the door he reiterated “I said I’m closed.” He could see the shape of a person through the frosted glass, so Gus proceeded to unbolt and open the door. There in the entryway, in his good suit, stood the Big Man. The owner of the factory, and the town. The head elf. Santa.

“Hello Angus,” Santa said. “It’s nice to see you.”

“Mr. Claus. This is…unexpected. Please, come in.” Gus didn’t think he’d ever spoken to Santa; he didn’t think Santa even knew his name. 

“Please, call me Santa. Everyone else does,” Santa ho-hoed as he ducked to enter through the small doorway. “Kind of a tight squeeze,” he said, as he pinched his nose and puffed out his cheeks, like he was trying to clear his ears, and shrank about a foot. “That’s better.” Santa walked purposefully over to the comfy chair by the fireplace, his boots thumping across the wooden floor, and slumped into it with a sigh.

“Can I get you something to drink, Santa?” Gus asked

“Do you have any of that eggnog left?” Santa replied with a hopeful twinkle in his eye.

“Oh..sorry…we…I ran out about three hours ago. I have some mulled wine,” Gus explained apologetically.

“No, that’s alright. It wouldn’t do to come home to Mrs. Claus smelling of brandy. She has a good nose for that sort of thing. And it’s just as well about the ‘nog, too. I’ve had more than my share of that, milk and cookies this evening.”

An awkward silence filled the pub as Gus stood there with his former employer. “Big night, I guess,” Gus offered.

“Yes, yes…for both of us, from the looks of your establishment,” Santa chuckled. Another stiff pause permeated the room. “I’m sorry, Angus, I’m not used to talking this much on Christmas. The truth is, I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about Victoria. I know it has not been an easy year for you.”

“Thank you, Santa,” Gus acknowledged. “It’s been hard, running the bar by myself. The last few months, especially.”

“Yes, I can’t imagine doing what I do without Mrs. Claus by my side, making sure I take care of myself and taking care of me when I forget to. To be honest, that’s why I’m here. You know I don’t usually give elves in my employ gifts on Christmas; since they are the ones who make them, there wouldn’t be any surprise would there? But you’re no longer in my employ, are you?”

Gus didn’t know how to respond, unsure of what Santa was getting at. “In fact,” Santa continued, “you haven’t worked for me for some time, so I’m far overdue for a Christmas visit to you. And for that I wanted to apologize in person.”

“That’s okay, Santa. I never expected anything on Christmas. I really had everything I wanted, or needed.”

“Until this year,” Santa declared, rising and moving for the door. “I’ll just be a moment.”

Gus was dumbfounded. He had never heard of an elf getting a Christmas present. Then again, and to Santa’s point, he didn’t know an elf who didn’t  work for Santa. Just then, he heard something; up on the roof, the faint clicking of what sounded like hooves. Before he could process it, he heard a quiet whoosh, and in the blink of an eye (and just a little soot), Santa came down the chimney and out from the fireplace with a red sack slung over his shoulder.

“It’s a bit tricky when the fire is going, but you don’t do this for as long as I have with learning a thing or two,” Santa chortled. “Sorry for the spectacle, but since this is your first Christmas I wanted you to get the full treatment.” Handing the sack to Gus, Santa continued, “Now, since you have been so good these last few years, with providing a place for the elf community to come and relax after work, I wanted to make sure that you stayed in business. To do that, you need help; someone to make sure you take care of yourself and to take care of you when you forget to.” Another awkward pause invaded the space. “Well, what are you waiting for? Open it,” Santa exclaimed. He was excited as all of the children around the world who would be opening the presents he had delivered the night before right about now.

Gus carefully undid the cords cinching the sack’s opening. There in the bottom, sleeping peacefully was a small animal. Furry, with four legs and a short tail. No antlers, like Santa’s reindeer, but big floppy ears. Gus had never seen such a creature, but sure thought it was cute.

“This is a dog,” Santa explained. “More specifically, it’s a puppy. That’s what they are called when they are young. But he will grow up. And get a bit bigger.” Gus lifted the puppy from the sack, inadvertently waking him as he did. The puppy looked at Gus with impossibly large, brown eyes and seemed to smile; and then it licked him. “Oh,” Santa laughed, “I think he likes you already.” And Gus smiled. Really smiled. For the first time since Victoria passed away.

“Now, the first thing you have to do is give him a name, so that he’ll know who he is and will come to you when you call him.”

“I think I’ll call him Toybox,” said Gus. At hearing his name the puppy made a small, approving yelp, and licked Gus again.

The next night all of Gus’ regulars came to see his new companion. And they came the night after that, and the night after that. And more of the town came in more frequently. And the following Christmas the pub was busier than ever, but Gus laughed throughout the night enjoying the time with his friends. And Toybox got more pets that night than he knew what to do with. Angus Teafeather and Toybox continue to service the North Pole elf community. If you’re ever in the area, stop by for glass of mulled wine and some peppermint bark.