Week two
As I wrote down the children’s names so Santa could greet them personally, I was corrected at every turn. “No, that is not how you spell Talula Bell” It is “T-I-ll-u-l-a”.
I want to scream at this parent and ask her why she thought it was a good idea to scar her child in this way. It may be all fun and games now while she is dressed as a fairy princess and has no care in the world other than making sure she has her magic wand by her side, but give it another 10 years and she’ll be wishing her name were Talia.
On and on the names appear. Some provide their surnames too, one before I can stop her and tell her I only need a first name, must have gone through her entire family history as I struggled to find a piece of paper big enough to write down this child’s quadruple-barrelled name.
“I don’t really care,” I want to scream. It’s just a formality and now I have to ask how to spell every single name, and get laughed at by the adults who have decided to name their children sensibly, and don’t understand why I am so thick.
Now not even the ‘Talias’ of this world are safe. Nothing can be assumed. There are double L’s, A’s and H’s appearing all over the place.
So if you overhear an elf ask how to spell Talia, it’s not because they didn’t get their English GCSE.
Monday, 30 November 2009
Saturday, 28 November 2009
I'm just an elf
Several days on the trot and lurgy elf makes an appearance, claiming she really had been ill.
As we stand by the grotto and wave to our fans, lurgy elf asks me if I am Jewish.
No sooner than I say yes, she asks me if I am from Hampstead.
A bit taken aback I say no and she proceeds to tell me that all the Jews she knows are rich and live in posh houses in Hampstead.
Slightly infuriated I tell her that that is a tad stereotypical to say the least and I talk at her until I start to feel ridiculous having this conversation with an elf.
And anyway there are strollers queuing up to get into the grotto and we are about to try our hands at how many people we can fit in the grotto.
There is a rush on photos with several people spending nearly £30.
During the pandemic, with me taking bookings and printing photos, a suit appears and asks if Mildred is here.
I look at him puzzled. “Erm I don’t know a Mildred, does she work here?”
“I’m meeting her here,” he replies.
“Right ok well…” I really have no idea what to say. Does he think I look like I’m working at some kind of reception desk booking people in for meetings?
He says: “I know I am meeting her here I was just wondering if she was here.”
I am not some kind of clairvoyant, I think to myself.
I suggest that he just waits where he is then.
“Are you just an elf?” he then says, and I think by Jove he’s finally got it.
“Yes,” I exclaim.
Patronising ***.
It turns out there is a whole group of them here about health and safety.
And while manning three stations I am asked if they can close off the grotto when it’s quiet and drill something above Santa’s head.
This time I really do want to say, “I’m just an elf.” Can they not see?
The day carries on just as strangely with me having a debate with a little boy about Santa’s authenticity, and is rounded off nicely when a friend asks:
“Is this a permanent job then?”
Does he not know elves aren’t for life only for Christmas?
“Oh so you’re not going to use it as a stepping stone to becoming the Easter bunny then?”
Give me strength.
As we stand by the grotto and wave to our fans, lurgy elf asks me if I am Jewish.
No sooner than I say yes, she asks me if I am from Hampstead.
A bit taken aback I say no and she proceeds to tell me that all the Jews she knows are rich and live in posh houses in Hampstead.
Slightly infuriated I tell her that that is a tad stereotypical to say the least and I talk at her until I start to feel ridiculous having this conversation with an elf.
And anyway there are strollers queuing up to get into the grotto and we are about to try our hands at how many people we can fit in the grotto.
There is a rush on photos with several people spending nearly £30.
During the pandemic, with me taking bookings and printing photos, a suit appears and asks if Mildred is here.
I look at him puzzled. “Erm I don’t know a Mildred, does she work here?”
“I’m meeting her here,” he replies.
“Right ok well…” I really have no idea what to say. Does he think I look like I’m working at some kind of reception desk booking people in for meetings?
He says: “I know I am meeting her here I was just wondering if she was here.”
I am not some kind of clairvoyant, I think to myself.
I suggest that he just waits where he is then.
“Are you just an elf?” he then says, and I think by Jove he’s finally got it.
“Yes,” I exclaim.
Patronising ***.
It turns out there is a whole group of them here about health and safety.
And while manning three stations I am asked if they can close off the grotto when it’s quiet and drill something above Santa’s head.
This time I really do want to say, “I’m just an elf.” Can they not see?
The day carries on just as strangely with me having a debate with a little boy about Santa’s authenticity, and is rounded off nicely when a friend asks:
“Is this a permanent job then?”
Does he not know elves aren’t for life only for Christmas?
“Oh so you’re not going to use it as a stepping stone to becoming the Easter bunny then?”
Give me strength.
Smile for the camera
Week one, proper
I arrive super early and hit the cupboard before I am bombarded with Santa and the other elves, but Santa is already there, fully made-up.
Someone has claimed my elf outfit and stuck their name on the hanger so I am left to find another, which I fumigate with Febreze.
I choose a hat, which is far to big and makes me look like sleepy out of the seven dwarfs, and slap on some rosy cheeks.
Today is a morgue compared to the other day’s hubbub, but there are several rushes throughout the day mainly consisting of crying babies, that despite my rattle shakes, and squeals of “smile for the camera”, “big smile”, do not look very photogenic in their pictures.
One elf has been struck down by the lurgy and a couple of hours in we are met with a red-cheeked replacement.
Today’s Santa is of a happy disposition but when there are no children waiting he disappears.
It turns out that he has disappeared not to feed the reindeers but to have a beard break.
The worst thing that happens today is dropping and subsequently breaking the much in-demand stapler (unbeknown to anyone else until now) and printing one photo four times – that really was the printer.
All in a day’s work.
I arrive super early and hit the cupboard before I am bombarded with Santa and the other elves, but Santa is already there, fully made-up.
Someone has claimed my elf outfit and stuck their name on the hanger so I am left to find another, which I fumigate with Febreze.
I choose a hat, which is far to big and makes me look like sleepy out of the seven dwarfs, and slap on some rosy cheeks.
Today is a morgue compared to the other day’s hubbub, but there are several rushes throughout the day mainly consisting of crying babies, that despite my rattle shakes, and squeals of “smile for the camera”, “big smile”, do not look very photogenic in their pictures.
One elf has been struck down by the lurgy and a couple of hours in we are met with a red-cheeked replacement.
Today’s Santa is of a happy disposition but when there are no children waiting he disappears.
It turns out that he has disappeared not to feed the reindeers but to have a beard break.
The worst thing that happens today is dropping and subsequently breaking the much in-demand stapler (unbeknown to anyone else until now) and printing one photo four times – that really was the printer.
All in a day’s work.
What do you get if you cross an eight-foot robot, two Santas, a snowman and a Mayor?
Where’s the grotto. No, really where is the grotto. I’m beginning to panic as I peer over the escalator handrail.
This is rather a vital question as it is where us elves are meant to be meeting.
As I reach firm ground I am taken aback. The grotto is much smaller than anticipated.
Not surprising I nearly missed it: a silver box with a bow.
First elf to arrive, I meet the woman in charge. Seems I wasn’t the only one who was taken by surprise. As she walks away with her mobile glued to her ear it is clear this is not what had been ordered.
But the show must go on and we are left to figure out how to open the silver box/present that is the grotto.
Ten minutes and some moronic instructions later, we have our home for the next six weeks.
The designer must have some affinity to futuristic décor as the colour scheme of blue and silver replaces a traditional red and green.
Now all we have to do is fill the grotto with sacks of presents, and this is where the manual labour begins.
Two male elves join the mix and the next couple of hours are spent in lifts, up stairs, lifting boxes, pushing shopping trolleys, unpacking and experiencing severe backache.
As we roll up our sleeves and get down to packing sacks and having the occasional tug of war with over selotaped boxes, one elf worries about her not- so-elf-like new tattoo being discovered.
During a break from lifting, two elves sit comparing the names of their beloveds engraved on their skin, and I, not being one to forget the names of my nearest and dearest, am left twiddling my earrings.
Next we are shown how to use the photo equipment with a woman who mentions the help desk a lot and says that when it comes to changing the paper and ribbon in the printer, “It can’t go wrong”. This just oozes a bad omen waiting to happen.
Whilst we engage with technology a Santa and a snowman from elsewhere prance around the shopping centre handing out leaflets about a Christmas show, forcing our Santa into hiding.
Five hours later and it is time to get into character.
Six elves and one Santa cram into what can only be described as a cupboard, managing to dress and paint on rosy cheeks.
As we arrive at the grotto a huge crowd has built up. I think I’m famous.
But it turns out most people are waiting for the return of the eight foot robot. (No not an action film, but a robot controlled by a remote.)
To stall for time the MC sings and thank goodness she can hold a tune. However, when she decides she wants backup dancers I want to crawl into a hole and die.
I want to recreate that time I was on a school trip and had to play a game that required a good memory for stupid actions. Instead of falling flat on my face in front of my classmates I wobbled and wobbled my tooth until I had blood streaming down my face and was allowed to be excused.
However, that was a baby tooth and as the years have rolled by I have gained a set of adult teeth.
So I gave it all I had. I waved my hands, avoided eye contact and listened to my bells ring in utter humiliation.
“Bet this wasn’t in the elves’ contract,” said the MC and I muttered to myself, “No it damn well wasn’t’”
Never before had I been so glad to see an eight-foot robot.
It is scary to say the least, but then anything that tall and moving would be.
It stomps its feet, sings, groans, but the best bit is it squirts water much to the kids’ delight and the adults’ dismay.
Then comes the mayor with such a tough act to follow, he speaks for all of 30 seconds, and then the highly anticipated Christmas light switch-on is anticlimactic at best.
So the attention turns to us in our outfits.
The grotto now open, I am put on queue management, giving out tickets to adults to write the names and ages of the children with them, so Santa can greet them all individually and another elf can scurry around for the right present.
Opening night sees the queue grow as tenaciously as Pinocchio’s nose. Never before have I seen so many kids in such a small area outside school.
I have to contend with names straight out of OK magazine: Madrid and various other Spanish locations, Indiana and Prague. Perhaps there was even a Barcelona.
Despite many kids when asked what they want for Christmas responding “Ipod touch, camera, Nintendo Wii,” there is only one girl who makes a scene about not liking her free present.
She asks for another despite the fact that it is appropriate for her age.
If she didn’t appreciate that she wouldn’t have got any more pleasure out of “My first day at school.”
However on finding out the grotto would be open every day until Christmas Eve, she gives Arnie a run for his money, as teeth bared, she threatens: “I’ll be back.”
This is rather a vital question as it is where us elves are meant to be meeting.
As I reach firm ground I am taken aback. The grotto is much smaller than anticipated.
Not surprising I nearly missed it: a silver box with a bow.
First elf to arrive, I meet the woman in charge. Seems I wasn’t the only one who was taken by surprise. As she walks away with her mobile glued to her ear it is clear this is not what had been ordered.
But the show must go on and we are left to figure out how to open the silver box/present that is the grotto.
Ten minutes and some moronic instructions later, we have our home for the next six weeks.
The designer must have some affinity to futuristic décor as the colour scheme of blue and silver replaces a traditional red and green.
Now all we have to do is fill the grotto with sacks of presents, and this is where the manual labour begins.
Two male elves join the mix and the next couple of hours are spent in lifts, up stairs, lifting boxes, pushing shopping trolleys, unpacking and experiencing severe backache.
As we roll up our sleeves and get down to packing sacks and having the occasional tug of war with over selotaped boxes, one elf worries about her not- so-elf-like new tattoo being discovered.
During a break from lifting, two elves sit comparing the names of their beloveds engraved on their skin, and I, not being one to forget the names of my nearest and dearest, am left twiddling my earrings.
Next we are shown how to use the photo equipment with a woman who mentions the help desk a lot and says that when it comes to changing the paper and ribbon in the printer, “It can’t go wrong”. This just oozes a bad omen waiting to happen.
Whilst we engage with technology a Santa and a snowman from elsewhere prance around the shopping centre handing out leaflets about a Christmas show, forcing our Santa into hiding.
Five hours later and it is time to get into character.
Six elves and one Santa cram into what can only be described as a cupboard, managing to dress and paint on rosy cheeks.
As we arrive at the grotto a huge crowd has built up. I think I’m famous.
But it turns out most people are waiting for the return of the eight foot robot. (No not an action film, but a robot controlled by a remote.)
To stall for time the MC sings and thank goodness she can hold a tune. However, when she decides she wants backup dancers I want to crawl into a hole and die.
I want to recreate that time I was on a school trip and had to play a game that required a good memory for stupid actions. Instead of falling flat on my face in front of my classmates I wobbled and wobbled my tooth until I had blood streaming down my face and was allowed to be excused.
However, that was a baby tooth and as the years have rolled by I have gained a set of adult teeth.
So I gave it all I had. I waved my hands, avoided eye contact and listened to my bells ring in utter humiliation.
“Bet this wasn’t in the elves’ contract,” said the MC and I muttered to myself, “No it damn well wasn’t’”
Never before had I been so glad to see an eight-foot robot.
It is scary to say the least, but then anything that tall and moving would be.
It stomps its feet, sings, groans, but the best bit is it squirts water much to the kids’ delight and the adults’ dismay.
Then comes the mayor with such a tough act to follow, he speaks for all of 30 seconds, and then the highly anticipated Christmas light switch-on is anticlimactic at best.
So the attention turns to us in our outfits.
The grotto now open, I am put on queue management, giving out tickets to adults to write the names and ages of the children with them, so Santa can greet them all individually and another elf can scurry around for the right present.
Opening night sees the queue grow as tenaciously as Pinocchio’s nose. Never before have I seen so many kids in such a small area outside school.
I have to contend with names straight out of OK magazine: Madrid and various other Spanish locations, Indiana and Prague. Perhaps there was even a Barcelona.
Despite many kids when asked what they want for Christmas responding “Ipod touch, camera, Nintendo Wii,” there is only one girl who makes a scene about not liking her free present.
She asks for another despite the fact that it is appropriate for her age.
If she didn’t appreciate that she wouldn’t have got any more pleasure out of “My first day at school.”
However on finding out the grotto would be open every day until Christmas Eve, she gives Arnie a run for his money, as teeth bared, she threatens: “I’ll be back.”
The only Jew in the grotto
Day one: Training
I arrive with ten minutes to spare. As I fling open the doors to the stairwell and climb the stairs in anticipation, a girl appears behind me. She too is going for grotto training.
Suzy or Suzanne (I forget) asks me what school I go to. I should point out that I am 23 going on 24.
I could have been pleased I look so young, flattered even, but humiliation felt more apt.
“I’ve been to university,” I say indignantly. She follows this by an ‘oh’, and as an awkward silence looms, I follow this up with some babble about thinking it would be a fun thing to do while I look for a “proper” job. Sigh. Why am I even bothering to explain this to her?
I find myself most drawn to the girl sitting quietly on my left. At 20 she thinks she is the oldest until I let my grand total of 23 years on this planet slip out of the bag.
Blimey I’ve never been made to feel so old. But the 20-year-old has far more responsibility for her age, with a five-year-old daughter, and, she whispers to me, “one on the way.”
However, she hasn’t made it known she is three months pregnant for fear she wouldn’t get the job.
Anyway, back to the job in hand. While I had been excited about the prospect of working in a Christmas grotto I had underestimated the knowledge that was required for the job.
As we sit around the table, five prospective elves, one elf supervisor and look away now if you don’t want your Christmas dream to be shattered: three Santas, I was first in the firing line.
“What would you say to a child who asks where all the reindeers are?”
(Even Christmas isn’t excluded from recession cuts)
Feeling like I actually am back at school I reply, “In the air carrying presents.” I thought that was quite a good response.
Supposedly another answer would be, on the roof. Hmm definitely believable. As long as people don’t find any flaws while in the grotto that’s ok. Wait until they get out and see a roof with no reindeers. Then all hell can break loose. Then again all they need is a couple of inflatable reindeers on the roof. Then the plan would be foolproof.
Than came a question I also hadn’t anticipated. What is your favourite memory/thing about Christmas?
Now I do enjoy the Christmas season, and actually probably celebrate it as much as many people by over-eating, seeing family and friends and watching TV. However, I was unsure whether this was the time where I said, actually I celebrate Chanukah not Christmas.
But, then it came to me. The best things about Christmas: mulled wine and Christmas markets. You can’t beat a plastic cup of mulled wine from a very moody German man.
Next came the Santas’ grilling. The Santas ranged from one who really was Santa clause with a northern accent, the second had the white hair but it was receding and the third is younger blonder and will really have to work the wig and beard if he is to be believable.
They may get paid more than the elves but there’s a price to pay; Santa must drink with a straw so as not to disturb the beard.
They learnt how best to wear their beards, how to brush them out so they look more authentic than straight from the packet. They learnt how to paint their eyebrows white. FYI you brush against the hair. We also got to see how the red cheeks are done. I was hugely relieved that this year we are going for a subtler look as opposed to the garish red cheeks they did last year.
The Santas were tested on the names of the reindeers. I was at a dead end after Rudolph so that was a bit of an education.
We practiced on the tills and learnt about our tasks in the grotto which include anything from taking photos, making them into magnets, queue management, working on the till and assisting Santa.
Mr health and safety came for five minutes to explain fire escapes – the gist being if an alarm goes, go out of one.
We also learnt that apart from looking after our own safety we must also make sure that if there are two Santas around, we keep them away from each other so as not to ruin Christmas for the children- in other words to keep the illusion.
I arrive with ten minutes to spare. As I fling open the doors to the stairwell and climb the stairs in anticipation, a girl appears behind me. She too is going for grotto training.
Suzy or Suzanne (I forget) asks me what school I go to. I should point out that I am 23 going on 24.
I could have been pleased I look so young, flattered even, but humiliation felt more apt.
“I’ve been to university,” I say indignantly. She follows this by an ‘oh’, and as an awkward silence looms, I follow this up with some babble about thinking it would be a fun thing to do while I look for a “proper” job. Sigh. Why am I even bothering to explain this to her?
I find myself most drawn to the girl sitting quietly on my left. At 20 she thinks she is the oldest until I let my grand total of 23 years on this planet slip out of the bag.
Blimey I’ve never been made to feel so old. But the 20-year-old has far more responsibility for her age, with a five-year-old daughter, and, she whispers to me, “one on the way.”
However, she hasn’t made it known she is three months pregnant for fear she wouldn’t get the job.
Anyway, back to the job in hand. While I had been excited about the prospect of working in a Christmas grotto I had underestimated the knowledge that was required for the job.
As we sit around the table, five prospective elves, one elf supervisor and look away now if you don’t want your Christmas dream to be shattered: three Santas, I was first in the firing line.
“What would you say to a child who asks where all the reindeers are?”
(Even Christmas isn’t excluded from recession cuts)
Feeling like I actually am back at school I reply, “In the air carrying presents.” I thought that was quite a good response.
Supposedly another answer would be, on the roof. Hmm definitely believable. As long as people don’t find any flaws while in the grotto that’s ok. Wait until they get out and see a roof with no reindeers. Then all hell can break loose. Then again all they need is a couple of inflatable reindeers on the roof. Then the plan would be foolproof.
Than came a question I also hadn’t anticipated. What is your favourite memory/thing about Christmas?
Now I do enjoy the Christmas season, and actually probably celebrate it as much as many people by over-eating, seeing family and friends and watching TV. However, I was unsure whether this was the time where I said, actually I celebrate Chanukah not Christmas.
But, then it came to me. The best things about Christmas: mulled wine and Christmas markets. You can’t beat a plastic cup of mulled wine from a very moody German man.
Next came the Santas’ grilling. The Santas ranged from one who really was Santa clause with a northern accent, the second had the white hair but it was receding and the third is younger blonder and will really have to work the wig and beard if he is to be believable.
They may get paid more than the elves but there’s a price to pay; Santa must drink with a straw so as not to disturb the beard.
They learnt how best to wear their beards, how to brush them out so they look more authentic than straight from the packet. They learnt how to paint their eyebrows white. FYI you brush against the hair. We also got to see how the red cheeks are done. I was hugely relieved that this year we are going for a subtler look as opposed to the garish red cheeks they did last year.
The Santas were tested on the names of the reindeers. I was at a dead end after Rudolph so that was a bit of an education.
We practiced on the tills and learnt about our tasks in the grotto which include anything from taking photos, making them into magnets, queue management, working on the till and assisting Santa.
Mr health and safety came for five minutes to explain fire escapes – the gist being if an alarm goes, go out of one.
We also learnt that apart from looking after our own safety we must also make sure that if there are two Santas around, we keep them away from each other so as not to ruin Christmas for the children- in other words to keep the illusion.
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