An Angry Elf

The BBQ Pit
1

I know that I said I was going to try to be a better Christian this Christmas, and show more compassion and understanding, and try to watch my language.

Grant me one last bitchfest, won’t you? And I shall direct it at one Ms. Mason, Twatplug extraordinaire, who threw a fucking pen at me.

My hubby and I were ‘volunteer elves’ at this Thanksgiving’s Marshall Fields Jingle Elf Parade. We woke at 3:00, and arrived downtown in pitch black freezing dark to work our appointed post which we were happy to do.

Checking in Other Volunteers. We were cheerful, we were armed with coffee and free red jackets and a sense of impending holiday joy. The stars were out in a midnight blue sky and everyone was excited. There were a THOUSAND volunteers coming to work the parade, a THOUSAND, many spoke very little english, many were children who were nervous about the crowd, and they all needed to be directed where to go, who to report to and what to do once they got there. It was a well organized, well staffed booth. I worked the M-O list of Volunteer names

And then Ms. Mason arrived, in full makeup, fur coat, furlined santa hat and mouth set on ‘bitch’.

“I am Ms. Mason,” she said to me. “I work this parade every year and I have fifteen of my friends and family here to work. They do have different last names, but I do not think we should be made to wait in line. We are friends of the Field’s family”

“Well,” I said cooly, “You do still have to wait in line because everyone needs to check in, get their jackets and so forth. It should move along quickly.”

“Or,” she said. “You could check us in, since we are VOLUNTEERING our services. You should be willing to help us. It’s ridiculous to wait in line. I’m telling you we’re all here. Why waste our time with this check in?”

At this point I’m looking around for the candid camera. Is it possible that Joan Collins is here in disguise? Is that real fur? Is there really a steel girder in your ass or is it all an illusion?

“I am a volunteer as well. And I’ve been instructed to check in everyone alphabetically. You can step right down to the other lines to check in the rest of your family.”

“I don’t think you understand. I’ve been doing this for years.”

“you can talk to my supervisor,” I said. “But I’m sure you’ll still have to wait in line.”

“This is ridiculous,” she said. “I’m trying to help this goddamn parade and you’re making it a ridiculous process.” and with that, she threw her pen to the table, where it bounced up and hit me.

Then…THEN, in a moment of supreme drama, her fur lined friend who also couldn’t believe she’d have to wait to check in, turned to our table, pointed her finger and said.

“You run this parade very poorly, and trust me, you will suffer the consequences.”
The consequences. The consequences. THE CONSEQUENCES? What is this, the fucking Franco Prussian war? A mob hit? A David Mamet play?

It’s a goddamn VOLUNTEER THANKSGIVING PARADE designed to bring the spirit of motherfucking goodwill to the people of Chicago and indeed the nation, you crusted over clitbag. Take your self righteous indignation at being made to wait in line to carry a fucking Elf Balloon and cram it way up your airtight rectum, bitch. Or if you’d like, I’ll do it for you.

And by the way, I’m glad you brought your granddaughters to the parade. I hope they grow up to be just like you. Watching your hissyfit at the volunteer booth must have struck a chord of inestimable pride in their hearts.

“I come from a line of old money bitches, and someday I’ll be one of them”

Have a merry fucking christmas you whore. I was having fun until you stepped into line.

jar

2

Excellent rant. I give it an 8.50 for technical merit. While your use of vulgarity enhanced, rather than overwhelmed, your story, frankly, I thought you were a bit cautious, given that this is the Pit. At the same time, I’ve given you a 9.5 for artistic merit for precisely that reason. It is the rare person who is able to post a coherent and enjoyable rant without overusing the 7 dirty words. Congratulations.

3

Methinks you should have dished out a festive punch in the gob.

4

jarbaby, i hope that you were able to feel a tiny bit of class pride as you told that rich twatplug where to stuff it. hilarious. i wish youd laughed in her face.

um, have you suffered any consequences yet?

5

While I sympathize wih your misfortunes and wish you nothing but happiness, serenity, and helpful knitting salseswomen in your future, I gotta say that I really love it when you get pissed off, because your rants are just too much fun to read.

6

I say its a 9.0, just in terms of passion, and the fact I agree 100% with the poster. I livein Eugene, Oregon, and every year a guy puts on a huge dinner for the homeless (he is the former personal chef for the Grateful Dead). A friend of mine and I wanted to help out, and we called and were told that all available jobs were taken up by local celebrities, and important folks like the mayor and stuff. So we couldn’t help out, being normal folks.
So I definitely agree with you there.

7

Heehee! Twatplug Extraordinaire! I love it!

8

The thread title immediately made me think of David Sedaris’ SantaLand Diaries. If you don’t already enjoy his writing, please do!

I’m glad you stuck to your elfin guns! Having walked the pointy-toed path myself, it’s hard to retain your dignity when every move you make brings with it a hail of jingle bells. You really can’t get up in someone’s face when your floppy hat keeps hitting you in the eye and smearing your rosy-red cheeks. (I’m just assuming you were dressed as an elf.)

Anyway, good for you! Send that Estee Lauder-encrusted hound to the back of the line! I’ve encountered so many older women who volunteer and they’ve almost always got this bizarre chip on their shoulder. I worked in the store of a science museum and was delighted to catch this snooty old hag who made everyone miserable stealing from the fine jewelry case. What a grand day that was!

9

Since this is a thread about Elfs (or at least mentions an elf), there must be a suggestion to read David Sedaris’ book Barrel Fever which includes story The Santaland Diaries.

10

Are you sure you weren’t working the M-F volunteer check-in booth?

Don’t worry, I’m sure Santa will fix these two but good. Here’s hoping, anyway.

11

Jar:

Can’t find a thing wrong with your rant.

But I need to point out something about your OP.

I laud the idea of more compassion and understanding. And Christian humility (which Ms. Mason seems to have not a stitch of, BTW) calls for not thinking higher of oneself than of others.

But sometimes the proper course, the right application of humility, compassion, and understanding is to call the arrogant SOB out on the carpet and read him/her the Riot Act.

To be sre, ask yourself, “WWJD?”. But remember how “gracious” he was to the self-righteous among the Pharisees.

Then go thou, and do likewise. :slight_smile:

12

I would really like to comment on this excellent rant by giving it a 9.5, but I don’t want to have it so far here at the end of the post. Seeing as how I have posted on SDMB well over 1000 times and I do it all out of a kindly volunteer spirit, I beleive the Admins should move my admiring post to the top, right after the OP. I am friends with Mr. Zotti as well and if you don’t then you will suffer the consequences. Remember, coffee is for closers.

13

Cut the bitch some slack. She’d had to wipe with real paper that morning because of the linen strike.

I think we can all feel her pain.

14

THE CONSEQUENCES? What is this, the fucking Franco Prussian war?

Damn, what a sig that would make…

15

My question is, what did she do next? Did she get in line? If not, where did she go - did she leave in a huff, go to your supervisor, go to someone higher up, did they kiss her ass or tell her to bugger off, what? If she did get in line, what happened when she got to the front and you had to actually sign her in?

Can’t just let it end there!

Esprix

16

The next time I saw her, she was bitching to a costumer that her elf costume wasn’t the same as her friends and that ‘they’d been doing this for years’ and ‘always had the same costumes’ Like she’s some sort of bitch savant, that has to have order at all times.

When she walked by with her goddamn balloon, waving at the crowd, my husband leaned over and said,

“Should I take my ass out and moon her?”

we considered it, but felt it was conduct unbecoming an elf.

jar

17

Did she leave in a minute and a huff?

sub[/sub]

Jar - You should have thought about the most un-Christian check-in volunteer working that day (you know, the one that would sucker punch the pope for low number at the deli) and told über-bitch that their’s was the line for the really VIP volunteers.

For some reason, my brain reads this line as though spoken by Dieter from SNL. You definitely should not let her touch your monkey.

18

I’m wondering how many people reading the thread title thought of (a) Robinson’s The Free Lunch, or (b) that Christmas movie of a few years back that includes “elves with attitudes.”

19

A very minor nitpick.

While I am sure that there are, among the old money folks, snobs and bitches, my personal experience (which is far too extensive to have brought me any pleasure), is that this woman was saturated with relatively new money.

In general, old money knows how such events work and they do not make such scenes. Once in a while, old money may come across as a bit haughty as they discharge their noblesse oblige, but making a scene is nearly always a new money phenomenon. (Had you truly offended old money, she would have quietly sought out one of the Dayton brothers (or whoever is currently in charge) and had you sacked on the spot. Old money would never have made the mistake of believing that the Fields family had anything to do with this affair, since the Fields corporation sold out to the Dayton-Hudson corporation several years ago (a bit prior to Dayton-Hudson renaming themselves Target Inc.))

I was once buried in abuse from a customer who was “personal friends” with the Frank family. I never even bothered to mention that “Frank” was the original owner’s first name–and that he had sold his share and died about 10 years before I had been hired.

20

**CHICAGO, AP Wire **
Marshall Field’s volunteer-run Thanksgiving Day Parade here in the windy city ended in tragedy today. Witnesses report that the grossly understaffed Giant Elf Balloon began to careen out of control shortly after the parade began. As horrified onlookers fled for their lives, Giant Elf crashed to the pavement where it flattened countless small children beneath its jolly green curly-toed shoes. On the rebound, Giant Elf took out half a city block of plate-glass windows. The resulting mass of broken glass and twisted metal became airborne when Giant Elf sprung a leak from its breeches-clad bottom, letting loose typhoon-force winds that swept through Chicago’s streets. Flying debris rained down on helpless citizens, and one young woman was seen shouting “Why God, why?” up at the cloudless November sky.

“I just knew this would happen,” said Ms. Clitbag Mason, a local psuedo-philathropist and unsufferable snob. Ms. Mason pulled her thick fur coat up around her shoulders, pausing briefly to free it from the steel girder protruding from her ass, where it had become entangled. “I warned the organizers that they were playing with fire here, and did everything I could think of to prevent this pointless tragedy.”  Ms. Mason went on to say that the lack of Giant Elf handling expertise exhibited by the obviously inferior volunteers was nothing short of criminal. “I hope they string these people up by their blue-collar necks, that would show them the true ‘reason for the season’.”

Organizers have already begun discussing the possibility of calling off next year’s parade. “We just don’t have enough old-money bitches with glaringly empty lives willing to show us how it should be done,” said Mr. Fields.