'Well fix it then !' Jack's fist hit the table and for a brief-moment all the objects on his desk were airborne. The little man cowered in the door way, mauling a small green cloth cap.
'I don't think you under.. under..''Hmmm ?'
'..Understand,' stuttered the little man, 'it's a soft.. soft..'
'Spit it out man !'
'..Software fault - it'll take ages to recti.. recti.. fix.'
Jack closed his eyes and sunk his head into podgy fingers. Less than thirty six hours to go and the whole factory was shrouded in an unnatural silence. And this particular "silence", a "software fault", was a concept which Jack didn't understand and didn't want to understand. He only knew it meant delays, and delays meant overtime, and overtime meant shop stewards !
'How long ?' snarled Jack through his hands.'Er.. Erm.. four hours..' whimpered the man, 'maybe..er.. fi.. fi..' (Jack looked up, visually taking the chief engineer by the throat) ER, four ! ..and a half ..maximum.' The small man giggled nervously, then his face fell and the bright cheerful colour drained away.
'Take more than five..' said Jack slowly, 'and I'll..' (he paused whilst he tried to think of an imaginative demise for the man, but imagination had never been Jack's strong point) 'I'll bury you in the garden !'
The engineer looked briefly out of the window at what would have been the garden had it not been covered in three foot of snow. It wasn't much of a threat but the engineer appeared horrified, and backed rapidly out of Jack's office gibbering under his breath.
'Door !' hollered Jack. The engineer scampered back, reached up for the door knob and pulled the door closed behind him.Jack, it had to be said, was a miserable old bastard, a fact that he readily admitted to himself. He had been in the delivery game now for longer than he cared to remember - took over the business from his father, as he had from his father, and so on, and so on... but this morning, as Jack had heaved himself out of bed into yet another cold day, he was beginning to feel his age. It was time to think about handing the reigns over to someone else, but who ? He had no children; his wife, Mary, had left him ten years back; Jack was alone.
He prodded a small blue switch on his desk and spoke.
'Holly,'
'Yes.. ER boss ?' responded his secretary.
'Ask Mr Ferigan to step into my office will you.'
'Certainly Mr Kr.. ER boss.'
'Holly ?'
'Yes boss.'
'You weren't going to call me by my surname were you ?'
ER no. Boss.'
'Good.'
He flicked off the switch. It was forbidden for anybody to mention Jack's surname. He hated it that much.
The shop stewards cheerful little "tappity tap" at the door completely failed to lift Jack's mood. And though the top half of the door was mainly glass, all Jack could see of the man was the tip of his small green hat.
'Come !' commanded Jack. The door opened and the shop steward half strolled, half skipped into the office.
'Top of the morning to you, boss,' said the little man, an impossibly big grin all over his face, his little red nose very nearly glowing. Jack raised an eyebrow.
'Take a seat, Mr Ferigan, I'll be with you in just a moment,' said Jack continuing to examine the balance sheets.
'T'ank you very much, boss, don't mind if I do.' The little man climbed onto the chair opposite Jack, and sat with his legs swinging below the seat. After a while he took something from the chest pocket of his green jacket.
'Could I interest you in a cigar, boss, after all, 'tis the season to be merry.' He held out a miniature cigar that couldn't have been longer than two inches at the most.
'Thank you,' said Jack taking it reluctantly and placing it somewhere on the desk where he could easily knock it onto the floor and forget about it. It wasn't the season to be merry, it was the season to be worried. Deadlines, more deadlines, a cash flow that had very little "flow", let alone "cash", and of course, more deadlines.
'Would I be right in t'inking that we have a teeny weeny problem with the "blip & beep" machines on the production line ?'
'Hmmph.' replied Jack, without looking up.
'An' I would I be right in t'inking that this might incur a slight delay in the production process ?'
'Hmmph.'
Mr Ferigan took a puff on his cigar and blew a perfectly formed smoke ring.
'An' would I be right in t'inking that you might be asking my members to put in some over time ? Would that be the reason you want to see me, Boss ?'
Jack looked up suddenly, his eyes a blaze with fury. 'Now look here, Mr Ferigan, you know damn well that's why I want to see you ! It's the same charade every year - the machines "stop working" and I'm forced to pay out overtime in order to meet my deadlines. Well I've got news for you, Mr Ferigan, I've been looking through these books and I just can't afford it ! You hear ? I can't afford it !'
'Now there's no need to be getting yourself upset Boss. This is a very simple problem and simple problems have simple solutions. You need the work doing, and my men are willing to put in the extra hours.. for a small consideration of course.'
'Are you mad, man ?' Bellowed Jack. 'Don't you realise we're in the middle of a recession ? I just can't afford to pay out any over time !'
'Aye - but our good friend the Chancellor assures us that there is a light at the end of the tunnel.'
'Baloney - I've told you before, I don't believe in fairy tales !'
'Well then, you'll be disappointing all of your clients this year.' goaded the shop steward.
Jack's face got redder and redder.
'Look here, you miserable midget ! There's nothing wrong with that computer, and you know it ! There's no extra money to be had so you may as well get out there and tell the chief engineer, and the rest of your "brothers", to stop larking around and get back to work !'
'Would you be inferring that my members are being dishonest now, boss !? I'm not sure I appreciate your tone, Mr Kr..'
'You know exactly what I'm trying to say,' snarled Jack.
The shop steward paused for a moment and lit up another cigar.
'Boss,' he said, 'I'm a very understanding man..' (Jack rolled his eyes heavenwards) And if you are experiencing financial difficulty so far as overtime is concerned, then I'm sure we can negotiate an hourly rate to fit in with that there budget.'
'Budget !' spluttered Jack. 'What budget !? I don't have a budget, I just have debts ! Debts ! Debts ! Debts ! Here,' he said, picking up the large leather bound book,'..see for yourself !' And with that Jack threw the accounts at the shop steward. The airborne book hit the small man with such force he toppled backwards off his chair and landed in a heap of green cloth and brown edged balance sheets. After a moments disorientation, the shop steward struggled back to his feet and pointed a small stubby finger at Jack.
'Boss ! I must inform you that I consider that an unprovoked act of violence..'
'Mr Ferigan..'
'I shall be forced to ask my members to take immediate industrial action..'
'Mr Ferigan..!'
'I shall be contacting my solicitor..'
'Mr Ferigan..!!'
'I shall be taking this to the highest..'
'Mr Ferigan !' roared Jack, '..behind you !'
The shop steward spun round on his little legs and raised his hands in horror. Nestled amongst the crumpled pages of the dusty old broken book of company accounts was the shop steward's smouldering cigar ..except that the smouldering was now a small fire, Except that the fire was becoming less-small by the second as the flames devoured page after page.
The fire was bigger now, and developing a taste for Jack's expensive office carpet and dull wallpaper. For a few moments Jack stood mesmerised as everything that his family had lived, strived and died for disappear in front of him. Then he shot a sideways looks at the shop steward whose face was a picture of terror as the flames towered over him. That was all he needed to break free from the fire's hypnotic power. Pulling the Shop Steward back from the flames Jack ducked out of the office in search of a fire extinguisher whilst the shop steward attempted to beat back the flames with his cap. Moments later Jack returned with a bucket of water and threw it, inaccurately, at the flames. Most of it saturated Mr Ferigan.
And still the fire raged on.
'Do something Boss !' cried the small man.'What do you suggest !?' shouted Jack hysterically.
The small man hopped from one leg to the other, and then.. suddenly his whole face seemed alight with inspiration.
'The window ! Boss ! Boss ! Open the window !'
'What ?!' cried Jack, but then he realized..
It took every scrap of strength Jack could muster to shift the window pane - he couldn't remember it ever being opened - he couldn't remember any window being opened ! But with a painful screech the frame gave way, paint chipped and fell to the floor, but as the frame moved upwards the wind and the snow rushed in. In a split second the freezing gust, packed with sleet, extinguished the fire. It was over.
Jack pulled the window closed again and collapsed on the floor, gasping for breath. The shop steward crawled over.
'Boss.. Boss ? Are you alright Boss ?''It's no good,' said Jack. 'I can't carry on any longer.'
'What ?' asked the little man, brushing snow off his hat and then planting back on his head.
'This job - I'm getting too old. I don't enjoy it any longer, and I haven't got any family to hand it on to. No, I've had enough - it's over.'
The little man bit his lip whilst he tried to comprehend what he was hearing. The boss had always been grumpy and aggressive, and they'd played their annual overtime game now for many years - but he'd never seen the boss like this; defeated.
'But the clients, boss, surely you can't let the clients down.''Sod the clients,' groaned Jack. The shop steward was too shocked for words. 'You don't know what it's like to run a company like this. Have you ever stopped to think where we get our income ?'
'Well.. no.' confessed the shop steward.<
'Have you any idea how stressful it is spending all year working towards just one day ?'
'well.. ER'
'..all that bloody travelling in the freezing cold !?'
'ER'
'And you know what the worst part is !?'
The shop steward shrugged. Jack grabbed him by the collar and pulled him closer until their noses touched.
'That stupid, loony, uniform !'
Jack stood at the window of his secretary's office and waved as he watched Mr Ferigan saddle up the reindeer, and examined the delivery route. Helping himself to a mince pie, he could scarcely believe what had happened in the past few hours. Having spent so long doing a job that he hated, he'd never stopped to consider that there might actually be somebody else who wanted to take it over. And as it turned out there were lots of "somebody's, a whole factory of them. He'd worked with the elves so long he'd completely forgotten that they'd been in the trade as long as his own family.
In the wake of the fire he and Mr Ferigan had opened up new lines of negotiation; they'd talked to one another, and Mr Ferigan had suggested a number of solutions and compromises. For starters he'd suggested that Jack let the elves buy shares in the company - giving a much needed cash injection, and increasing company moral as a side effect. ( - the computer fault miraculously vanished !) Further more he suggested Jack become "chairman" and delegate all his duties as "Boss" to the elves. Including delivery.
So Jack had, and here he was; for the first time in forty five years he was going to stay in on Christmas Eve.
Holly walked into the office. 'Oh, ER, I'm sorry Mr Kr.. ER bo.. ER Mr Chairman, I didn't realize you were in here, I just came back to get my coat.''That's fine Holly, you go ahead. I just wanted to see that they got off alright.' Jack turned back to the window. The shop steward gave another quick wave and then set off into the night, the longest night of the year, with a sleigh laden with sacks. Jack had to admit, that although Mr Ferigan didn't have a long white beard, and although the coat and the hat were far too big - the uniform kind of suited him.
Jack felt happy.
'Holly,' he said as she was walking out the door.
'Yes, Mr.. Chairman ?'
'I'd like you to call me by my surname again. In fact, I'd like every body to call me by my surname again.'
'Oh,' she said, trying to hide the surprise in her voice. 'Right you are. Erm..'
'Yes ?' enquired Jack.
'Merry Christmas, Mr Christmas.'
'Father Christmas, Holly, I think I prefer Father Christmas.'
Re-write: August 22, 2004