Elf: What It’s Really Like To Be Santa’s Little Helper

Will Ferrell might have made Elfing look like a fulfilling career choice, but my yearly turn as Nutsy The Elf doesn’t fill me with quite the same Christmas cheer.

When you’re dressed as an elf, you’re fair game. People see you as a prop, a piece of scenery, a photo opportunity, though you do get the odd sensitive soul who will timidly ask, ʻDo you work here?ʻ. Worried, presumably, I might actually say ʻnoʼ, thus confirming their suspicion that I have, indeed, gone for the clown-goth hybrid look.

Or maybe they think I just really love Christmas and enjoy riding the train into town singing ʻdiddly-diddly-deeʼ, until I get to Santaʼs grotto, where I like nothing more than shivering for eight hours making small talk with small children and pretending I’m fine with a high-five rejection rate of 75 per cent.

A Day In The Life Of Nutsy The Elf

“Hey! Hey you! Hey you! Elf!” I was performing a routine scan of the queue, checking for vomit and dirty nappies, when I noticed a lady waving her arms at me furiously. She was standing with a girl of about five, whom I presumed to be her daughter.

I jingled over to see what she wanted. As I drew breath to speak, the woman stripped the little girl of her coat, revealing a blue princess outfit complete with pink fur stole. She pushed the child towards me, pulled a camera from her bag and shrieked “Go over there and stand with it”.

The little girl reluctantly clacked her way over to me in her plastic princess shoes. I sighed deeply, crouched down and posed with the child, who kept a nervous distance. After the deed was done, without a word of thanks or any eye contact, the woman turned and made to join the queue for the grotto, the little girl in tow, skipping along and swishing her dress.

But once one person gets you to pose with their child, itʼs like a domino effect. Everyone wants a picture, they donʼt know why but they might as well, since everyone else is. With each click and flash a little mortified piece of me dies, knowing that all over the internet, by a few degrees of separation, lie hundreds of photos evidencing this wonderful, wonderful time in my life. Indeed my fears were verified recently, when a young dad excitedly got his phone out, thinking I might like to see a picture of me and his kids on his Facebook...from last year.

Santa’s Little Helper

Santaʼs break time drives people nuts. Outraged retorts consist mainly of “What does he need a break for?!” or “You should have two Santas!”.

Of course the real Santa doesnʼt need to poo or pee or eat. Perhaps this one is an impostor!

Loitering in the open-fronted grotto during these breaks affords one a few feet of personal space away from the throng, but it does tend to draw a crowd. Itʼs a bit like being in a zoo. Sometimes I pretend to be a statue, then move suddenly and frighten the children.

Once I pretended to be dead in the hope of deterring a group of unsolicited photographers, only to make the situation worse, drawing an even bigger crowd ʻLook! The elfʼs pretending to be dead! Quick! Get the camera!ʼ

Certain behaviour is frowned upon here in the land of festive cheer; urinating against the grotto, posting half eaten burgers through Santaʼs letter box and queue jumping.

But come closing time, itʼs always the parents who start throwing their toys out of the pram.

There have been several times when Iʼve half expected to be punched in the face after delivering the terrible news that we’ve reached capacity and can accept no more children.

Parents shamelessly make a scene in front of their kids, positively encouraging them to cry. They rage and sneer and march their little ones up to me, demanding I personally explain to them why they canʼt see Santa. One man tried to intimidate me by standing very close and like a ventriloquist, through gritted teeth, called me a f***ing b**ch and told me Iʼd ruined Christmas.

To the likes of these people, I enjoy saying, with a cheerful tap of my watch, “The sleigh leaves for the North Pole at 6 Oʼclock on the dot and Santa must be on it”.

And to their children, I say, “Do you want to make sure Santa brings you everything you want for Christmas? Just sing ʻLet It Goʼ as loud as you can, all the way home.”

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