“You may have heard that one of our biggest potential clients is here today and they want to hear the proposal you and Terri worked on,” said Alana the assistant manager, who suddenly appeared at my desk with a decided sense of purpose about her.
“But Terri is off sick.”
”I know she always does the presenting, but you put in just as much work on it. I'll be there for support but I want you to know that the board has every confidence in you.”
Although she was younger than all the other executives, Alana’s neat, wiry hair was already streaked with grey and she had the sort of eyebrows that perpetually seemed to be asking questions and finding the answers interesting.
“I'm honoured,” I said, instinctively rising from my desk.
“Nevertheless, our visitors are known to have certain, shall we say, ideas when it comes to dress and grooming.”
“You're saying..?”
“Perhaps we should put the elf necktie aside.”
“They don't care for elves? Those little guys have made the North Pole what it is today,” I said, hoping my smile was a winning one.
“Or any other holiday motif,” Alana quickly added, suspecting that I could very well be keeping a stash of extra ties somewhere on the premises. “It's just that we can't run the risk of our clients thinking we aren't taking them seriously. I know that Christmas themes are part of who you are, and you're welcome to put yours on as soon as the meeting's over.”
“It's kind of a family heirloom,” I said, a little too quickly to be convincing.
“Then I'll put your tie in the top drawer of my desk and take personal responsibility for it.”
I knew that the next excuse I came up with had better be a good one. There was no way that I could warn Alana that, due to something known as Chronic Yuletide Syndrome, this one piece of cloth was the only thing that shielded me and those in my vicinity from spontaneous displays of Christmas cheer. Those with our rare condition are required to wear a visible sign of that holiday the whole year round and failing to do so means that the universe will manifest something Christmassy on our behalf. Understandably, many have foregone jobs in law and business but others have managed to come to terms with their situation. In our online support group, where we refuse to call the ailment a curse, there’s a would-be flight attendant in Dallas who works in a Christmas shop all year round and a mortgage broker in Cardiff who is known for his fabulously ugly sweaters. For about two months of the year, of course, we don’t really stand out all that much.
“I mean, I wouldn't feel right if I didn't wear a tie at all.”
“I happen to have an extra one for the very occasion,” she said, deftly producing the world's most generic looking dark-blue specimen. She was definitely going to do well in management.
“I really don't know what to say.”
“Wouldn't you know it, it even goes perfectly with what you're wearing today so you can put it on right away!”
I wasn't sure how she did it, but people like Alana could always make a directive sound like a suggestion. I gave her the tie I was wearing and stepped into the men's room to put on the blue one, promising my reflection that whatever happened next would not cost me my job.
The team consisting of one woman and two men was ushered into the boardroom and I couldn't help but wonder to myself how so much youth and stodginess could co-exist in the same space. The first part of the presentation seemed to go smoothly and, as if regretting having to lay down the line, Alana proved eager to take over the slides and send me supportive nods at every possible juncture.
Then it began.
I had been especially proud of how professional the slides looked and knew that the originals showed neat, gray bars detailing the company’s projections over the next few quarters. This time, however, the bars were suddenly candy canes - images that had definitely not been there before I was separated from my tie.
“I see you've decided to make things seasonal,” the sternest-looking of them said, “or is this something you usually dust off for your clients in December?”
Alana took a step forward and I sensed she wanted to defend me, even if she still didn't understand what was going on. “It...shows how we can tailor everything to your needs, whatever the occasion.”
“Is that your idea of a joke?” he asked me, suddenly pointing to his female colleague
“I beg your pardon?” I responded, not initially realizing that the woman's ears now seemed to be adorned by large, dangling tree ornaments in the shape of gleeful snowmen.
“I have no idea how you did that but invading the personal space of my staff is really a step too far.”
Alana looked at me incredulously before turning to the visitors, “I assure you, that we have your best interests in mind and that we would never resort to some kind of parlour trick.”
“Then what is that supposed to be?” he said, wagging his expensively manicured finger directly at Alana. “You're obviously in on it!”
Alana reached up to find that her own discreet little necklace was now adorned with a silvery pine cone topped by a blue ribbon.
“I think we're finished here,” he said, as the three of them got up to leave.
“Clip-on earrings!” said the lone female, hastily removing them and casting them on the desk before storming after her colleagues. “As if!”
We followed the group to the elevator, but the man raised his arm to indicate we were not welcome to proceed any further. Only the third man, who hadn’t spoken a word, managed to give us a somewhat apologetic look before the doors closed.
“Tell me,” Alana said, after closing her eyes and exhaling slowly, “that you didn't have anything to do with this.”
“I assure you, I would never intentionally…” I began to say, all the while wondering how I could retrieve my tie or even get hold of the pine cone Alana was unwillingly sporting.
“I don't think you would sabotage your own work. I know you've put a lot into it and you’ve never really come across as a practical joker.”
“I'm not! I mean, I'm not even funny!”
We retreated to her office and I sat across from her, facing the window, while she removed the decoration from her chain and began turning it over and over again in her hand.
“I mean...it was other-worldly. Neither of us could have done this thing and they definitely wouldn't have done it themselves. Perhaps, if I’d been quicker on my feet,” she said, with one of her infrequent smiles, “I could have explained that it was proof our company could come up with anything to meet their needs in the blink of an eye.
“They'd have signed up right away,” I responded.
“I guess you can put this back on now,” Alana said, opening the drawer to retrieve my tie. As I removed the blue one, I saw how, completely unbeknownst to the assistant manager, a reindeer floated by and stopped to press his nose right against the seventeenth floor window. When I got my own tie back in my hands, however, it was enough to make sure our antlered friend vanished in a puff of red and green smoke.
“Once they’ve cooled off,” I said, “Terri and I will win them back no matter what it takes.”
“Don't worry about it, really. I think I overreacted and I'm sorry I lost my patience with you,” she said, reaching across the desk to touch my hand briefly.
I didn’t tell her that, in all likelihood, the third man would be calling us the next day to say the warmth and whimsy we’d brought to the presentation had actually been appreciated and that he was open to hearing the rest of our pitch. Say what you will about my condition, it never fails to bring out the goodwill in others and, even though it sees me wearing Santa-themed swim trunks at the beach, this is a side effect I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.
Author: Paul Moriarty (he/him) is a graduate of York University. His work appeared in Broken Quill in Toronto and he has been teaching English in Germany for the past two decades. He has just completed a collection of short stories titled ‘Watch Like Nobody’s Dancing.’
Good fun. I'm still smiling. I'd like to work with this narrator...or would I?
Such a good story! I love it! Thank you.