| |
THE HARSH LIGHT OF the afternoon streamed through my window and into my eyes. I groaned and stretched my legs out, knocking my computer and a pile of papers onto the floor. I didn’t recall closing my eyes last night, much less falling asleep. I hoped I’d made it through more of the Naughty List than I remembered. Collecting the papers off the ground, I looked at my notes. I only had about a dozen presents noted—not even close to done. And finishing before Christmas would be impossible. I needed to come up with a better plan.
I started to trudge out of my room to find something to eat when I back-pedaled before the door shut. I had to mark my door so I could find it again. The large fabric mat with a reindeer on it would be perfect. I tied a ribbon around his neck. With a tack in the door's top, he hung up perfectly. Well, it did look like Rudolf had a noose around his neck—slightly morbid—but it would have to do.
I sought out the kitchen where I met with Ginger last night. When I entered the room, I realized it was filled to capacity. It must double as the lunch break room because an exhausted-looking elf filled almost every chair. I received a few odd looks when I entered, but almost everybody ignored me, too intent on their meals. The good part, though? Proper food.
I followed the small group of elves that entered the room before me, and we queued up into a cafeteria-style line. I picked up a plate more suited for a child, and since the countertops spread out at my knees, I kept the plate in my hands instead of sliding it along the countertop as the others did. I chose an egg salad sandwich and a bowl of fruit. Thankfully, the elf in charge of the sandwiches saw my dilemma and made my sandwich extra full.
After I made it back to my room—in record time, thanks to the reindeer on the door with the hangman’s noose around his neck—I scooped my laptop up off the floor. I had an idea on how to figure out the Naughty List. I dug my portable document scanner out of my bag and plugged it into my computer.
I’d brought my portable scanner home to my parents’ house for Christmas, because I—feeling like the most boring person alive—would usually spend my holiday time importing receipts into my accounting program, preparing my parents’ tax files for their business. Now, while my mother remained annoyed with me for not being a part of the family business, she was not above using my accounting program to her benefit. At least now, the scanner might be useful to me.
I seemed to have a knack for setting up these programs so that the scanned documents were uploaded into selected categories and spat out results designated by the program. Results such as the need to increase flower orders, or changes needed in advertising, worked for my parents’ event planning business in California. Therefore, I saw no reason it wouldn’t work for Santa’s business as well.
I hoped that with a few modifications of input—such as age, what sort of trouble the children got into, and where they lived—the program would produce an automated response as to what the best gift would be for all the naughties.
I spent the afternoon and most of the evening pacing back and forth to the kitchen for more sustenance and guiding jammed papers through the scanner. At about the time the clock on the wall jingled out the tune of midnight—to a very long and incessant tune of Deck the Halls—I finally had all the information imported into the computer. Little blips ran down the screen. The program worked.
And there it was: a lawyer for Randal Hemlock, and weekly gymnastic classes for five-year-old Ruby Anne Gable, who needed some structure and physical activity. I pumped my arms into the air. I had just saved Christmas!
I did a little happy jig around the room and then crawled back into bed. I lay there, staring at the tiny strobes of color thrown upon the ceiling as the lights around the window blinked their lazy pattern.
I smiled to myself. I had done it. I would save Christmas.