Chief Elf: “More water damage reports?”
Dispatcher: “‘Fraid so, sir. Pouring in from all over.”
Chief Elf: “Pouring in?”
Dispatcher: “Ugh. Sorry. But it fits. Pretty much anything delivered or fabricated here between July and October has been compromised to some degree. Worse this year than ever.”
Shop Foreman: “And don’t even think it’s because of some procedure the lads are neglecting. The shop is literally melting out from under us, and there’s nothing we can do about it. Is the top brass going to fix this, or are they going to wait until we’re all swimming with the polar bears?”
Chief Elf: “Well, I’m going to have to bring it up with Mr. C. But I’m not looking forward to it. Especially not after Boxing Day.”
Dispatcher: “Yeah, I heard about that.”
Chief Elf: “I’ve never seen Mrs. C go off like that, for anything! We finally got Mr. C back into the house, and I think we’ve managed to get Her Majesty to be reasonable, but you can see from the glint in her eye that things ain’t never gonna be the same again.”
Shop Foreman: “Did the Boss ever manage to get the straw combed out of his beard?”
Chief Elf: “No. And I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that he’ll be doing his own laundry for awhile.”
Dispatcher: “Or that we’ll be doing it.”
Shop Foreman: “That won’t be happening, unless he wants a labor dispute on top of his other troubles.”
Chief Elf: “We have a mission. We will do whatever is necessary to accomplish it.”
Shop Foreman: “Says you, toady! You’re one more crack like that away from me filing a grievance on behalf of the lads over our unsafe working conditions! That melting ice is slippery, and you just might have an unfortunate accident on your next inspection, you keep this up!”
Chief Elf: “That doesn’t sound like the Christmas spirit to me.”
Shop Foreman: “The only spirit we’ve got left comes in bottles, and I don’t let anybody bring any out ’cause any spills will just make the ice melt faster!”
Dispatcher: “We could just switch poles.”
Chief Elf: “No good. It’s a longer journey to anyplace from the south pole than it is from the north. And besides, there’s a pack of scientists camped out there.
Shop Foreman: “Damned stoolies.”
Dispatcher: “At least the submarines only visited our present location occasionally. Man, was that a job, keeping ourselves hidden from them. Aren’t there other options?”
Chief Elf: “Not easy. On top of the other issues, we’ve got our brand to think of. It’s not like we can move to an island in the tropical Pacific and still claim to have a workshop at ‘the Pole’. Got any ideas?”
Shop Foreman: “What’re you asking me for? Ideas are your department, Mr. Big Bucks.”
Dispatcher: “I got one.”
Chief Elf: “Yeah? Spill.”
Dispatcher: “Poland.”
Chief Elf and Shop Foreman: “AAARRRGGH!!”
Dispatcher: “Argh yourselves. It’s on land, so it won’t melt out from under us. It’s cold enough in the winter so the winter activities departments won’t be at too much of a disadvantage. And the summer departments will be much better off. There are enough remote districts so that concealment won’t be too much of a problem. At least there won’t be any submarines trying to sneak up on us unawares from 100 fathoms down. And what do they call the people there? Poles! Easy on the brand. Presto.”
Chief Elf: “Elf, that notion’s just nuts enough that it might work. All threats aside, Mr. Foreman, we do have to do something, and soon. I’ll bring it up with Mr. C … um … just as soon as I feel I can.”
Shop Foreman: “And if you don’t, I will.”
Chief Elf: “And how would you propose to do that?”
Shop Foreman: “Quick and easy. I ask him one question, and if the Missus is there I ask anyway. ‘Boss, how long can you tread water?'”