Disclaimer: I do not own RENT or Elf.
A/N Just an idea that kind of popped into my head a while ago. All mistakes are my own. I've had to muck around with the timing of both stories in order to get this to work out.
The holiday season in New York city comes in many packages. For some, the holidays are about the tree at Rockefeller Center, shopping at Gimbals and the magic of the hustle and bustle of shopping for loved ones. For others it's spending time with family and the series of never-ending dinners to attend with relatives you can barely tolerate. But for me and my friends, the holidays mean long nights, cold days, no heat and trying to scrape together enough money to pay the rent.
December had only begun, and already my life savings, which I saved in an old sock in my drawer, were dwindling. I decided to bite the bullet and actually count how much I had left. It was with a heavy heart that I realized that we would be lucky to have the rent by the end of the month, let alone buy food and AZT. Roger was down to his last pills in the bottle. It was time to take desperate measures: I needed to find a job.
I went down to the Food Emporium and bought a copy of the Times and picked up the Village Voice. Luckily, December was a good time of year to find temporary work. The classified sections were thick with requests for people to bag, box and stack merchandise in the many retail establishments the city has to offer. I returned to the loft, spread out the paper and started circling ads with the ballpoint I had found on the sidewalk.
Roger found me sitting on the couch trying to narrow down the jobs that I had circled. I put Xs through the ones that were too far away or involved selling my soul or questionably legal actions. He stared at me for a moment. "Mark, what the hell are you doing?"
I looked up at him. "I'm looking for a job"
"Why? I thought we were doing OK."
"I think we're going to be short this month, especially if Benny continues to act like a jerk. We need food and you need AZT."
"I guess. Any luck?"
"Yeah, lots of places are hiring for Christmas. I heard even Maureen got a part-time job at an adult bookstore. Unfortunately, they're not hiring, and most of the places Alphabet City aren't either. I may have to work in Corporate America."
"Wall Street?"
"No, worse. Santa Land at Gimbals."
"I always thought you'd make a good elf."
"I'm Jewish!"
"Yeah, so you'd be willing to work Christmas Eve. Who knows, maybe there are other Jewish elves?"
"I'll have to ask the next time I meet a real elf."
"Maybe you'll meet one in Santa Land."
"Very funny."
"How bad could it be? Look at the ad: plenty of hours, lots of different kinds of jobs, and they offer decent wages. No dental or medical, but it is seasonal employment.. You should call them, Mark."
After ten more minutes of looking through the ads I had circled, I decided that Roger was right. The work wouldn't be terrible, aside from being a bit boring and it wasn't too far to travel by subway or bus. Walking would be a little much. I decided to call the Human Resources department at Gimbals.
At 1:30 that afternoon, I was riding the subway wearing what Roger called my "Grown-up costume" which consisted of an oxford shirt and navy tie, and navy blue slacks. I wore dark shoes and dress pants, and had traded my usual corduroy jacket for a tweed one that I borrowed from Collins. The managers at Gimbals were exceptionally pleased to take my call this morning. The holiday rush had been larger than anticipated, and the store was desperate for more workers. I had an interview at 2:00 and had the possibility of starting work at 4:00 if all went well.
The store was decorated to the teeth for the holidays. I saw Christmas Trees interspersed with menorahs and stars of David. Kwanzaa colors and candles were added to the mix. Fake snow and winter scenes were featured in the display windows. Lights were strung on every floor and tinny-sounding carols blared through the loudspeaker.
I arrived about ten minutes early for my interview, so I people-watched for a while. A man in a three-piece suit was waiting in line, tapping his foot impatiently. Two little girls were skipping in front of a harried-looking woman carrying several shopping bags. A man in a green coat, gold tights and pointy hat had inadvertently tasted perfume and was now doing the splits on the escalator.
At precisely 2:00 pm, the office door opened and I was escorted inside. The interview was a joke. I was asked to make change for a five dollar bill, count to fifteen and sign my name. Apparently, elves in Santa Land needed very few qualifications. At 2:10 I was presented with tax forms and a uniform then directed to the washroom to change for my shift. I wondered what would be in store for me.