Evil Elves and Secret Satans

What is it about this time of year that makes people who work in offices think they have a license to elf? In fact, when did the word "elf" become a verb? Shortly after Thanksgiving these homemade signs started popping up on cubicle walls all over my department depicting some spastic dwarf in festive garb jumping up and down (I can only assume that's what he's doing) and a caption reading "Ive been Elfed!" I found out one morning when I arrived at my stall in the cube farm what it means to be "elfed". "Elfing", it seems, is the useless-gift-giving equivalent of a chain letter. In this case, the instructions that came along with my elfage said to make two copies of the sign and the instructions and inflict two of my co-workers with a carb-laden gift accompanied by these two documents. Then post the copy of the sign I had been given on my cube so that all and sundry would know that I was no longer on the "hit list". A munchkin pyramid scheme in other words.

I suppose this was the inevitable evolution of the whole "Secret Santa" scheme. That one was far less objectionable because participation was entirely voluntary. You don't wanna play, don't put your name in the drawing and you're opted out automatically.

Not good enough for some people, obviously. Maybe there weren't enough participants or something. I don't know -- nor do I care. But this newest game you have to opt out of explicitly. Otherwise, you'll arrive at your desk to discover that you've been opted in without your consent. Someone who barely knows you has decided to inflict the "holiday spirit" upon you. Worse, the task is supposed to be carried out in secret so you don't even know who your assailant might have been.

Well Bah-Effing-Humbug. Is it not bad enough that there are people running around with tinkling ornaments pinned to their clothing (which probably bears an ill-rendered applique of snowmen or reindeer or some other festive dreck)? Did you not get enough of a fix from the 6-foot plastic Christmas tree by the microwave? Is the endless parade of empty calories on the printer table insufficient to slake your yuletide lust? Did the departmental "Holiday Luncheon" not do it for you?

Even if all of that is true, why did you have top bring me into your mania?? Was I "asking for it"? Was my usual work attire too subdued for your taste? Or do you simply feel that "I really wanted it, I just needed to be convinced"?

What I really wanted to do more than anything when I discovered this violation of my space was hurl the offending items across the room and bellow obscenities. Fortunately, there was an unoccupied chair close at hand where I could deposit the unwanted booty and make it someone else's problem, so no one had to lose an eye to a flying sack of cookies. And just to prove that there is at least a little justice in the world -- even for assholes like me -- the aforementioned empty chair belonged to (you guessed it) the one who'd elfed me in the first place. Just dumb luck.

Epilogue: So far I've gotten two requests for copies of my "No Elfing Zone" sign.Stumble This!