Santa’s little helper

By Will Smith

“Just treat me like any other elf.” I make this entreaty to my shift supervisor at Santa’s Grotto in Bluewater shopping mall, Kent. It’s the kind of thing said by television cops in locker rooms: “I know you all think I didn’t get here on merit, that I didn’t earn my stripey waistcoat. But I’m a good elf; I’ve got Santa’s back.” Not that there’s any chance of me coming off as macho: I’m wearing a name-badge saying “Snowdrop”. Nonetheless my request is granted and I spend the morning getting the full picture of grotto life.

Many elf duties turn out to be standard retail skills. As part of my induction day the previous week, I had been shown how to use a credit-card machine, change a till roll, and install paper in a photographic printer. I also learnt elf make-up requirements—red nose and cheeks—and that, although I will be given an elf outfit, I am expected to “put the magic in the costume”. This means maintaining “character integrity”. I can never be off-duty when elf-dressed. If a child stops to speak to me when I’m on a break, I am not Will. I am Snowdrop.