Nick settled into the chair facing the computer and unbuttoned his fur-lined coat.  Being indoors for any length of time made him uncomfortable, especially now.  December was their busiest month, and these dreaded Zoom meetings took up valuable time. Of course, being overweight didn’t help, but that didn’t explain the beads of sweat forming on his brow.  No, it was the annual performance appraisal season. With a sigh, he wrapped his chubby hand around the mouse and clicked the link.

A rainbow wheel spun hypnotically for several seconds before admitting him.  A brief message–your meeting will start shortly—appeared in the chat box.  His supervisor—a man at least half his age—appeared sitting in a room devoid of decoration.  He was hot desking from the Mumbai office, pretending to read some paperwork.  Nick gently tugged on the gold chain attached to his vest and pulled out an antique watch—a gift passed down through several generations.  The subtle hint finally caught the younger man’s attention.

The latter unmuted and cleared his throat.   “It’s time, isn’t it Nick?”  The way he phrased it—part statement, part question—put Nick on edge.  He had a sense the supervisor wasn’t referring to the hour.

“Time?”  Nick played with his long white beard, something he did unconsciously when nervous.

“Yes, time.  Time for you to…”  His supervisor hesitated for a second before continuing with a quick plastic smile.  “Transition,” he said finally.  “You know, start that exciting next phase of your life with Mrs. Clause.”

“I have an exciting life,” Nick countered indignantly.  “A very exciting life.” The euphemism for retirement didn’t fool him a bit. Decades of separating the naughty from the nice had fine-tuned his B.S. detector.   “I’m still in my prime and not ready to be put out to pasture.”

“Put out to pasture,” the young man guffawed.  “What a quaint way of putting it.” He swept his arm across the desk as if wiping an invisible piece of dust. “Look, Nick, we have a great severance package.  And it’s not really a choice.  It’s time.”

“Sounds like age discrimination to me,” Nick said, adding a few sarcastic Ho, Ho, Hos for effect.  “Maybe I should speak with the EEO officer about this.”

“Now, calm down, Nick.  There are other factors at play here.  We need to cut costs, downsize. And, well, there are some issues with your performance.”

“My performance?  What do you mean?  They love me.  Everyone loves me. I have letters…”

The supervisor smiled.  “Letters, yes, I’m glad you brought that up.  Because kids don’t write letters anymore.  Nor do their parents.”

Nick had to acknowledge that he had not been getting as many handwritten letters as he had in the past.  Some of the elves had encouraged him to build a social media presence, but words like “meme” and “Tik-Tok” made him dizzy.

“And you did get confused in that snowstorm last year,” the younger man continued.  “Giving Susie a baseball glove and Michael an Easy Bake Oven could have been a disaster.  Luckily, there’s a movement now against gender stereotyping, so it made us look sophisticated.”

“Gender-what?”  Nick hated all these new marketing buzzwords.

“Plus,” the young man said, “reindeer can be ornery, unpredictable.  Remember that problem with Prancer getting Vixen pregnant? And how he wouldn’t own it?”

How could Nick forget?  All that unnecessary drama over abortion rights.

“We don’t have to worry about reindeer or human error anymore,” Nick’s supervisor continued.  “We’ve created a self-driving sleigh with state-of-the-art GPS that will pinpoint every kid’s chimney within inches.

“You’re doing away with reindeer?”  Nick was incredulous.  “What next?  I suppose you’ll soon be replacing me!”

“Listen, Nick,” the supervisor said. The world is changing.  We need to rebrand.”

“Rebrand?”

“Yes, the ‘jolly old St. Nick’ trope is dated, unhealthy even.  It encourages kids to eat too much sugar.  Our market analysis suggests we need a Santa who is slim and fit.  Preferably someone with rock-solid abs, buns of steel.  Someone who made Time Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive list.”

“What?”  Nick stood up suddenly and slapped his belly with both hands, causing it to jiggle like a bowl of jelly. “Kids don’t want some fat-shaming mascot promoting an unattainable body image.  They want someone who accepts them for who they are.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” the supervisor said.  “I think it could work.  Look at how well Barbie did at the box office. Those dolls are flying off the shelves this year. Plus, we’re working on a Taylor Swift endorsement.”

Nick could not argue with all that.  He sat back down.  The world was changing.  He looked up, his normally twinkly eyes blank.  “So, you’ve already got someone?  Who?”

“Artie.”

“Artie?”  The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Nick could not quite place it.  Maybe he should have read those internal memos a bit more closely.

“Artie Ingram,” the supervisor said, brightly.  “He’s like a steel Dwayne Johnson who can respond to a variety of emails and social media posts for hours on end, wrap and label multiple gifts accurately within seconds, and is willing to work in hazardous, unfriendly environments.  Plus, we don’t have to give him any health benefits.”

“Ah, but is this Artie guy willing to relocate to the North Pole?”  Nick chuckled.  “Surely that will be a game changer.”

“Oh, I’m glad you reminded me,” the supervisor said.  “We are moving the toy factory out of the Arctic.  With climate change and all those melting glaciers, that outpost will be submerged underwater within a few years.  We can’t risk it anymore.”

“No more North Pole?  That’s unthinkable.   Where will you take it?”

“The whole operation is moving south, south to Mexico.  And the best part is, Mexico will pay for it.”

I’ve heard that before, thought Nick with a scowl.  He stood up slowly, squeezing the white bobble on his cap.  Running a hand through his thinning hair, he turned back to the screen.

“And what about the elves?” he asked.  “What will you do with all of them?  When they hear about the move, there is likely to be a work stoppage.  Right before Christmas.”

“What?!  They can’t do that!  Not now.  We don’t have everything in place just yet.”

“Guess you need to talk to their union rep,” Nick said.  And laying a finger aside of his mouse, he clicked and left the session.