I was waiting at a bus stop one morning when a little man with a beard walked up wearing a red and green elf’s hat. “Happy Holidays!” said the hat. “Happy Holidays!” I replied. “Happy Holidays!” concluded the man. The bus idled with its doors shut. Inside, the driver was scrolling through Facebook on his phone and ignoring us with a practiced confidence. It wasn’t time to go yet. The elf stood behind me and coughed. We had about ten minutes to wait until the scheduled departure, and I regretted not having something to do. Something to eat or drink, or something to scroll. I looked at my watch and found I’d forgotten it. Try to enjoy not knowing the time. Suddenly, the elf issued two sharp hacks and, turning his head, vomited a watery pint onto the sidewalk. The sky was bright blue and clear that morning, and it was very cold. I shifted my gaze to the horizon and scrolled over the contours of the skyline. The elf spat residual effluvia, mumbled something to himself, and then walked away. I shifted my weight. A minute passed and then the driver put away his phone and opened the door. “Happy holidays,” I said as I boarded. “Happy holidays,” said the driver. This is the second day in a row someone has thrown up while waiting for the bus with me.
Tonight’s suggested event is a hot toddy, so raise a cup of steaming cup of sweet lemony bourbon to the elf in your life.