The Fountain of Truth

St. Nick's Gym (Part 5)

A few days after his marriage to Martha began, jolly St. Nick began expressing himself through a catchphrase.

"Ho ho ho," he'd often say every morning, to express the newfound joy in his heart.

Eventually the elves caught onto his catchphrase, and they, too, began to use it.

"Ho ho ho," they'd respond in kind.

Because it was his thing, St. Nick eventually had to whip them. But he let them enjoy themselves for a while. It was a fun thing to say.

But, as time progressed, and the thrill of having a partner in his life began to equalize with the rest of his daily routine, his old attitudes began to resurface, and the next thing he knew, he was back to business, treating the elves like employees rather than as friends, and his life found a new balance that kept him content for the next ten years, but not necessarily happy.

One day when he was buffing the side of his rowing machine, an elf came to him crying. He didn't ask what was wrong, or offer any type of compassion that could calm the elf down. He simply stared at him. When the elf saw that he would do nothing more to acknowledge his grief than to fix his gaze upon him, he broke down into a smattering mess of explaining things.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," said the elf. "I didn't mean to do it. I tried to stop it, but I couldn't. It just happened. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry."

St. Nick said nothing. He just stared.

"It won't happen again. Promise. I'm so sorry."

St. Nick went back to buffing the side of his rowing machine.

"I didn't mean to break the treadmill," the elf said. "I thought I could train our reindeer to run faster. Didn't mean to ruin the belt. So sorry, so sorry, please don't kill me."

St. Nick wiped a layer of grime off the rowing machine and tossed the rag to his side. Then he grabbed another rag and wiped off another layer.

"Please forgive me. I'm so sorry."

St. Nick tossed the new rag on top of the old one. Then he stared at the elf. The elf's eyes were wide in their plea for mercy.

"So sorry."

Finally, St. Nick shrugged, then went back to polishing the rowing machine.

The elf walked away confused, clearly thinking he was about to receive the beating of a lifetime. But St. Nick didn't have the heart for it. Truth was, he was beginning to tire of his job, and he didn't care anymore if something broke around here.

When he went to bed that night, he told Martha what had happened. In her usual calming way, she told him what was wrong.

"You're stuck in a rut. Change it up a little, eh?"

He scoffed at her.

"What are you talking about? I don't get stuck in ruts."

"Everyone gets stuck in a rut eventually. It's called repetition and boredom. You make gym equipment all the time. Make something else. It'll make you feel better, eh?"

When he told her he was at a loss for ideas, she reminded him that he used to make dolls and mannequins for fun.

"I have too many bodies standing around here already," he told her. "It's not really the change I need."

She winked at him.

"Try it anyway. It's different. You used to enjoy it, right?"

He shrugged.