elf — Mrs. Claus NYC — mrsclausnyc.com

Photo by Michelle V. Agins of The New York Times

Last week, New York City companies were required to list salary ranges in their job descriptions. The New York Times had fun and made a quiz.

I took it.

And guess what?

The first question pertains to the hourly rate of Macy’s elves. I guessed correctly.

Hmmm.

Give it a go.

Hint. Aim low.

costumes, lifestyle, nyc, santaAnn VotawNovember 7, 2022salary, elf, macy's, holidays

Celebrations of light all around

I am also Scrappy the Elf as well as Mrs. Claus.

On my first day of work as an elf at a secret department store, that rhymes with “oomingdales,” a family of three came into the sixth floor Santaland.

The mother and father had an infant in a stroller. They oohed and ahhhed at their little one’s expressions of amazement.

“I don’t know why we’re so into this,” they told me. “We’re Jewish.”

I took them aside and said, “Little secret here. So is Santa.”

Santa wished them a Happy Hanukkah and they left thrilled.

In New York City, Santa is a symbol of non-denominational joy.

Tomorrow is Monday, December 6. At sundown, Hanukkah, a minor Jewish holiday, ends in its eighth day.

Happy Hanukkah to everyone!

santa, nyc, COVID-19Ann VotawDecember 5, 2021elf, department store, santa, hanukkah

Clauses Visit Way, Way, Way Uptown

Santa, Mrs. Claus, and our elf pose in front of the oldest remaining Dutch farmhouse in Manhattan. Photo by S. Braun

Santa — or rather my friend who portrays him — instantly “married” me as he came into view.

I happened to be waiting for him by the trailers of Holy Trinity Church Inwood, the church’s temporary headquarters during renovations. I could just see the white beard and the top of his cap bobbing along near Academy Street here in Upper Manhattan.

My friend’s son, dressed as an elf, bobbed along beside him. So not only was I matched with a text-to-order spouse, I now had a 9-year-old son who was trying to keep up with his much taller dad.

I had always wanted a child! How lovely not to go through the birthing process or have to worry about this sweet boy’s dental care or college fund.

With six feet between us, Santa and I waved, solidifying our social bubble in the changeable land of COVID-19.

My friend had donned a red suit with white trim. And I wore an Edwardian-inspired walking suit with a green waistcoat and a long red skirt striped down the front with sequin panels of red, green, and gold.

“Merry Christmas!” my new son and hubby called to me.

“Merry Christmas!” I shouted back.

All three of us wore masks.

My cell phone marked the time as 4:45 PM. Now a ready-made family of three, we were running late. I hate being late. Then I reminded myself of our very loose plans. We were to walk up Broadway to wish business owners a Merry Christmas. This would be a goofy surprise, not a sanctioned event.

During the pandemic, there was no hurry because there was nowhere to go. Here in New York City, indoor dining was suspended to prevent the spread of the coronavirus. The vibrant neighborhood had put on an ill-fitting coat of stillness.

Four Decembers ago, I had gotten the idea to become Mrs. Claus for a RING Garden tree lighting. The organizers were good-natured enough to say “yes,” even though they had no idea what to do with Santa’s wife as a party guest. I had no idea myself.

As a 40-something-year-old former dancer, I thought it would be fun to have a seasonal performing gig. Male actor friends put on the red suit each year, and I wanted to “fly” like them, even if going airborne was only pretend. Becoming a Claus would give me performing opportunities I could grow into as I aged. With my type-A personality, I took my interest to the next level.

I graduated from Charles W. Howard Santa Claus School in 2018. I became the founding president of the New York City Santas in February 2020, when “coronavirus” was just crazy talk instead of a real threat that would affect the entire human race.

Santa, our son, and I passed the outdoor porches of the Dyckman Street restaurants. “Merry Christmas!” Cameras came out of bags. A few customers got up from their tables to snap selfies (elfies).

We approached Starbucks on Broadway and Dyckman and discussed our route. We would travel north on both the east and west side of Broadway and knock on windows. This was going to be a-m-a-z-i-n-g!

Tonight, the day after the conjunction, when Jupiter and Saturn were so close to each other they could have been planetary lovers, weather was mild. I wore only one skirt this evening, instead of doubling up with the heavy green satin petticoat I liked during freezing events. The ground and bits of sidewalk were still dotted with sharp shards of brown and black snow left from an earlier storm.

Santa and I knocked on the windows of Starbucks. The employees inside waved vigorously. Bob in the Broadyke Meat Market was there, friendly as always.

And up we went, like trick-or-treaters.

Our journey included visits to dollar stores, barbershops, and a tattoo parlor.

The Christmas tree guys, Samuel and Hasaan, were gone from their spot by Rite Aid on the east side. It was three days before Christmas, and they were sold out of trees.

The fellas at the outdoor fry-up on 207th yelled, “Hey!” They all knew Santa.

So did the man who runs the Halal truck across the street on the west side.

At Queens Nail Salon, my favorite manicurists came out to snap our photos and pose in front of the store.

We Clauses were having so much fun. Imagine knocking on a shop window dressed like a yuletide explosion during a global pandemic. It’s such a rush.

Here’s what I noticed:

First, taco places are big now in Inwood. It’s a trend.
Second, restaurant owners are trying their darndest to adapt to constantly changing rules. Tubby Hook, for instance, has a plastic-covered front enclosure with a see-through roof to provide more warmth in the day.
Third, many businesses are dark with “for rent” signs in front. I can’t even remember what was in some of these places, but I feel an ambiguous loss for what is no longer there