Christmas Countdown Day 20
“Today, you are being punished. You will assist in the Christmas Mail Sorting Room. Quietly. Carefully. Under my supervision.” Joe sighed in relief. Peppermint nodded. Buttercup smiled weakly. Mason squinted. “…Mail?” Bob nodded. “Mail.”
“The Mailroom Meltdown”
(or: Bob Finally Snaps)
Bob returned from his break looking refreshed.
That alone was unsettling.
He was calm.
Centered.
Smelling faintly of pine and herbal tea.
And strapped securely to his chest in a baby carrier was the ham.
Swaddled.
Peaceful.
Radiating judgment.
Bob adjusted the carrier, patted the ham once, and said evenly:
“I’m back.”
No one spoke.
Peppermint whispered, “He seems… different.” Joe whispered, “That’s the therapy.” Buttercup whispered, “Is the ham asleep?” Mason whispered, “I want one.”
Bob looked directly at Mason.
“No.”
Mason accepted this.
THE PUNISHMENT
Bob clasped his hands behind his back.
“You are not attempting anything today. You are not planning. You are not improvising. You are not ‘testing ideas.’”
He shifted the ham gently.
“Today, you are being punished. You will assist in the Christmas Mail Sorting Room. Quietly. Carefully. Under my supervision.”
Joe sighed in relief. Peppermint nodded. Buttercup smiled weakly.
Mason squinted. “…Mail?”
Bob nodded. “Mail.”
THE MAILROOM
The mailroom was massive.
Mountains of letters. Sacks of envelopes. Endless conveyor belts humming softly.
Signs everywhere read: DO NOT SHAKE HANDLE WITH CARE NO GLITTER ABSOLUTELY NO GLITTER
Bob stationed himself dead center like a sentry. The ham baby slept soundly.
Peppermint sorted neatly. Buttercup read letters and quietly cried twice. Joe built an efficient system.
Mason behaved.
For almost seven minutes.
THE MOMENT EVERYTHING GOES WRONG
Mason picked up a glowing envelope.
It pulsed softly.
“Mason,” Peppermint said carefully, “put that down.”
Mason frowned. “It’s humming.”
Bob did not look up. “Do not shake it.”
Mason nodded.
Then shook it.
Once.
The envelope exploded.
A violent cloud of GLITTER detonated outward like a festive bomb.
Every letter in the room lifted into the air.
Paper flew. Wishes scattered. Elves screamed.
Someone yelled, “NOT AGAIN—” Another elf dove behind a sack of letters. A third screamed, “SAVE THE REINDEER DRAWINGS!”
The mailroom erupted into absolute anarchy.
Conveyor belts sped up. Chutes opened. Letters rained from the ceiling like snow possessed by rage.
Peppermint was hit in the face with a letter addressed to “SANTA PLEASE HELP.” Buttercup vanished under flying envelopes. Joe screamed, “THIS WAS A GOOD SYSTEM—”
Mason stood in the center, glitter-covered and delighted.
“…Worth it.”
BOB LOSES IT
Bob froze.
The ham baby woke up.
Bob stared at the chaos.
The glitter. The screaming. The flying mail. The broken rules.
Something inside him snapped.
“NO.”
His voice cut through the room.
Then louder—
“NO. NO NO NO NO NO.”
He spun in a slow circle, glitter clinging to his beard, ham bouncing gently in the carrier.
“THIS—THIS IS WHY I CAN’T SET YOU DOWN,” he shouted, gesturing at Mason. “THIS IS WHY THE HAM IS STRAPPED TO MY CHEST.”
He stomped once.
“EVERY TIME I THINK I HAVE CONTROL—”
He pointed at the flying letters.
“GLITTER.”
The ham baby squeaked.
Bob rocked it instinctively while yelling.
“YOU ARE BANNED FROM MAIL. YOU ARE BANNED FROM SORTING. YOU ARE BANNED FROM EXISTING NEAR PAPER.”
Elves fled. Letters continued raining. Someone blew a whistle.
Bob took one last look at the Chaos Four.
“OUT.”
They did not argue.
❌ Attempt #13: FAILED (VIOLENTLY)
They sat outside afterward, buried in snow and glitter.
Peppermint whispered, “I think we broke Bob.” Buttercup nodded solemnly. Joe stared into the distance. “That was my favorite system.” Mason grinned. “Mail is fragile.”
Behind them, Bob could still be heard shouting.
The ham baby burped.
Bob paused.
“…I’m sorry,” he whispered to it.
