Freeze Frame

The elves are busy this time of year.

The bespectacled, red-haired clerk behind the window at the local post office wears a green Santa hat, trimmed with white fur. The name "Kevin" is spelled out in shiny script on one side of the hat. Kevin, who might be 35 or 40, wears a dark green vest over his uniformed, slightly chubby torso. The vest is festooned with pins and medals: tiny wreaths, silver bells, buttons that say "Happy Holidays!" He wears a tie that portrays a crowd of jovial snowmen of all shapes and sizes.

Most of the women customers at the window make similar comments about his attire: "You look wonderful," "It makes me happy just to look at you," "I love your tie; where did you get it?" The men stare and smile, but most say nothing more than "I need a dozen stamps" or "I'd like to send this package to . . ."

The clerk works rapidly, stamping packages, fetching boxes, poking the cash register. He is sure of himself and efficient, and behaves no differently than he would if dressed normally, except that he keeps saying "have a great holiday," in a practiced theatrical voice, over and over again.