Celebrating Christmas in the factory was always a challenge, because more often than not, we were being forced to work excessive hours during that time of the year. If at all possible, I would try to get at least one week's worth of vacation time around Christmas and New Years Eve. Two weeks was better, of course, but not always do-able. So, since I could not go home to Christmas, I would have to bring some Christmas to work with me. One Christmas season in particular, I brought a miniature plastic tree with me.
Unfortunately, I had no miniature ornaments with which to decorate it, so that tree sat by my work-site for a couple days with nothing at all on it. One fellow on the Quality Control (QC) team, would come by to check our finished parts, and kept commenting on our naked Christmas tree. Eventually he stopped by, fiddled with the little tree for a moment, and then made the comment, "see? A cartridge in a bare tree." I looked, and saw a rifle bullet balanced in the branches of the tree. That was the beginnings of the weirdest little Christmas tree on record.
The bullet was eventually removed, but in its place were some "home-made" ornaments direct from the factory floor. Metal washers graced tiny branches, while strands of copper wire mysteriously coiled themselves around the tree like tinsel garland. When I was not looking, that tree gathered to itself nuts, bolts, bits of tin, and more copper until it glinted under the flourescent lights like the snow outside the windows. Management was not particularly pleased.
Several times they tried to remove the offending debris from the little tree, but every time it grew back again. I had no control over that. My boss would come by, stare at the tree, and tell me that I didn't have time to play with stupid Christmas trees. I just shrugged and professed my innocence. Judging by the expression on her face I guess I didn't look innocent enough. Nevertheless, my cute little "shop" tree kept piling on the decorations all month long, until finally it held so many shiny metal objects that it tipped over.
Most of the ornaments fell off and the tree was returned to its customary upright position. I walked away to get something and when I came back, the ornaments were back in place on the tree, and there were several of my co-workers rubber-necking over their shoulders and grinning from ear to ear. It seemed that my little tree had some accomplices. It also had a critic or two. One woman came over, stared at that tree, stared at me, shook her head, grinned and murmered, "sometimes we just have to love you." I believe she was implying something there but please don't tell me what.
My Christmas tree stayed right in that spot for the whole month of December, quietly grooming itself with the finest array the dingy, drab, dirty factory had to offer, until finally I was told with no uncertain terms that the parts would have to relinquish the Christmas tree in order for us to use them in the starters we were building. The little tree did not like that too much, and it promptly put a death grip on that copper wire that could not be broken without removing branches from the tree itself. Poor thing practically wilted under its own nudity.
I kept trying different things to decorate that little tree, but it just would not have it. It rejected nearly everything I offered, and the whole tree just seemed to sulk more with each passing day. Finally, one afternoon while eating more than a few pieces of chocolate, I discovered while crumpling up the foil wrapper, that the resulting misshapen ball somewhat resembled a miniature Christmas tree ornament. That was the revelation my little tree needed to get a brand new zest for life. I did my best to decorate that tree all by myself but the chocolate binge gave me a sugar buzz like you would not believe.
Finally, I incorporated a few friends to help me eat a bucket-load of chocolate candy and saved all of the wrappers, squashed them into little metallic balls, then stuck hooks through them and hung them on the tree. Somehow, it just was not the same. It seemed to pale in comparison to the one I used to have. Now people really were looking at me oddly, but I didn't care, at least I still had my little bit of Christmas down at the factory. And that tree wore its new uniform just as proudly as the old one, even if people laughed at it every time they walked by. Or were they laughing at me? Only the tree knows for sure and it isn't telling.
