Joe in the Box: A Christmas Story

There was no use in trying to hide, the box was clear as day. Joe could crouch in the corner, but everyone outside of the box could see him. He could squeeze his face into a corner where two walls met, but then the people on the other side would just see his nose smudged into the plexi-glass, his snot streaking the clean surface of the inside of the box. Even when he squeezed his eyes closed, he was not invisible. Those on the outside could see the wrinkles on his eyelids grow the harder he tried to close them.

The box was only transparent from the outside. All Joe could see was his reflection. The interior was opaque, he wasn’t stuck in an infinite loop of boxes with a naked Joe inside. His reflection on all sides was slightly milky and out of focus. The box was just tall enough for him to crouch in it, and he could reach the sides of the box with his outreached hands.

While he felt grimy, the air was fresh in the box, air conditioned and faintly moving from one corner to the other. When he lifted his foot, the damp condensation beneath his soles evaporated immediately and left a faint streak where he had just stood.

Why he was in the box, Joe didn’t know. Joe didn’t even know that he was in a box. He could have been under the ocean, inside a mountain, or on a rooftop or just anywhere other than where he was.

Most Christmas tree baubles fit on the tree, but Joe’s box had to be put underneath the boughs and onto the floor. He was this year’s Guardian grinch mascot. All of the new writers and contributors to the Guardian had their mettle put to the test at the Christmas party. . Could they put their emotions aside and gaze at Joe in the box without any emotions? Could they see the irony and justice in a 30-something white English man made into a ornament for a religious holiday and becoming an object of the gaze of the cultural elite?

At first glance the journalists were not sure of the degree of irony. Was Joe part of the cultural elite? It was hard to tell, it isn’t often that you see a panicking elite naked and hunched over in a cube on the glass. The new employees also discovered the importance of eye contact- Joe’s unfocused eyes, worn exhausted by constantly seeing his pitiful reflection in the walls of his box, had resigned themselves to be sources of pain and not information. The Guardian writers found it so difficult to read the man if his eyes were glazed and no longer engaged. How interesting!
After the degree of irony was established, the green writers were meant to discern the measure of justice of this particular person’s fate. Did their position in the world subject them to deserving this? Was their imprisonment a form of retribution from the world? A socialist karma?

Or look closer! Does J0e seem upset, does he seem unjustly done? If not, perhaps this was a form of penance on their part! Do they, instead of our pity, deserve our applause? Did he step into the box willingly, crouching down steadfastly as they sealed the lid?

Frances jerked her head a little when she had first stepped into the banquet room and saw Joe in his box. She was embarrassed, because she could have sworn that she had seen a naked man crouching in a brightly lit box placed underneath the Christmas tree. She took a few steps closer. Her jaw dropped when she saw that her first impression was true.

Her editor, Laurence, stepped silently behind her.

‘Hideous, right?’ He asked, waiting to see Frances’ reaction.

She took a second to think of the right reply. ‘What is he doing there?’

Laurence nodded. ‘An excellent question. His name is Joe and he is the Christmas Party Grinch mascot this year.’

‘The Christmas Party Grinch?’ Asked Frances, confused.

‘No, no, the Grinch was the victim of the xenophobic and ableist Whos who shunned Mr. Grinch when he ‘couldn’t just enjoy himself and get along’. Joe here is a representative, an emblem of that poor, unfortunate Mr. Grinch’s tribulations.’

Frances nodded. ‘I see, I see. Fascinating.’

Laurence gestured at the party. ‘Are you enjoying yourself?’

Frances half-smiled. ‘Yes, I think - I think so, but is he alright, Laurence? The mascot?’

Laurence frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, he seems like he might be uncomfortable there? Is he crying?’

Laurence shook his head briefly. ‘Not every discontent white man’s story matters. Why didn’t you ask more about Mr. Grinch’s story? Are you already familiar with it? You seem to not be very interested in his story of neglect and oppression.’

Frances grabbed a glass of wine from the passing waiter. ‘I have seen one of the movies, I think.’

‘No no no’ Said Laurence, grabbing his own glass of organic wine, ‘Enough with that whitewashed story. Oh dear, let me guess, you felt bad for the Whos?’

Laura bobbed her head side to side in a gesture of ambiguity. ‘Well, I mean he did ruin their Christmas, kind of.’

Laurence remained silent and cooled to Frances. ‘Indeed, the inconvenience they faced must have been unbearable.’ Laurence made eye contact with the sports editor across the room and excused himself from his conversation with Frances.

Frances looked around the room at the other writers and their editors at this party. She was the only one wearing a dress, it seemed. No one was looking over at Joe. She walked over to a fellow journeyman, Tod, and pointed at Joe in his box. ‘Do you see that, too?’

Tod nodded. ‘Indeed, I have heard about the Grinch mascot before. I didn’t realize it was so wickedly incisive, though.’

‘Do you think he is OK?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Should we say something?’

Tod shrugged. ‘I don’t know - just think of him as the entertainment or something, just a naked man hired for the evening.’

‘You think he is hired?’ She asked.

Tom had no idea. ‘He could even be a volunteer?’

Frances looked over at Joe in his box. ‘But he seems to be crying again. Is he huddled in the corner?’

Tod looked more closely? ‘I don’t know, you might be projecting. Can he even be out of a corner there? Can he even be happy? You might have too high of expectations here. Oh look, canapes!’ Tod smiled at Frances and left her to find someone else to eat snacks with.

Frances stood there, staring at Joe in his box. He was lying on the bottom of the box now. He was sideways, awkwardly angled away from the guests, which seemed to only make sense if he could not see everyone else in the room. Could he see her? She walked up towards the box to get a better look.

Joe was lying there with his eyes closed. He had his knees up to his chest, and his ass was lying in the middle of the box, presented to her without any hint of self-modesty. Surely, he can’t see me, she prayed. She got closer to the box and raised up a hand to tap on the glass.

‘Please do not disturb the Grinch Mascot!’ Shouted a senior editor from the bar. ‘Please do not interfere!’

Frances pulled back her fist and hid it in her other hand. She turned, blushing and apologized with her eyes. The room had gone silent and turned towards her when the editor had shouted out, but they now returned to their conversations.

‘Hello! Excuse me!’ Shouted Frances in a sharp voice just loud enough to reach the box, but not any deputy editors that might be keeping an eye on her. ‘Hello! Can you hear me?’

Joe didn’t reply. He remained in the fetal position, his eyes closed.

‘HELLO! WAKE UP!’ shouted Laurence from behind Frances. Frances let out a little shriek and Joe started in his box.

‘Hello!’ shouted Joe. His voice only came through as a whisper. The box was well sealed, and Joe was not even sure he had really heard anything.

‘See, he is fine, Frances. Please enjoy the festivities.’ Laurence wandered back into the party again.

‘Hello! Can anyone hear me? Please help!’ came the small voice from within the box. ‘I am trapped in here. Where am I? Can you hear me?’

Tod walked up and stood next to Frances, looking at the box. ‘You know, you are causing a little bit of scene here, you know that?’ He said to Frances.

Frances gestured at the box. ‘But look at him! He doesn’t want to be there.’
‘Apparently he volunteered for this. Maybe this is his kink?’

‘Please help me!’ shouted Joe, now banging on the side of the box. ‘I didn’t sign up for this, I have changed my mind.’ His banging was silent, only his slight voice came through. She looked over at Tod with her mouth open.

Tod’s eyes grew wide. ‘Still might be his kink, don’t knock it.’

Frances wasn’t so sure. ‘I really think that he doesn’t want to be there.’ She took a step towards the box.

‘Please do not disturb, I say again!’ The party turned towards Frances. Tod had disappeared and left her alone by the tree. Joe was still shouting but only could be heard by Frances. The rest of the party could only see his lips moving in pantomime.

‘What is he saying?’ Shouted a voice from the crowd.

‘He says he wants help.’ Frances shouted back.

Everyone in the room tittered. There was then a scattered round of applause. ‘Classic Grinch, this is a good one this year’ heard Frances in amongst the crowd.
Joe couldn’t hear the applause, but he somehow felt the vibrations through his box. He stopped talking and froze instinctively. How many people were out there, exactly? Were there people? What was that? Where was he?!

Frances couldn’t help but feel sorry for the man in the box underneath the tree. She watched him a little while longer, then turned and went into the party. She was looking for the culture editor, Laureen. They had seemed to have gotten along and Frances often felt that they were on the same wavelength. She found Laureen over by the buffet.

‘Laureen, hi!’ Said Frances.

Laureen waved at Frances. ‘You seem to be quite the grinch whisperer over there.’
‘Grinch mascot’ corrected Frances.

‘Sorry, shit yes, mascot, sorry.’ Said Laureen.

‘Anyways, I am not sure he is alright.’

‘Of course he isn’t he is an emblem of xenophobia and isolation.’

‘No but I mean he doesn’t seem right in real life.’

Laureen tilted her head and looked at Frances. ‘In real life?’

‘Yeah, I don’t think that he want’s to be a part of this game anymore.’

‘Oh’ Said Laureen, ‘I see. So you are saying he doesn’t want to feel those feelings anymore?’

Frances was reluctant to nod, but did so anyways.

‘I agree, indeed. But did the Grinch get to avoid those feelings? The Uighur? The Gazans?’

Frances froze.

‘Exactly. What is so special about him, exactly?’

Frances put her palms up in front of her. ‘I wasn’t diminishing their suffering, I was just saying that that man in the box doesn’t seem to be want to be there anymore.’

‘Yes, that poor man, that poor man, someone has to help that poor man. That man, so sad.’

Frances furrowed her brow. ‘Indeed?’

‘Indeed. I need to go to the restroom.’ Laureen turned and disappeared into the bathrooms.

Frances turned red, her arms akimbo. Something just did not feel right. She looked around the room, but it was impossible for her to make eye contact with anyone. Were they all avoiding her now? She looked back at Joe in the box. He had given up shouting, and was sitting indian-style- sorry, cross-legged -, with his back on the left hand side of the box. His balls and penis were sprawled across the heels of his feet. Frances discovered that she was not a voyeur, especially when the man had been crying and was now picking at his cuticles furiously.

Frances turned to get something from the buffet.

‘You seem to be throwing cold water onto this party, Frances.’ Said Laurence from behind her right shoulder.

Frances shivered. ‘Sorry, what?’

‘Please don’t obsess over the grinch mascot, Frances. You are missing the point.’
‘I am not obsessing over the mascot, I am -'

‘See, Frances, there you go. You must be careful what passions you develop, and where you let them lead you, if you want to make a career out of journalism.’
‘But what about the man in the box.’

Laurence shook his head. ‘Again, this obsession with a man. Laureen just told me that you were plaguing her with the sentimentality only minutes ago. You can’t just focus on a man when there is a point to be made, when there are civilizations at stake.’

‘Is there a civilization at stake here?’

Laurence held his forehead between his right thumb and pinky finger and closed his eyes. ‘Frances, please. You must be able to see below the superficiality of the matter. What is one man compared to the message?’

‘What’s the message?’ Begged Frances.

Laurence stomped his foot. ‘ A Grinch Mascot. Again! It is a Grinch Mascot, that is the point.’ He threw his hands up in the air and turned in a circle, gesturing at the ceiling. ‘Honestly!’ he ejaculated.

He completed his turn and stared at Frances. Frances stared back into his eyes. Neither of them said anything.

Frances turned and walked towards the Christmas tree. She shoved Tod out of the way and hurried up to the box itself. She rapped on it furiously.

‘No! Do not disturb the mascot! That is unkind to knock on a box!’

Frances kept knocking. Joe shuffled furiously in little circles while still sitting cross-legged. ‘Hello! Hello!’ He shouted into his reflection.

‘Hello!’ Shouted Frances in return. ‘Do you need any assistance?’

By this time the room had caught on to the dramatic events under the tree.

‘Yes! Yes! I am in here! Help me! I am in a box!’ Shouted Joe as he pushed on the top of his box, trying to lever it open.’

‘I am here to help you!’ Shouted Frances.

‘Oh thank goodness. Please, go find someone to open the box!’

‘Don’t worry, I will help you!’

‘No, please, find someone who can open a box, will you? I don’t know how much air I have left in here. What if they come back for me? Where am I?’

Frances didn’t answer immediately. ‘What do you mean, exactly?’

‘Lady, I don’t have time for this! Find your husband and get him to actually open this box! There are no marks for effort or for chit chat here! Why are you wasting your breath?’

Frances turned red and her hair became damp with sweat. ‘Wait a second!’

‘Please, don’t be so sensitive! This is not the time to take everything so personally.’
‘You don’t think I could open this box if I wanted to?’

Joe closed his eyes and tried to muster his patience. ‘Madam, if you could have opened this box, you would have. Now please, go find someone who can also open a jar of pickles.’

The room was silent. A speaker had played the whole conversation between Joe and Frances. Everyone had come up to the Christmas tree and now stared at Frances. Tod was shaking in fury.

Frances’ head bowed to her chest. She took a couple of deep breaths, then lifted her face to her colleagues. Tears had fallen down her cheeks. She looked around the room, trying to find Laureen, trying to see if she would look Frances in the eye and accept her apology.

Laurence walked up to France and looked her in the eye. He leaned forward and whispered to her, ‘Who’s the who now?’. France collapsed to the ground, sobbing, her dress blossoming around her on the floor.

Laurence turned to his peers and grinned. ‘Classic grinch, eh?!’

The room erupted in laughter and cheers.