Monday, December 06, 2004

Careful, Sweetheart. You’re Sitting on Santa’s Testicles

If you were a child in the San Fernando Valley during the early 1990s, there’s a good chance you sat on my lap.

I was Santa Claus. Yes, me: the six-foot-three, 160-pound Jewish kid who wouldn’t know yuletide cheer from All-Temperature Cheer. I sat in the big, red throne in the middle of the Northridge Mall, right next to Orange Julius, and posed with you for a $5 Polaroid.

You asked me for an Easy-Bake Oven or a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figure or a Betsy Wetsy doll, and I said yes to it all because I had gotten stoned to the bejesus in the parking lot before I put on the puffy red costume and, if we’re being honest, I would have said yes to anything that got you off of my lap before my right testicle burst under the combined weight of you and your crabby little brother.

Sometimes you cried hysterically. Sometimes your mother practically had to do jumping jacks to get you to smile for the picture. Sometimes you peed your pants or smelled like your diaper hadn’t been changed since St. Patrick’s Day. Sometimes you played with my itchy white beard or my velvety red coat. But you never seemed to notice that my big, honking Jew schnoz was the antithesis of Santa’s jolly, red nose. And you never seemed to care that the candy cane my little elf friends gave you was stale because it was from the same batch we’d been handing out for three years.

I never really paid that much attention to what you wanted or whether you had been naughty or nice. What did I care? I was Jewish and Jewish kids are never queried as to their behavior during the previous year. They get their Hanukkah presents either way, which essentially gives them carte blanche to act like dipshits year-round. Plus, my focus was almost exclusively on my coworkers in Santa’s Workshop, the perky little female elves, who were dressed in little green elf skirts and tight green elf stockings. Sorry, kids, but Santa has needs, too.

I never did understand the masses of parents who turned out each December to let their precious children sit on the lap of a complete stranger. But there you were, dressed in your Sunday best, posing for a photo and asking for a remote control monster truck or a princess dress or a little puppy. And I said yes to all of you because, look, what do I care? You could have asked me for a machete or a sawed-off shotgun or a package of C-4 explosives and I would have said yes to that, too. And then if your parents ended up buying you argyle socks or My First Book About Coin Collecting instead, they were the ones who would have to explain to you that that is what children get when they don’t clean their rooms or when they hit their sister or when they tell their third grade teacher that she smells like rotten eggs.

Santa knows who’s been naughty or nice, kids, even though he smells like marijuana and has a hooked Jew nose.


At 11:18 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

HA! Hilarious. It must have all been so surreal for you... not really being your personal experience. That, and the pot.

Oh, by the way, that mom that was doing the jumping jacks? That was me.


At 3:30 AM, Blogger Zoot said...

That's almost sooo funny I dont believe its possible!!!

At 6:16 AM, Blogger Silly Old Bear said...

ha ha! A different point of view...

At 6:51 AM, Blogger christy said...

Oh crap! This is one of the funniest things I have ever read. My First Book ABout Coin Collecting - HA! I think you must know my parents personally. I'm the girl that got a window unit air conditioner for her 16th birthday. Yeah. Nice. Every teenager wants major appliances.

At 9:27 AM, Blogger Pamalamadingdong said...

The Santa my neice was often brought to (at a golf & country club mind you) wore 22 holed Doc Martens with red laces (didn't that used to mean white sepremacy or something?).

At 3:03 PM, Blogger Shiz said...

Ho! Ho! Mazel Tov!

I think mall Santa lines are CRUEL to mall Santas. They should have Santa in a quieter spot, and make a waiting list like at a restaurant, and tell you to go shop for 20 or 30 minutes. When you come back, it's just 3 minutes till you see Santa. Maybe the kids'd be less cranky.

I also love the mall Santa in A Christmas Story.

At 8:29 PM, Blogger jon said...

While searching for new central air conditioner info for my house I stumbled onto your blog. I totally agree!


At 10:46 PM, Blogger 444555 said...

Thanks for sharing. My own iste is about coins
Come visit.

At 1:31 PM, Blogger Editor said...

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please stick up the links here. I can't believe the amount of information available and it's a bit overwhelming for a beginner.

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At 12:26 PM, Blogger blogme said...

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