Yesterday was my day off, and the afflicted came to visit Santa. I Photo Elfed for Santa Ira this afternoon, and he told me all about it. These were severely handicapped children who arrived on stretchers and in wheelchairs. Santa couldn't put them on his lap, and often he could not understand them when they voiced their requests. He made it a point to grab each child's hand and ask what they wanted for Christmas. He did this until he came to a child who had no hands. This made him self-conscious, so he started placing a hand on the child's knee until he came to a child with no legs. After that he decided to simply nod his head and chuckle.
I got stuck with Santa Santa again this afternoon and had to sing and fetch for three hours. Late in the afternoon, a child said she didn't know what her favorite Christmas carol was. Santa said, "'Rudolph'? 'Jingle Bells'? 'White Christmas'? 'Here Comes Santa Claus'? 'Away in the Manger'? 'Silent Night'?"
The girl agreed to "Away in the Manger," but didn't want to sing it because she didn't know the words.
Santa Santa said, "Oh, Little Elf, Little Elf, come sing 'Away in the Manger' for us."
It didn't seem fair that I should have to solo, so I told him I didn't know the words.
Santa Santa said, "Of course you know the words. Come now, sing!"
So I sang it the way Billie Holiday might have sung it if she'd put out a Christmas album. "Away in the manger, no crib for a bed, the little Lord, Jesus, lay down his sweet head."
Santa Santa did not allow me to finish.
This afternoon we set a record by scooting fourteen hundred people through SantaLand in the course of an hour. Most of them were school groups in clots of thirty or more. My Santa would address them, saying, "All right, I'm going to count to three, and on three I want you all to yell what you want and I need you to say it as loud as you can."
Then he would count to three and the noise was magnificent. Santa would cover his ears and say, "All right one by one I want you to tell me what you're planning to leave Santa on Christmas Eve."
He would go around the room and children would name different sorts of cookies, and he would say, "What about sandwiches? What if Santa should want something more substantial than a cookie?"
Santa's thrust this afternoon was the boredom of his nine-year relationship. He would wave the children goodbye and then turn to me, saying, "I want an affair, Goddamn it just a little one, just something to get me through the next four or five years."
Some of these children, they get nervous just before going in to visit Santa. They pace and wring their hands and stare at the floor. They act like they're going in for a job interview. I say, "Don't worry, Santa's not going to judge you. He's very relaxed about that sort of thing. He used to be judgmental but people gave him a hard time about it so he stopped. Trust me, you have nothing to worry about."
I was Photo Elf tonight for the oldest Santa. Usually their names are written on the water cups they keep hidden away on the toy shelf. Every now and then a Santa will call out for water and an elf will hold the cup while his master drinks through a straw. I looked on the cup and saw no name. We were busy tonight and I had no time for an introduction. This was an outstanding Santa, wild but warm. The moment a family leaves, this Santa, sensing another group huddled upon his doorstep, will begin to sing.
He sings, "A pretty girl. .is like a melody."
The parents and children enter the room, and if there is a girl in the party, Santa will take a look at her, hold his gloved hands to his chest, and fake a massive heart attack falling back against the cushion and moaning with a combination of pleasure and pain. Then he slowly comes out of it and says, "Elf, Elf. . are you there?"
"Yes, Santa, I'm here."
"Elf, I just had a dream that I was standing before the most beautiful girl in the world. She was right here, in my house."
Then I say, "It wasn't a dream, Santa. Open your eyes, my friend. She's standing before you."
Santa rubs his eyes and shakes his head as if he were a parish priest, visited by Christ, "Oh, heavenly day," he says, addressing the child. "You arethe most beautiful girl I have seen in six hundred and seventeen years."
Then he scoops her into his lap and flatters every aspect of her character. The child is delirious. Santa gestures toward the girl's mother, asking, "Is that your sister I see standing there in the corner?"
"No, that's my mother."
Santa calls the woman over close and asks if she has been a good mother. "Do you tell your daughter that you love her? Do you tell her every day?"
The mothers always blush and say, "I try, Santa."
Santa asks the child to give her mother a kiss. Then he addresses the father, again requesting that he tell the child how much he loves her.
Santa ends the visit, saying, "Remember that the most important thing is to try and love other people as much as they love you."
The parents choke up and often cry. They grab Santa's hand and, on the way out, my hand. They say it was worth the wait. The most severe cases open their wallets and hand Santa a few bucks. We're not supposed to accept tips, but most Santas take the money and wink, tucking it into their boot. This Santa looked at the money as if it were a filthy Kleenex. He closed his eyes and prepared for the next family.
With boys, this Santa plays on their brains: each one is the smartest boy in the world.
The great thing about this Santa is that he never even asks what the children want. Most times he involves the parents to the point where they surrender their urge for documentation. They lay down their video recorders and gather round for the festival of love.
I was the Pointer Elf again this afternoon, one of my favorite jobs. The Pointer stands inside the Magic Tree and appoints available Santa Elves to lead parties of visitors to the houses. First-time visitors are enthusiastic, eager that they are moments away from Santa. Some of the others, having been here before, have decided to leave nothing to chance.
Out of all the Santas, two are black and both are so light-skinned that, with the beard and makeup, you would be hard-pressed to determine their race.
Last week, a black woman became upset when, having re-quested a "Santa of color," she was sent to Jerome.
After she was led to the house, the woman returned to the Pointer and demanded to speak with a manager.
"He's not black," the woman complained.
Bridget assured this woman that Jerome was indeed black.
The woman said, "Well, he isn't black enough."
Jerome is a difficult Santa, moody and unpredictable. He spends a lot of time staring off into space and tallying up his paycheck for the hours he has worked so far. When a manager ducks in encouraging him to speed things up, Jerome says, "Listen up, I'm playing a role here. Do you understand? A dramatic role that takes a great deal of preparation, so don't hassle me about 'Time.'"
Jerome seems to have his own bizarre agenda. When the children arrive, he looks down at his boots and lectures them, suggesting a career in entomology.
"Entomology, do you know what that is?"
He tells them that the defensive spray of the stink bug may contain medicinal powers that can one day cure mankind of communicable diseases.
"Do you know about holistic medicine?" he asks.
The Photo Elf takes a picture of yawning children.
The other black Santa works during weeknights and I have never met him but hear he is a real entertainer, popular with Photo Elves and children.
The last time I was the Pointer Elf, a woman approached me and whispered, "We would like atraditional Santa. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about."
I sent her to Jerome.
Yesterday Snowball was the Pointer and a woman pulled him aside, saying, "Last year we had a chocolate Santa. Make sure it doesn't happen again."
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