By Santa Claus
Every year it’s the same goddamn story.
Everyone else in my department asks for the day off way in advance and I’m stuck with the worst shift of the year. As crazy as this sounds, back in my youth, I used to ask for this gig. I just couldn’t get enough of the smiling faces of the children, those dope-ass cookies and milk and let’s not forget about the overtime. Time and a half ain’t nothin’ to sneeze at when you’re young and not super into the whole family togetherness thing. Now that I’m older, though, sliding down a few billions chimneys and remembering which box goes with what tree is just a hassle, plain and simple. Even the cookies I can’t enjoy anymore as they’re hell on my digestion. To be honest, 9 times out of 10, I just throw them in the garbage and put a few wadded-up paper towels over them so the kids don’t notice and pour the milk down the sink.
You’d think one of those elf mother fuckers could do it one of these times, but noooo, that’s ol’ Saint Nick’s job, they say! Like I don’t work hard enough as it is! Who do you think makes the schedules? Who makes sure everyone is working hard enough and not making too many of those dumbass miniature wooden rocking chairs that nobody wants? Who figures out who’s naughty or nice? Who’s out there at every mall pretending he likes it when a bunch of sticky-fingered little bastards sit in his lap, half of them telling him he isn’t real? Do you have any idea how existentially draining it is for hundreds of thousands of people to challenge your very existence every year? I’m already stoned trying to get through the holidays and I’ve got a bunch of little bastards telling me that they don’t think I’m real. You’re talking to me, aren’t you? You’re sitting in my damn lap, aren’t you!? Yes, I’m real! I bleed, I sweat and I just want everyone to have a merry Christmas but all you want is for me to fail. To show any sign of weakness so you can run to your friends and say, “See! I told you! I told you magic wasn’t real!” and you’re right. Magic isn’t real, but I am. I’m real, damn it, and I’m doing my goddamn best.
I’m flying to all your houses on a custom built flying machine being led by fake, robotic reindeer. I’m better than magic, I’m Santa Claus. I do this with nothing but what God gave each and every one of us; a useless, misshapen body dying more and more each day, a mess of useless co-workers and powerful need to drink. But I can’t. Santa has to be a role model. Santa has to be “magic.” The kind of magic that can do a job that should take hundreds of thousands of people several months to do but has to be done all in one night by one just because all of those lazy bastards at the Pole don’t want to work Christmas Eve. Well I’ve had just about enough, damn it! I’m over five hundred years old and I deserve a break!
What’s the Abominable Snowman doing right now? Probably humping a snow bank or some shit, that sick fuck. How about that little wannabe dentist piece of shit? I sure as shit know that nobody’s dumb enough to let him work on their teeth. That kid couldn’t fix a crown if his life depended on it. Trust me, I know. I was trying to save a few bucks on year and the little shit ended up dislocating my jaw when he tried to crawl in with his entire stupid little body. When I tried to sue him for malpractice the stupid little bastard fled the pole. I’ve spent thousands of dollars paying private investigators to track him down and nothing, zilch. If he’s not dead he should be praying to God that he is before I find him.
All my gripes aside, I do love Christmas. The bulb-shaped lights, the cane-shaped candies and the tree-shaped trees are all a whole lot of fun. Not to mention the socks full of chocolate, CDs, iPods and whatnot! The boxed presents, too, are just a delight. Will you get that Playstation 4 you’ve been asking for the last three years? Probably not, but isn’t it fun to hope? And it’s not like you’re going to have to wear that vomit yellow sweater you got from your aunt every day! Just this once and you can throw it away! I don’t know about you, but I get a real kick out of discarding things that other people spent a lot of time incorrectly choosing for me away, and there’s no better time of the year for it that Christmas time!
Do I get to enjoy any of it? Nope. Never. Not even for a second. These bastards have me working my fingers to the bone right up until the holiday is over and they expect me to be jolly while doing it. Well let me tell you something, pal; I ain’t jolly. I don’t have the time. I’m too busy planning flight patterns and beating elves to enjoy myself for even a moment during the holidays. Even the Easter Bunny gets to watch the kids find the eggs from the bushes, but me? Right back to the North Pole, getting ready to start accepting returns. You’d think that people would just enjoy the FREE GIFTS but no, they think it’d be more fun to exchange them for exactly what they want instead of what somebody carefully chose for them as an expression of love. Give me a fucking break, you narcissistic, arrogant little fucks. Your loved ones are doing their best, I’m doing my best. Maybe Christmas isn’t about getting exactly what you want but about getting exactly what we think you deserve? Or maybe you’re right. Maybe Christmas is about getting what we want. Maybe it’s time that Santa finally put his foot down and got what he wanted for once. Maybe this year things will be different.
Maybe this year Santa calls in sick.