Mall Santa

Written by: Garet

A mall Santa was doing the usual stuff, picking up kids, giving them candy canes and false hope that will be redeemed Christmas morning. But there was something about him that my friend and I saw that no one else saw. His anger. He hid it well, but if you watched him long enough, how he moved, what he said in his thick Russian accent (something uncommon to mall Santa’s) you could tell he was angry. If you watched even closer you could tell how to break him. Of course my friend and I were not crazy, we would not be the ones to start things, we of course, needed someone stupid and because of his stupidity; brave.

God or Allah, or maybe even the real Santa wanted to see this happen, and provided. They provided by having this guy we know work overtime because of the Christmas rush, and allowed him to be released at the perfect time. We sent him over with the perfect words to say, and drinking our Orange Julius’s we sat and watched.

The Santa obviously deeply believed in the Christian shtick: God, Jesus, and Holy Spirit. That’s why he’s a store Santa, but being one he started to see something, or a lack of something. There was a certain lack of Jesus every were. He was replaced by Santa, and the disciples replaced by flying deer. Being religious this was starting to anger him, and the greedy kids just made it worse. Then the pawn moved to kill the king.

“I hate Santa; he just takes the attention from the true lord and savior Jesus Christ.” The Soviet Santa wanted to agree, but defended Santa anyway. The worst person to defend you is one that hates you.

“If a clown or magician comes to your birthday party to entertain, is it still your birthday? Or is it the clown’s or the magician’s? Just because someone is making the party more fun doesn’t mean it’s not still your birthday, and it is the same with Jesus and Christmas.” That was the only good argument for Santa I had ever heard, but I had already heard it, a lot. He wasn’t to convincing either, like reciting memorized lines. The pawn is well armed my king, you shall learn well, and your consumer slaves will learn from your defeat.

“Yes, but on your birthday you get presents, not the guests. The party’s guests have forgotten they are guests, and believe them selves to be the ones who saved humanity.” I love that line, and our pawn said it perfectly. You could see the anger in the Santa’s face, and for the first time, everyone else finally saw the anger. They got to see it explode.

“You are right! And you hedonistic little bastards will pay! You shall make toys for Jesus; you shall make toys till your little hands bleed!” At this point the Santa was grabbing children, and the parents were panicking. But we had something they didn’t. Orange Julius. And it was damn tasty, especially when you got to watch something like this unwrap.

Our pawn got hit in the head by the Santa, in his blind rage he forgot who had enlightened him; he only saw the man who embarrassed him. Hence the reason we did not talk to him our selves.

To finish off the game, two security guards came rushing in to stop the irate Santa. Two knights to finish off the king. My friend had one of those disposable cameras; he was taking pictures and winding the little camera to take more pictures as fast as he could. The perfect Christmas picture: an irate Soviet Santa with his white beard coming off, desperately grabbing for kids while two security guards attempted to restrain him.

"You know my friend...”

"Yes?”

“We ruined a lot of Christmases today.”

“Does that bother you?”

"No merely stating a fact. Can I get a copy of a picture?”

“Sure, I’m getting mine enlarged, would you like yours the same?”

“Very much so. Maybe we should put these pictures on our Christmas cards this year.”

"Sure as hell beats the picture of that drunken Santa in the gutter we used last year.”

“Why yes it does.”