Santa Claws
One of the things that constantly amazes me about this joyous festering season of ours is another of the true "images of Christmas" (supposedly hijacked by Coca Cola™ in the 30s/40s, but that's another story) for the last three or four decades - the department store santa.
Every year, come about the start of October (September, in some cases), there's a space set aside in just about every department store in the western world - it's for the infamous Santa's Grotto. In some (most) cases, that would be far better renamed the Santa's Grotty.
What we normally get for this Grotto is some corner of the store, laid out with somethingthat may (to a child drugged on Ritalin and/or Caffeine and Food Additives) resemble Santa's house in the woods. On occasion it even has his helpers, in the form of elves, teddy-bears and snowmen.* It also consists of plenty of completely out of scale boxes/sacks of wrapped "presents" and a fat wino in the middle getting kids to sit on his knee and tell him what they want for christmas. The fact that the vodka on his breath is enough to stun them comatose in 30 seconds flat is merely a side-effect, one that parents will comment on for the rest of the day "you really enjoyed seeing Santa, didn't you darling, You haven't said a word since you saw him!". The simple fact is, the littlebastard darling is now completely pissed, and will complain of an epic headache later tonight, or at best, in the morning.
Actually, the Grotto, and the visiting of Santa Claus in general is something that confuses me quite a bit, and is anotjher facet of the hypocrisy we love and know as the Festering Season. For 10 or 11 months of the year (depending on just how many Santas there are in the area) parents tell their children "don't talk to strangers, don't accept presents from strangers, don't tell strangers anything, just run away as fast as you can, and then tell an adult about it", then come mid-Novem ber or so and it's "wa-hey, let's take you to see Santa Claus!"
"Whoopee-doo, mum, it's a fat nonce dressed up in a red nylon suit and exceptionally flammable beard. If I shuffle my feet along in the store properly, then jump up to sit on his lamp, I reckon I can get the static electricity to jump across, spark, set the beard on fire, and voila, Crispy Claus. Besides, you said I can't talk to strangers, let alone sit on their legs."
"But darling, you like Farher Christmas. And he's not a stranger you see him every year. Now go and sit on his lap, tell him what you want, be a good child, and he'll bring your presents on Christmas Day."
"Mum, Santa's lap's all lumpy. It's not comfortable at all. He keeps telling me to put my hand in his sack and I'll pull out something I like..."
Of course, not all department store Santas are like that. Some are good, but I think the great majority are just nasty. I don't know about this year, but definitely until recently the stores had little to no security, or reference checking, when it came to the department store santa. They didn't care if the applicant for the job was alcoholic, drunk, stoned, fresh out of prison, or even a paedophile, so long as the store had a Santa, and ideally more than one (just in case). Hell, they didn't even have to like children - in fact in some cases the utter despisal of children seemed to be a job requirement.
So there we go, another myth propagated for another year. Santa's fat jolly and nice - and doesn't smell of vodka. Well, not much, anyway. Department Stores, on the other hand, should all burn their grottos to the ground, ideally with Santa still in them. Now that's what I call a Christmas Roast.
*(delete as applicable)
Every year, come about the start of October (September, in some cases), there's a space set aside in just about every department store in the western world - it's for the infamous Santa's Grotto. In some (most) cases, that would be far better renamed the Santa's Grotty.
What we normally get for this Grotto is some corner of the store, laid out with somethingthat may (to a child drugged on Ritalin and/or Caffeine and Food Additives) resemble Santa's house in the woods. On occasion it even has his helpers, in the form of elves, teddy-bears and snowmen.* It also consists of plenty of completely out of scale boxes/sacks of wrapped "presents" and a fat wino in the middle getting kids to sit on his knee and tell him what they want for christmas. The fact that the vodka on his breath is enough to stun them comatose in 30 seconds flat is merely a side-effect, one that parents will comment on for the rest of the day "you really enjoyed seeing Santa, didn't you darling, You haven't said a word since you saw him!". The simple fact is, the little
Actually, the Grotto, and the visiting of Santa Claus in general is something that confuses me quite a bit, and is anotjher facet of the hypocrisy we love and know as the Festering Season. For 10 or 11 months of the year (depending on just how many Santas there are in the area) parents tell their children "don't talk to strangers, don't accept presents from strangers, don't tell strangers anything, just run away as fast as you can, and then tell an adult about it", then come mid-Novem ber or so and it's "wa-hey, let's take you to see Santa Claus!"
"Whoopee-doo, mum, it's a fat nonce dressed up in a red nylon suit and exceptionally flammable beard. If I shuffle my feet along in the store properly, then jump up to sit on his lamp, I reckon I can get the static electricity to jump across, spark, set the beard on fire, and voila, Crispy Claus. Besides, you said I can't talk to strangers, let alone sit on their legs."
"But darling, you like Farher Christmas. And he's not a stranger you see him every year. Now go and sit on his lap, tell him what you want, be a good child, and he'll bring your presents on Christmas Day."
"Mum, Santa's lap's all lumpy. It's not comfortable at all. He keeps telling me to put my hand in his sack and I'll pull out something I like..."
Of course, not all department store Santas are like that. Some are good, but I think the great majority are just nasty. I don't know about this year, but definitely until recently the stores had little to no security, or reference checking, when it came to the department store santa. They didn't care if the applicant for the job was alcoholic, drunk, stoned, fresh out of prison, or even a paedophile, so long as the store had a Santa, and ideally more than one (just in case). Hell, they didn't even have to like children - in fact in some cases the utter despisal of children seemed to be a job requirement.
So there we go, another myth propagated for another year. Santa's fat jolly and nice - and doesn't smell of vodka. Well, not much, anyway. Department Stores, on the other hand, should all burn their grottos to the ground, ideally with Santa still in them. Now that's what I call a Christmas Roast.
*(delete as applicable)
