Yes, Virginia, I Was a Santa

Today they are holding my old company's Christmas party - the first time I won't attend in 20 years. Davy, my successor, invited me but I declined. I feel I might have veered between looking like Marley's ghost and one of those old guys who attends anything he can and stuffs his pockets with the nibblies.

Christmas season brings back memories of the couple of years that I was a department store Santa. Funny enough I wasn't all that heavy back then, so I may be a good example of an actor growing into a role. 

I enjoyed the Santa bit and I was still young enough not to be cranky about pushy parents, crying and puking babies and about half the kids sneezing in my face. My disguise must have been fairly effective, because my son Tom who I think was 2 at the time, proceeded to scream when placed on my lap - something that happened with about 1 in 20 kids.  I tried to calm him down by using my natural voice and telling him it was really Daddy. That, of course, led him to scream in absolute terror. I never was all that good with child psychology.

One of my biggest disappointments happened on my first day on the job. I was scheduled to arrive at the store in a helicopter, which seemed pretty cool at the time. Unfortunately a blizzard ended that plan, as well as costing me a day's pay since the store ended up being closed for the day. I know a lot of kids were disappointed, but I am pretty sure not as much as me.

None of this is as bad as a report I read out of London last week. Some enterprising souls had set up a Christmas wonderland and advertised it heavily. Apparently, they were able to get enough hopeless sentimentalists to shell out the equivalent of $US70 (or more than $100 Aussie bucks) for each ticket.

Anyone who has ever caved in to their kids and turned into some small-town, unheard-of-but-heavily-billboarded Reptile Park during a summer trip, would have known what they were likely to get. Turns out there wasn't much to see in this Christmas wonderland, for as London's Telegraph described it, it comprised "a Nativity scene painted on a billboard, a broken ice-skating rink and huskies tied up outside their kennels in a muddy field."

The line to see Santa lasted for hours - literally - and then Santa wanted another 20 bucks if your kids actually wanted a picture with him. The final straw was reported to be when someone who had spent hours lining up was told they needed to get in yet another line for their kid to get their present. Dad decided it would be more satisfying to punch Santa in the face, which he did.

I never had to deal with anyone quite that angry, but I guess holiday rage is as real as road rage and all those other rages we hear about. In fact, I wouldn't be at all surprised if there aren't a large number of rich Jewish Americans having their own version of Hanukkah Rage this year.

It appears George and Laura sent them all cards, inviting them to a White House Hanukkah reception. Why the rage? Well, it seems they sent all their Jewish friends a card with a Christmas tree on it. I'll bet even the idiots at the Christmas park in London would know better than that.