The Diary of a Mall Santa By Rusty! :D
Entry 1 - December 18th:
Diary:
December. Winter. The harsh, cold winds of nature howl with laughter as they bring stinging, stabbing pains into my body. It would seem now that the harsh, cold winds of society also howl in laughter, as they bring stinging, stabbing pains into the very depths of my soul.
I, Dias Flac, am a mall Santa.
Unemployment charges across the country like a rampaging juggernaut. There is no work for a man with a chemistry degree. There is no work for a man of science. My brain, diligently trained to observe, understand, and manipulate the very essence of the physical world, is now forced to struggle desperately to generate inane pleasantries to mutter towards whiney gift-grabbing children.
I felt a numb, surreal detachment when I walked into Smiley’s Super Department Store. It was as if I were living in a blurred, foggy dream when I applied for the job and sat impassively at the interviewer’s desk. There exists only a vague, uncertain memory of being informed that I had been accepted for the job and hired. Then reality, this twisted evil Santa-reality, struck me in the face like the fist of a big angry violent lummox.
Before I start work, I stare into the mirror - and find it hard to believe that this could possibly be real - that this isn’t some strange nightmare. Yet the truth reflects itself through the glass, so glaringly and painfully obvious, in a cartoonish mockery of dignity that appears over my features. The oversized, tattered leather boots. The bright, baggy, blood-red coat and pants, covering my gaunt body. The fluffy white-cotton coat-linings, completely devoid of purpose. The fake, scraggly, unconvincing snow-white beard, covering my face in a desperate attempt to mask my identity from delusional children. And the hat - that horrible, horrible floppy hat. Oh, how I loathe the hat!
But a sense of unbalance quickly fills me at such times. A great contradiction to the image that a benevolent compulsive gift-giver is supposed to present. My rigid, inflexible posture. My flat, emotionless expression. And my eyes - sharp, furious, brazenly intelligent. This isn’t Santa. This couldn’t be Santa. This will never be Santa. This will never be Santa: a haughty, one-sided smirk appears from underneath my beard with this comforting thought.
And now I must enter the bowels of hell: work: the santa chair.
~Dias
Entry 2 - December 19th:
Diary:
I can withstand this vile yule-torture no more. It has been but a single day, yet already the claws of madness rake and rend my mind!
It was a horrible experience. The moment I sat in the large, awkward Santa-chair, I realized there was no way I could possibly feign jollity. When the first insolent whelp leaped onto my lap, I attempted in vain to put forth a toothy, mechanical smile and give some sort of warm, fuzzy, benevolent aura. The child cried.
I panicked, and bolted to my feet. The child fell from my lap and crashed to the floor. This caused even more tearful banshee-wails to erupt from it. The elf-helpers quickly cleared the child from the area, casting hateful accusing eyes at me.
The rest of my evening occurred in a similar pattern. Each new child made me internally bubble and boil further and further with a terrible rancor. Curse those nauseating little buck-toothed moppets that dared to sit upon my lap! Curse those horrid, chattering little sacks of flesh and bone, living only to consume!
My employment with the Smiley’s Super Department Store Company was terminated at the end of the day. The following list of reasons was cited as the cause of this termination:
-Perpetual Scowling.
-Rudeness.
-Excessive usage of Bathroom breaks.
-Informing children Santa isn’t real.
-Violently shoving children off lap.
-Profanity.
-Threatening children with coal in their stockings.
-Verbal abuse of elves.
I’m not sure what I will do now. Maybe I will find another job. Or maybe I will become completely impoverished, lose my apartment and material possessions, and be forced to become a hobo. I don’t really care anymore, so long as I never put on that vile pair of red pajamas ever again.
So what was the real lesson behind all this? What personal growth have I undergone? What wisdom have I gained? I think the profound truth I have uncovered from this experience is:
I really hate children.
~Dias