Santa Claus Has Skipped Town

It's been a whole week since Christmas and let me tell you this has not been the best week for me. Not that there was anything wrong with Christmas, but it has not been a fun week at work. Now, I'm sure that everyone who works retail will back me up when I say the week after Christmas is the worst time to work. People who come to the mall tend to be on the grumpy side. They did not get what they wanted for Christmas. They're looking to return everything, leading to fun statements like: "I don't have my receipt. Can I get cash back?" or "What do you mean this is exchange only, it should say that on my receipt." Of course, you can't get money back on a return without a receipt, and, at the calendar kiosk where I work, it does state, very clearly on the receipt that we are exchange only. People don't like to here this. They have a tendency to take out their petty frustrations on the poor, under-paid retail employees. They blame us for everything. They blame us because they bought the wrong thing. They blame us because they cannot read a receipt. But most of all they blame us because their child did not get exactly what they wanted and we somehow have ruined Christmas forever.

I'm sure everyone who works at the mall has heard this. We've all been blamed for crushing a child's hopes, dreams, and innocence. We've all heard it. Well, all of us except for the one mall employee who is most responsible for building up a child's dreams: Santa Claus. After Christmas, the mall Santa is no where to be seen. His chair and little village are still there, but they remain empty, uninhabited by that jolly fat man who is most deserving of the wrath of young boys and girls and their petty, petty parents. Sure, Santa's there for the weeks leading up to Christmas. He's there with the lines of smiling, cheerful children. He's there when hopes are still fresh and dreams are still alive in every child's heart. But as soon as Christmas is over, and the mall is overrun with children who did not get what they want, Santa is gone. Santa's there when everything's rosy and wonderful, but now that there are upset, complaining, vindictive little brats about, that fat sack of crap has skipped town.

Here's what I want. I want the mall Santa to stick around for one extra week, until New Years at least. One little week, that's all I ask. I want Santa in his chair with a line of children ready to sit of his lap and give him a good cock punching. Because I am sure there are a lot of children after Christmas who want nothing more than to hit that jolly old man right in his little elf making equipment.

I have two major reasons for wanting this. First, it would help alleviate the ill will shown toward the humble mall employee by placing the brunt of the bad feelings squarely where it is so rightly deserved: on that lying crap weasel, Santa Claus. Second, it would be hilarious. Can't you just see all the priceless interactions between Santa and disaffected little children? I would love to see this. I would want to be Santa's post-Christmas photographer. I can picture it now:

Me: Ok Billy, tell Santa what you got for Christmas.
Billy: I got some stupid building blocks.
Me: Now tell Santa what you REALLY wanted for Christmas.
Billy: I wanted a new game boy.
Me: Now show Santa what you think of him now.
Billy: Take this, dick face. (WAM)
Me: Wow Billy, you sure got Santa good. I got the shot right when you put a foot in Santa's ass.
Santa: I think I'm bleeding on the inside.

I'm sure there are plenty of people reading this who think I am a sick, sick individual. While this may very well be true, I have a feeling anyone who thinks this way has never worked retail around the holidays. If you have then I feel safe in saying you're with me on this one. You, like me, would like nothing more than to walk throughout the mall on December 29th and see a whole line of pissed off kids waiting to enter Santa's village. I'd like to see it, a whole group of children pulling out brass knuckles and slapping baseball bats against there palms waiting for their chance to go medieval on Santa's ass. I can picture it in my minds eye and the image of Santa screaming for mercy as an eight year old goes to town on his kidneys is so beautiful that tears are welling up in my eyes. And isn't that what the holidays are all about?

Shalom