The following was inspired by “Washington clichés, fake news and ‘poiticianese’ by Jim Heffernan.
Oops! That old newspaper guy let a typo get through! At least he did better than many newspapers do: he used a diacritical mark in the right place.
Politicians of all stripes appeal to all Americans as “hard-working”. How do they know that all that they appeal to are really hard-working? Some have jobs that are almost fun. Some have jobs that the only hard-working part is boredom. Some have jobs that seem to be one crisis after another. Some have jobs that not only are hard but dangerous (and interestingly some of these politicians think reducing the danger is “over-regulation”.
I think I’ve had jobs that have had one or more of these features: programmer, consultant, presenter, Santa Claus, line painter, grocery bagger, stocker, and cashier, and many others.
I’ll mention one that had many of these features: bus driver.
I had the stress of being on time. I had the stress of unruly students. I had the stress of non-working buses. And I had the joy of attending events on the clock. I had the joy of napping while my riders toured their site. I had the joy of reading a book while waiting. I met lots of really nice people and a few that weren’t so nice. In short, it was a job that I was glad I did that I am glad that I’m not doing now.
Showing posts with label Santa Claus. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Santa Claus. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 16, 2017
Friday, December 18, 2015
The Reluctant Santa
Originally published in the Northland Reader now the Reader Weekly, December 7, 2000 as "Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus, and he's a temp employee"
Santa Claus quit in early December, 1999. Mariner Mall called Pro Staff for a replacement. The staff looked at each other and said, “Mel!” I have white hair and a white beard.
The job was from noon to 6 everyday through the 23rd. The pay was $7.50/hour. I was not very enthusiastic but I accepted because I thought it would be an interesting experience.
When I arrived at the Mariner Mall office, I introduced myself as the Santa from Pro Staff. Grant, the manager, took me down the back halls to the back room of an empty store. The floor was littered and the small restroom had not been cleaned in months. The room had two Santa suits and wigs hanging from old display stands.
I figured out the various pieces of the outfit, stripped down to my underwear, and began putting things on. First was a stuffed front, essential for those of us with a moderate build. Next were the big red pants, and I mean big. They must have had a 60 inch waist! Pulling the drawstring as tight as I could, I just managed to get them to stay up over the false front. Then there was the big red coat with white, fake fur trim. It fit well enough, not too baggy and not too tight. To go with the coat was a wide black plastic belt.
Pro Staff had said that I should wear black shoes and I did have on a pair of black “dress” boots. The fake boots were black, lined vinyl with white fake fur around the tops and no soles. One’s own shoes peeked out from under the fake boots. Running shoes definitely would not do.
Now I was ready for the finishing touches. I have a white beard, but it is rather short and sparse so I had to use a false beard. The supplied beard was a huge frizzy thing with a moustache that covered my mouth instead of staying above my mouth. Since I have a fairly decent white moustache, I kept the false moustache below my mouth. The wig was a mass of flowing hair that was also frizzy.
Almost last was a huge red hat with white trim and a white ball dangling from the top. That hat could not be worn without the wig! Last was a pair of gold-rimmed reading glasses. They were smeared and I thought they would pinch and scrape my nose (did they ever?)
SantaI wended my way through the back halls to the main part of the mall. On my way, I went past the rest rooms, and I immediately had to get into character. As I met people in the hall, I greeted them with “Merry Christmas!” Most people reacted with cheer and a “Merry Christmas, Santa!” From my “throne” I looked out over some fake snow to a camera on a tripod, a reflector light on a stand, and three tables in a U.
Being Santa was “easy” but boring, at least in a slow place like Mariner Mall. I watched for eye contact from people passing by. If they looked at me I waved and said, “Merry Christmas.” Some people would make eye contact from thirty feet away and their faces would light up. Others didn’t seem to notice me until they were right alongside me. Yet others ignored me by looking straight ahead or at the store windows.
If a kid walked by I would say “Merry Christmas” even without eye contact. Some would shyly hide behind their parents; others would almost run to me.
The photos made my life harder. Some parents were intimidated that they had to pass by the photographers’ tables to get to Santa, even if the photographers asked, “Would you like a photo or would you just like to see Santa?” On the other hand, the possibility of photos attracted parents whose kids were afraid of Santa. A couple of parents were almost abusive trying to get the kids to sit on my lap or even to stand near me.
One thing I didn’t like was bribing the kids with candy canes to get them to come forward or to calm down. Aren’t they being taught not to accept candy from strangers?
On the other hand, there were the kids who came rushing up to get a hug. I would open up my arms and give them a big bear hug, and then go into my almost robotic spiel. “Hi, what’s your name?” “What would you like for Christmas?” “Anything else?” “We’ll see what we can do.” “Would you like a candy cane?” “Bye. Merry Christmas.”
It wasn’t all that mechanical. I kept my tone friendly and I would vary my “script” with questions about details, like how big a truck they wanted and what kind. I would extemporize with things like “Everybody wants Pokémon cards. I don’t know if the elves can print enough.” One memorable visitor was Erin, a precocious girl trying to work through her confusion of seeing Santa in different places: “When I saw you at Jubilee...”
There were three Santa substitutes who filled when I had classes at UMD and on weekends. One substitute spent two hours in the bar of the mall pizzeria before he began his shift on Sunday. I didn’t get any details on how he behaved, but the photographers were told by their manager to just pack up. A mall customer accosted them at the photo store accusing them of getting Santa fired. The Santa who replaced me the second weekend was moody. He would be very friendly and open for a couple of hours then be grouchy or withdrawn. The third substitute was almost wooden. He wouldn’t look around, he apparently didn’t relate to the kids, and he got up to take a break when there were about a dozen kids in line.
Some adults wanted to sit on my lap and I didn’t deny anybody. My first visitor was a grandmother who had a tradition of getting her picture with Santa. Several retarded adults were delighted to sit on my lap. Some adults reeked of cigarette smoke. Of course, I had to get a photo with my wife.
Almost the very last adults to sit on my lap were a reporter and cameraman from a local TV station. I was amazed at how well I winged the interview. Since we don’t have a VCR or a TV, I called a friend to ask him to tape it, but I only got to leave a message. Unfortunately, his stepfather was in the hospital and died on Christmas eve. I later purchased a copy of the segment to watch on somebody else’s TV.
There were lots of other high points like the three or four kids who asked for “Peace on Earth.” Answer: “We’ve been working on that one for a long time.”
All in all I’m glad that I did it because of the many small rewards. But I doubt that I would do it again. I don’t think the sore bottom, the itchy chin, and the waiting for the next break were worth the pay. Especially considering not much was left after I paid for the pictures, the news video, and the chocolate bars I ate on breaks.
Santa Claus quit in early December, 1999. Mariner Mall called Pro Staff for a replacement. The staff looked at each other and said, “Mel!” I have white hair and a white beard.
The job was from noon to 6 everyday through the 23rd. The pay was $7.50/hour. I was not very enthusiastic but I accepted because I thought it would be an interesting experience.
When I arrived at the Mariner Mall office, I introduced myself as the Santa from Pro Staff. Grant, the manager, took me down the back halls to the back room of an empty store. The floor was littered and the small restroom had not been cleaned in months. The room had two Santa suits and wigs hanging from old display stands.
I figured out the various pieces of the outfit, stripped down to my underwear, and began putting things on. First was a stuffed front, essential for those of us with a moderate build. Next were the big red pants, and I mean big. They must have had a 60 inch waist! Pulling the drawstring as tight as I could, I just managed to get them to stay up over the false front. Then there was the big red coat with white, fake fur trim. It fit well enough, not too baggy and not too tight. To go with the coat was a wide black plastic belt.
Pro Staff had said that I should wear black shoes and I did have on a pair of black “dress” boots. The fake boots were black, lined vinyl with white fake fur around the tops and no soles. One’s own shoes peeked out from under the fake boots. Running shoes definitely would not do.
Now I was ready for the finishing touches. I have a white beard, but it is rather short and sparse so I had to use a false beard. The supplied beard was a huge frizzy thing with a moustache that covered my mouth instead of staying above my mouth. Since I have a fairly decent white moustache, I kept the false moustache below my mouth. The wig was a mass of flowing hair that was also frizzy.
Almost last was a huge red hat with white trim and a white ball dangling from the top. That hat could not be worn without the wig! Last was a pair of gold-rimmed reading glasses. They were smeared and I thought they would pinch and scrape my nose (did they ever?)
SantaI wended my way through the back halls to the main part of the mall. On my way, I went past the rest rooms, and I immediately had to get into character. As I met people in the hall, I greeted them with “Merry Christmas!” Most people reacted with cheer and a “Merry Christmas, Santa!” From my “throne” I looked out over some fake snow to a camera on a tripod, a reflector light on a stand, and three tables in a U.
Being Santa was “easy” but boring, at least in a slow place like Mariner Mall. I watched for eye contact from people passing by. If they looked at me I waved and said, “Merry Christmas.” Some people would make eye contact from thirty feet away and their faces would light up. Others didn’t seem to notice me until they were right alongside me. Yet others ignored me by looking straight ahead or at the store windows.
If a kid walked by I would say “Merry Christmas” even without eye contact. Some would shyly hide behind their parents; others would almost run to me.
The photos made my life harder. Some parents were intimidated that they had to pass by the photographers’ tables to get to Santa, even if the photographers asked, “Would you like a photo or would you just like to see Santa?” On the other hand, the possibility of photos attracted parents whose kids were afraid of Santa. A couple of parents were almost abusive trying to get the kids to sit on my lap or even to stand near me.
One thing I didn’t like was bribing the kids with candy canes to get them to come forward or to calm down. Aren’t they being taught not to accept candy from strangers?
On the other hand, there were the kids who came rushing up to get a hug. I would open up my arms and give them a big bear hug, and then go into my almost robotic spiel. “Hi, what’s your name?” “What would you like for Christmas?” “Anything else?” “We’ll see what we can do.” “Would you like a candy cane?” “Bye. Merry Christmas.”
It wasn’t all that mechanical. I kept my tone friendly and I would vary my “script” with questions about details, like how big a truck they wanted and what kind. I would extemporize with things like “Everybody wants Pokémon cards. I don’t know if the elves can print enough.” One memorable visitor was Erin, a precocious girl trying to work through her confusion of seeing Santa in different places: “When I saw you at Jubilee...”
There were three Santa substitutes who filled when I had classes at UMD and on weekends. One substitute spent two hours in the bar of the mall pizzeria before he began his shift on Sunday. I didn’t get any details on how he behaved, but the photographers were told by their manager to just pack up. A mall customer accosted them at the photo store accusing them of getting Santa fired. The Santa who replaced me the second weekend was moody. He would be very friendly and open for a couple of hours then be grouchy or withdrawn. The third substitute was almost wooden. He wouldn’t look around, he apparently didn’t relate to the kids, and he got up to take a break when there were about a dozen kids in line.
Some adults wanted to sit on my lap and I didn’t deny anybody. My first visitor was a grandmother who had a tradition of getting her picture with Santa. Several retarded adults were delighted to sit on my lap. Some adults reeked of cigarette smoke. Of course, I had to get a photo with my wife.
Almost the very last adults to sit on my lap were a reporter and cameraman from a local TV station. I was amazed at how well I winged the interview. Since we don’t have a VCR or a TV, I called a friend to ask him to tape it, but I only got to leave a message. Unfortunately, his stepfather was in the hospital and died on Christmas eve. I later purchased a copy of the segment to watch on somebody else’s TV.
There were lots of other high points like the three or four kids who asked for “Peace on Earth.” Answer: “We’ve been working on that one for a long time.”
All in all I’m glad that I did it because of the many small rewards. But I doubt that I would do it again. I don’t think the sore bottom, the itchy chin, and the waiting for the next break were worth the pay. Especially considering not much was left after I paid for the pictures, the news video, and the chocolate bars I ate on breaks.
Thursday, December 17, 2015
A Note from Scrooge
No, I am not like Scrooge who hated Christmas and all of its cheer. It’s just that it seems to be the same old, same old, and too much effort to decorate and to select presents.
When I was a kid, I looked forward to the toy catalogs in the Sunday paper. Gosh, I wanted that gas station set, and the chemistry set, and… Actually, all things considered I and my brother wound up with quite a pile of toys and books. As a parent, I enjoyed selecting toys and books that my children would enjoy. Even as a grandparent, I did the same. But now with half my grandchildren being adults, it seems all we do is come up with clever T-shirts or sweat-shirts. Or maybe a book or two.
And despite what the ads say about “perfect gifts”, I think that a gift card for a store that the recipients rarely enter is not a “perfect gift”. Nor is a $1,000 computer for somebody who already has one, especially in a family where the gift budget rarely exceeds the cost of the aforementioned apparel.
I once was a mall Santa. That was quite an adventure, but I never did it again or wanted to. Believe it or not, I was told I was the best Santa at that mall. Apparently, some of the others weren’t good actors or just didn’t like little kids.
I have all but given up on sending Christmas greetings. I just haven’t put any effort into selecting a different wintry picture for a card or newsletter. Just as I don’t really care about other people’s grandkids, I don’t care to burden them with what my grandkids are doing. Do I tell them that we have given up downhill skiing? My wife did write a bunch of cards this past weekend, but I didn’t even look at what she wrote.
For many years I made a fruitcake that definitely was not a door-stop. At the peak, I made 24 one-pound cakes each season. Maybe about ten years ago, it just was too much effort to order quality ingredients, cut the fruit and nuts, beat the eggs, stir in the flour and butter, mix the fruit and nuts in, and… There were a lot of disappointed people when I stopped making fruitcake. See the article list below for the recipe and more.
We haven’t put up a tree for years, even though we have hundreds of nice-looking balsam fir at our cabin. Partly because I’ve developed an allergy to balsam, partly I just don’t want to make the effort to select a tree, cut it, bring it back to Duluth, decorate it, then take it down, and haul it back to our cabin. But my wife still buys a wreath and hangs it by the front door.
For many years, we did a Julbord or Christmas Smörgåsbord. This was a five-course buffet, starting with herring, potatoes, and cheese, and ending with three desserts. All of it accompanied by snaps (aqvavit) and beer. I forget why we stopped. Although my wife did the bulk of the cooking, maybe I got tired of doing the shopping or just being on my feet for so long. Or maybe it was because one relative would only eat bread and nothing else until dessert.
I do get tired of walking by Salvation Army kettles. One year I bought a money order and put it in a kettle. I used a money order so that I wouldn’t get appeal after appeal in the mail for the rest of the year. This year, I just keep my pocket full of change. As I go in or out, I just grab some change without counting it: pennies, nickels, dimes, and quarters. Maybe I should go back to dollar bills so that whoever counts all the change doesn’t have so much work.
But others are not going to give up their Christmas traditions because of my disinterest. And if someone says “Merry Christmas” to me, I will respond with a smile.
Now the real Scrooges are those who object to cashiers and other retail people saying “Merry Christmas”. Way back when I was a grocery cashier I found it repetitive, but I did it with a smile. But now some object because it is unfair to those who aren’t “Christians”. One should say “Happy Holidays”. For them, I have an Italian saying, “Ch’é paese vai, ch’é usanze trovi.” “Wherever you go, follow customs you find.” Or “When in Rome, do as the Romans do.” I don’t believe in the words of Handel’s “Messiah”, but I enjoy performances of it for the music, and I certainly don’t make a fuss because of the words.
Tom Batiuk, who draws the comic strip “Funky Winkerbean”, is having a ball with excessive sensitivity to the words of Christmas music. The principal is vetoing song after song for the Christmas concert because somebody might be offended by the words. Somebody should tell those like the principal that “White Christmas” was written by a Jewish immigrant. The same guy that wrote “Easter Parade”.
For a list of some of my previous Christmas articles, see “Christmas blog links” at
http://magree.blogspot.com/2015/12/christmas-blog-links.html. Many of them are more upbeat than this.
Oh, by the way, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Also published in the Reader Weekly, 2015-12-16 at http://duluthreader.com/articles/2015/12./16/6409_a_note_from_scrooge
When I was a kid, I looked forward to the toy catalogs in the Sunday paper. Gosh, I wanted that gas station set, and the chemistry set, and… Actually, all things considered I and my brother wound up with quite a pile of toys and books. As a parent, I enjoyed selecting toys and books that my children would enjoy. Even as a grandparent, I did the same. But now with half my grandchildren being adults, it seems all we do is come up with clever T-shirts or sweat-shirts. Or maybe a book or two.
And despite what the ads say about “perfect gifts”, I think that a gift card for a store that the recipients rarely enter is not a “perfect gift”. Nor is a $1,000 computer for somebody who already has one, especially in a family where the gift budget rarely exceeds the cost of the aforementioned apparel.
I once was a mall Santa. That was quite an adventure, but I never did it again or wanted to. Believe it or not, I was told I was the best Santa at that mall. Apparently, some of the others weren’t good actors or just didn’t like little kids.
I have all but given up on sending Christmas greetings. I just haven’t put any effort into selecting a different wintry picture for a card or newsletter. Just as I don’t really care about other people’s grandkids, I don’t care to burden them with what my grandkids are doing. Do I tell them that we have given up downhill skiing? My wife did write a bunch of cards this past weekend, but I didn’t even look at what she wrote.
For many years I made a fruitcake that definitely was not a door-stop. At the peak, I made 24 one-pound cakes each season. Maybe about ten years ago, it just was too much effort to order quality ingredients, cut the fruit and nuts, beat the eggs, stir in the flour and butter, mix the fruit and nuts in, and… There were a lot of disappointed people when I stopped making fruitcake. See the article list below for the recipe and more.
We haven’t put up a tree for years, even though we have hundreds of nice-looking balsam fir at our cabin. Partly because I’ve developed an allergy to balsam, partly I just don’t want to make the effort to select a tree, cut it, bring it back to Duluth, decorate it, then take it down, and haul it back to our cabin. But my wife still buys a wreath and hangs it by the front door.
For many years, we did a Julbord or Christmas Smörgåsbord. This was a five-course buffet, starting with herring, potatoes, and cheese, and ending with three desserts. All of it accompanied by snaps (aqvavit) and beer. I forget why we stopped. Although my wife did the bulk of the cooking, maybe I got tired of doing the shopping or just being on my feet for so long. Or maybe it was because one relative would only eat bread and nothing else until dessert.
I do get tired of walking by Salvation Army kettles. One year I bought a money order and put it in a kettle. I used a money order so that I wouldn’t get appeal after appeal in the mail for the rest of the year. This year, I just keep my pocket full of change. As I go in or out, I just grab some change without counting it: pennies, nickels, dimes, and quarters. Maybe I should go back to dollar bills so that whoever counts all the change doesn’t have so much work.
But others are not going to give up their Christmas traditions because of my disinterest. And if someone says “Merry Christmas” to me, I will respond with a smile.
Now the real Scrooges are those who object to cashiers and other retail people saying “Merry Christmas”. Way back when I was a grocery cashier I found it repetitive, but I did it with a smile. But now some object because it is unfair to those who aren’t “Christians”. One should say “Happy Holidays”. For them, I have an Italian saying, “Ch’é paese vai, ch’é usanze trovi.” “Wherever you go, follow customs you find.” Or “When in Rome, do as the Romans do.” I don’t believe in the words of Handel’s “Messiah”, but I enjoy performances of it for the music, and I certainly don’t make a fuss because of the words.
Tom Batiuk, who draws the comic strip “Funky Winkerbean”, is having a ball with excessive sensitivity to the words of Christmas music. The principal is vetoing song after song for the Christmas concert because somebody might be offended by the words. Somebody should tell those like the principal that “White Christmas” was written by a Jewish immigrant. The same guy that wrote “Easter Parade”.
For a list of some of my previous Christmas articles, see “Christmas blog links” at
http://magree.blogspot.com/2015/12/christmas-blog-links.html. Many of them are more upbeat than this.
Oh, by the way, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Also published in the Reader Weekly, 2015-12-16 at http://duluthreader.com/articles/2015/12./16/6409_a_note_from_scrooge
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