“Next.”
Santa Claus opened his eyes. He lifted a hand and rubbed his cheeks, then his forehead. His face hurt. His skin was cold and clammy but he felt warm, hot even, inside. His head throbbed and his mouth was dry.
“This is the worst hangover I’ve ever had,” Santa thought. “No, no, the day after I spent a night drinking mead with Shakespeare, that was worse. But this is a close second.”
“Next.”
“Who keeps saying that?” Santa wondered. He was in a room dimly lit by a lone fluorescent bulb hanging from a low ceiling. There was a dark wooden counter about 10 feet in front of him. Behind it stood a woman reading a magazine.
“Next,” the woman called out again without looking up from her magazine.
Santa looked around. There was no one else in the room.
“Do you mean me?” Santa asked. The woman didn’t reply or even look at him so he walked up to the counter.
“Name,” she asked, her eyes still focused on the magazine.
“Ho ho ho,” Santa said without sounding jolly at all. “Don’t you know me?”
“Name,” the woman said again.
Santa frowned. “I’m Santa Claus,” he said in a dejected, bewildered tone.
“Take a seat. Someone will call you in a minute.”
“But there’s no where to sit,” Santa said but as he looked to one side he saw that a chair had appeared. “Oh. I guess I could sit there.” When he turned back to face the woman, she was gone, and the counter was too.
Santa grunted. “Never drinking eggnog again. Definitely not with Blitzen.” He walked over and sat in the chair.
The chair was hard and uncomfortable, and hardly big enough for a man with Santa’s girth. He crossed and uncrossed his legs. He sighed. He tried shutting his eyes to sleep for a moment but sleep would not come.
“I wish there was something to read,” he said out loud to an empty room. Santa glanced to his right and saw a magazine rack where the counter had been. “Might as well check that out,” he thought.
The first magazine he picked up was a copy of Guns and Ammo from July, 1948. He put it back down. There was a issue of Time from September, 1964. “Not very timely,” Santa thought. “Ah, now there’s something,” he said as he reached for a tattered copy of Playboy only to find that most of the pages had been torn out. “Maybe I’ll just skip the reading thing.” He cursed the fact that he didn’t have a book with him. He had sworn years ago to always have a paperback in his jacket pocket but he never did start carrying one. He wanted to sit down again but found the chair was missing. “Swell.”
Santa turned around when he heard footsteps behind him. It was a woman in an old time nurses outfit: white peaked hat with a red cross on the front, white dress and clunky white shoes. She had a clipboard tucked under one arm and a fountain pen in her hand. Her lips formed the slightest of frowns and her eyes were a dull grey. They focused on the area all around Santa but not on Santa himself.
“Claus,” she said in a flat voice.
“I’m Santa,” he said.
“Santa Claus?” the nurse asked.
Santa resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, I’m Santa Claus. That’s me.”
“Follow me,” the nurse said as she turned and walked away.
“Where are we going?”
“Follow me,” she repeated.
So Santa followed her.
The two walked down a long, dark hall until they came to a place where light streamed through an open doorway.
The nurse gestured with her clipboard in the direction of the open door. “Take a seat in here and someone will be with you shortly.”
Santa’s cheeks were beginning to get rosy. This happened when he was irked. (It happened for other reasons too but right now he was feeling irked.)
“What’s going on? Why am I here?” Santa’s voice sounded squeaky. “And just where is it that I am?”
“Wait here,” the nurse said, “someone will be with you shortly.”
Santa walked into the room. It was brighter than the places he had been before. There were two chairs and a desk. On the desk was a computer monitor and a keyboard. He sat down and heard the nurse’s footsteps trot down the hall, away from the room.
This chair was no more comfortable than the one in the last room. Santa fidgeted. He crossed and uncrossed his legs. He crossed and uncrossed his arms. He sighed, long and loud and often. Bored, Santa decided to see if he could get on the Internet using the computer on the desk. At the very least maybe he could find some games to play.
He stood in front of the desk and tapped some keys on the keyboard. The keys were just painted on. The keyboard was not real. Santa touched the monitor. It was hollow cardboard. “Okay, this is weird.”
The desk had no drawers so there was nothing for Santa to rummage around in. Other than the fake monitor and keyboard there was nothing else on the desk, no pen, pencils or paper. Santa decided to sit back down while he waited. He pulled the second chair closer and put his feet up on it. “Well, at least now I’m slightly less uncomfortable,” he thought.
Santa crossed his arms over the round mound of his belly and stared off into space. After a few minutes that seemed like hours music began to play through a speaker in the ceiling. The melody, the drums, it all sounded very familiar. It was a very ‘80s pop music sound.
Quickly, Santa recognized the song. “Oh, dear God,” he moaned.
From the speaker came the singing: “Last Christmas I gave you my heart, but the very next day you gave it away”.
“Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!” screamed Santa. “Oh no! Anything but that!”
Santa jumped up and tried to reach the speaker, but he couldn’t. He leapt on top of the desk (he was very nimble for such a big man) but still the speaker was out of reach.
“Damn it!” said Santa as he jumped down from the desk.
“Well,” he thought, “the song will be over soon enough.” Santa was right. The song concluded and for a few seconds there was a lovely silence. Then it started over again: “Last Christmas I gave you my heart…”
“Aaaaahhhhhhh!” He ran to the door and shouted, “Somebody help me! I can’t take it in here anymore!”
Santa looked up and down the hallway but there was no one in sight. There didn’t seem to be any other offices or waiting rooms or any other rooms at all.
“Help?” Santa shouted, more of a question than a plea. “Fire! Fire. Help. Anybody?” He looked up and down the hall one more time but saw no one nor did he hear any footsteps running to come save him from listening to Wham for the millionth time in his life.
“Nobody, huh?” Santa shrugged and walked slowly back into the room.
“What am I going to do now?” Santa wondered. “The reindeer have abandoned me, I can’t get in touch with Mrs. Claus, I’m stuck here in this eternal waiting room, waiting for what I don’t know. This is like being in hell.”
Santa’s eyes widened as the realization of where he possibly was sunk in.
“Oh no. Have I died and gone to hell?”
To be continued...
Santa Claus opened his eyes. He lifted a hand and rubbed his cheeks, then his forehead. His face hurt. His skin was cold and clammy but he felt warm, hot even, inside. His head throbbed and his mouth was dry.
“This is the worst hangover I’ve ever had,” Santa thought. “No, no, the day after I spent a night drinking mead with Shakespeare, that was worse. But this is a close second.”
“Next.”
“Who keeps saying that?” Santa wondered. He was in a room dimly lit by a lone fluorescent bulb hanging from a low ceiling. There was a dark wooden counter about 10 feet in front of him. Behind it stood a woman reading a magazine.
“Next,” the woman called out again without looking up from her magazine.
Santa looked around. There was no one else in the room.
“Do you mean me?” Santa asked. The woman didn’t reply or even look at him so he walked up to the counter.
“Name,” she asked, her eyes still focused on the magazine.
“Ho ho ho,” Santa said without sounding jolly at all. “Don’t you know me?”
“Name,” the woman said again.
Santa frowned. “I’m Santa Claus,” he said in a dejected, bewildered tone.
“Take a seat. Someone will call you in a minute.”
“But there’s no where to sit,” Santa said but as he looked to one side he saw that a chair had appeared. “Oh. I guess I could sit there.” When he turned back to face the woman, she was gone, and the counter was too.
Santa grunted. “Never drinking eggnog again. Definitely not with Blitzen.” He walked over and sat in the chair.
The chair was hard and uncomfortable, and hardly big enough for a man with Santa’s girth. He crossed and uncrossed his legs. He sighed. He tried shutting his eyes to sleep for a moment but sleep would not come.
“I wish there was something to read,” he said out loud to an empty room. Santa glanced to his right and saw a magazine rack where the counter had been. “Might as well check that out,” he thought.
The first magazine he picked up was a copy of Guns and Ammo from July, 1948. He put it back down. There was a issue of Time from September, 1964. “Not very timely,” Santa thought. “Ah, now there’s something,” he said as he reached for a tattered copy of Playboy only to find that most of the pages had been torn out. “Maybe I’ll just skip the reading thing.” He cursed the fact that he didn’t have a book with him. He had sworn years ago to always have a paperback in his jacket pocket but he never did start carrying one. He wanted to sit down again but found the chair was missing. “Swell.”
Santa turned around when he heard footsteps behind him. It was a woman in an old time nurses outfit: white peaked hat with a red cross on the front, white dress and clunky white shoes. She had a clipboard tucked under one arm and a fountain pen in her hand. Her lips formed the slightest of frowns and her eyes were a dull grey. They focused on the area all around Santa but not on Santa himself.
“Claus,” she said in a flat voice.
“I’m Santa,” he said.
“Santa Claus?” the nurse asked.
Santa resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, I’m Santa Claus. That’s me.”
“Follow me,” the nurse said as she turned and walked away.
“Where are we going?”
“Follow me,” she repeated.
So Santa followed her.
The two walked down a long, dark hall until they came to a place where light streamed through an open doorway.
The nurse gestured with her clipboard in the direction of the open door. “Take a seat in here and someone will be with you shortly.”
Santa’s cheeks were beginning to get rosy. This happened when he was irked. (It happened for other reasons too but right now he was feeling irked.)
“What’s going on? Why am I here?” Santa’s voice sounded squeaky. “And just where is it that I am?”
“Wait here,” the nurse said, “someone will be with you shortly.”
Santa walked into the room. It was brighter than the places he had been before. There were two chairs and a desk. On the desk was a computer monitor and a keyboard. He sat down and heard the nurse’s footsteps trot down the hall, away from the room.
This chair was no more comfortable than the one in the last room. Santa fidgeted. He crossed and uncrossed his legs. He crossed and uncrossed his arms. He sighed, long and loud and often. Bored, Santa decided to see if he could get on the Internet using the computer on the desk. At the very least maybe he could find some games to play.
He stood in front of the desk and tapped some keys on the keyboard. The keys were just painted on. The keyboard was not real. Santa touched the monitor. It was hollow cardboard. “Okay, this is weird.”
The desk had no drawers so there was nothing for Santa to rummage around in. Other than the fake monitor and keyboard there was nothing else on the desk, no pen, pencils or paper. Santa decided to sit back down while he waited. He pulled the second chair closer and put his feet up on it. “Well, at least now I’m slightly less uncomfortable,” he thought.
Santa crossed his arms over the round mound of his belly and stared off into space. After a few minutes that seemed like hours music began to play through a speaker in the ceiling. The melody, the drums, it all sounded very familiar. It was a very ‘80s pop music sound.
Quickly, Santa recognized the song. “Oh, dear God,” he moaned.
From the speaker came the singing: “Last Christmas I gave you my heart, but the very next day you gave it away”.
“Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!” screamed Santa. “Oh no! Anything but that!”
Santa jumped up and tried to reach the speaker, but he couldn’t. He leapt on top of the desk (he was very nimble for such a big man) but still the speaker was out of reach.
“Damn it!” said Santa as he jumped down from the desk.
“Well,” he thought, “the song will be over soon enough.” Santa was right. The song concluded and for a few seconds there was a lovely silence. Then it started over again: “Last Christmas I gave you my heart…”
“Aaaaahhhhhhh!” He ran to the door and shouted, “Somebody help me! I can’t take it in here anymore!”
Santa looked up and down the hallway but there was no one in sight. There didn’t seem to be any other offices or waiting rooms or any other rooms at all.
“Help?” Santa shouted, more of a question than a plea. “Fire! Fire. Help. Anybody?” He looked up and down the hall one more time but saw no one nor did he hear any footsteps running to come save him from listening to Wham for the millionth time in his life.
“Nobody, huh?” Santa shrugged and walked slowly back into the room.
“What am I going to do now?” Santa wondered. “The reindeer have abandoned me, I can’t get in touch with Mrs. Claus, I’m stuck here in this eternal waiting room, waiting for what I don’t know. This is like being in hell.”
Santa’s eyes widened as the realization of where he possibly was sunk in.
“Oh no. Have I died and gone to hell?”
To be continued...
No comments:
Post a Comment