Waiting on the Man

A little schmaltz for you today.

“He was supposed to be here an hour ago, Janice! Where the hell is he? You booked this damn thing!”

Janice Olsen had only been an assistant manager for two weeks and so far had managed to rack up a series of mishaps that were bound to put her back behind the cash register.

“Last time I put you in charge of anything! I never believed in that old fart anyway!”

Five Hundred Years Behind the Whip: The Santa Claus Diaries went on sale at Feldman‘s Book Emporium in Chelsea, and the author himself was due to give a reading and sign books for his devoted believers.

“I hired elves to serve coffee, Janice! Elves!”

“He’ll be here, Mr. Feldman. He promised.”

“He once promised me a shiny red Schwinn bicycle with cool tassels on the handlebars! It’s forty years later and I’m still waiting! Fix this, Janice, or you’re fired!”

“Maybe he’s still checking his list, or something, Mr. Feldman. He does check it twice sometimes. So I’ve read. It’s getting pretty close to Christmas, you know.”

“Oh, brother,” said Mr. Feldman. “Coffee! I need coffee! Where the hell is an elf when you need one?”

Mr. Feldman marched back to his office and slammed the door shut.

Janice stood at the display table piled high with the Santa Diaries and stared at her cell phone as though it held the answer to some great mystery. She pressed the number on her contacts list.

"Hello! Claus here!"

"Santa?"

"How many other Claus's do you know, Janice?"

"You know my name?"

"Santa knows all his children's names."

Janice had booked his appearance through Sid Everett at Starlight Publishing and was given Santa’s number in case of a delay. 'He is Santa Claus, you know,' said Mr. Everett. 'Everyone's always pulling on his chain for something.'

"The reason I'm calling--"

"I know, dear,” said Santa. “I know. I'm late. Lateness is the bane of my existence. Except on Christmas eve, of course. Then I'm my punctilious self, belly full of vigor, singing a jolly tune as I soar through the heavens on my wondrous journey 'round this fabulous planet!"

"So, you won't be coming to your own book reading?"

"You have to understand, Janice. I'm much like a Canadian mounty. I hear a cry in the wilderness and I have to answer the call. The cry I heard was from Christmas Eve 1973."

"You heard a cry from 1973?"

"Happens all the time. A seven year-old boy was reminding Santa about a red Schwinn bicycle with tassels on the handlebars that he was promised. Not to make excuses, but  you kids must stop listening to those drunken department store Santas and their promises! You need to write to me directly. Santa Claus. North Pole. Accept no substitutes. Besides, it was Christmas Eve. I had already taken flight. On Prancer! On Dancer! You know the drill. I did make a mental note to get back to the boy, but after so many years on the run my mental health is a little rusted. Too much snow on the brain, I'm guessing. But on my way here I heard that boy again. And his plea for the Schwinn bike with tassels on the handlebars was clear as a church bell on a snowy Christmas Eve. So I’m going back."

"To 1973?"

"Time travel is a great healer of broken dreams, Janice."

"Uh, oh. Here comes my boss. I have to go, Santa. Please say you'll be here! I’ll get fired otherwise! Hello? Santa? Hello? Ah crap!"

Janice closed her eyes and took a deep breath as Mr. Feldman approached.

"Santa!" cried Mr. Feldman. "And right on time!"

"How exciting!" said Janice. 

"It's so good to finally meet you," said Mr. Feldman. "I always wanted to thank you for that sweet Schwinn bicycle with the tassels on the handlebars. I had a grin on my face all through grammar school! Greatest present ever!"

"So glad you liked it."

"Have you met Janice? Greatest employee ever. She'll be running this place some day!"

"I know she will," said Santa. 

"I will?"

"I can almost guarantee it," said Santa. "And don't look so surprised, Janice. Seize the day every chance you get. Time goes by in the wink of an eye, you know. I think Einstein said that. Unless that eye's just gotten a good squirt from your morning grapefruit. Then time drags its heels like a sluggish elephant. So, handle your grapefruits with a wary eye."

"You're a wise old owl, dear Santa."

"Only once a year, Janice. The rest of the year I'm just another pigeon." 

As coffee was served all around, the book buyers took their seats to listen to the jolly one read an excerpt from Five Hundred Years Behind the Whip: The Santa Diaries.

“24 December 1516. My first day on the job as the newly recruited Santa Claus. It was a Monday. King Henry VIII had written me requesting one grade A ax sharpener and a few dozen pair of stretchy breeches . . . "

photo source: wiki/commons