Yeah. Well, I gave Santa a call earlier today. It was raining cats and dogs outside here in Ohio. So, I looked up the weather for Monday night. Things look pretty clear at this point. But I felt I should give him the heads up, about things other than the weather. I wanted to call him about the FBI Ten Most Wanted List. My wheels started spinning. So, yes, I called.
I still have the number for his direct line into the Workshop. I’ve had it since I was seven. You may remember, that was the year of the big debacle over the “Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots” that I was supposed to get, and my sister’s Easy-Bake Oven. It was on the front page of The Dayton Journal Herald the day after Christmas. The explosion, and all. And then the whole Wright Patterson Air Force Base thing. Yeah, that big ordeal. At any rate, Kris gave me his direct phone number, and since then, I like to call him from time to time. You know. Chat it up a little. Chew the fat. No pun intended.
Sometimes though. Argh. When I call the Workshop, one of the Elves will answer. Which is no big deal, if I get Milton, or Seymour. But heaven forbid that Stanley answers the phone. That little dude has some sort of a personality crisis, I swear. Every time I stinking call, he has to go into the whole big story from 1920. The year that FTS Tools were founded by Fredrick T. Stanley. And how Santa suggested that he name them “Stanley Tools” instead. Santa said “It has a better ring to it, Fred. You’ll sell more. And besides that, I have a little Elf named Stanley.” That stinking story. Every time I call, I have to hear this story.
And I am like, “Stanley. Dude. Will you just put Santa on the freaking line, for crying out loud? You little-green-man-ignoramus.” Oh. I get frustrated. And then Stanley goes, “Oh mmmmmyyyyy. Look who’s being Naughty.” Gawd, if I ever take a trip to the North Pole, I swear.
At any rate, Santa finally came on the line. It took like eight minutes for him to get there. Someone asked him about the Singing Unicorn Dolls, and then about the Trump Bobble-Heads. And just as he was about to get the phone, Mrs. Claus stopped him. Made him down three cans of Ensure, to help him put on that weight. This time of year is so stressful on him. I’m like, “Kris. You have GOT to slow down, here. Your personal expectations are unrealistic.” But he presses on. Tries to do this whole damn thing in one night.
Anyway, he gets on the phone, and I say, “Kris. I was looking at the FBI Ten Most Wanted List. And I got worried, what with you out all night, and all over god-knows-where. So. I just want you to take that iPad I got you for your birthday, and pull up the list as your are flying around. You know, keep your eyes open. Be alert. I just sent you a can of mace, Fed-Ex. It should be there tomorrow. I’d feel a heck of a lot better if you kept it in your sleigh. And, you know Kris, if anybody can see who’s naughty or nice, it is you, man. So, maybe if you see something, you give some good tips to the FBI. I bet they’d be grateful.”
He said he would, and all. We stayed on the phone a few more minutes and talked about the Stock Market and, the new Grinch movie. Finally I signed off. “Give my love to Rudolph. And hey, is the Abominable still working out with the tree decorations?”
He said, “I’ll see you Tuesday.” And I said, “Not if I see you first.” And we both laughed. He spewed hot chocolate out his nose.
And that was that.
“Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before! What if Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store. What if Christmas…perhaps…means a little bit more!”
― Dr. Seuss, How the Grinch Stole Christmas!
“He who has not Christmas in his heart will never find it under a tree.”
― Roy L. Smith
“What kind of Christmas present would Jesus ask Santa for?”
― Salman Rushdie, Fury