Wednesday – Santa At Starbucks
Dec. 16th, 2009 09:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermore.
.
.
I went to a local Starbucks to buy a cup of coffee and write in my journal, which I do at least once a week to stay sane. My journal is an old-school paper journal. Unlike what I write on the Internet, this journal is for private consumption only, though I rarely go back and read anything that I've written in it. I have these journals going back to when I was 10 years old, a whole box of them. There were a few years of my life during the last 30 years I didn't have one, but for most of them I do. They are what I do instead of seeing a psychiatrist. Lately, every entry has begun with the words, "Still unemployed."
I can't write in a journal at home, and I've never written in one while at a place of work; I must be in a so-called "third place" where I can be alone and neither people nor an obligation will pester me while I'm trying to think. Sometimes, though, another patron will sit too close and talk too loud while I'm trying to write, and I will record what I'm hearing into my journal since my own thoughts can't make in it in there because of the distraction they are causing. Yesterday the distraction was from no other than Santa Claus, himself, talking on his cell phone. He was not wearing a red suit when I saw him, mind you, but this guy was the real deal: he delivered toys to boys and girls for Christmas. In fact, he was calling up their mothers to find out how the names of their children and what they wanted for Christmas.
Santa is a gentleman in his 50's and he's not as overweight as the rumor has it. He has a gray beard, but it's not snowy white and it's not long; he keeps it neatly trimmed. He talks and carries himself like a business man, which I suspect he is 11 months out of the year. When I saw him he carried a file folder with sheets of paper in it. After he got his coffee, he sat down, selected the top sheet of paper from his file, and made a phone call. After establishing where the woman lived, he got down to grilling her about what he should bring to her home when he planned to visit on, yes, Christmas Eve. She had 6 children. Each could expect about 3 gifts, he told her. He needed their names because each gift would have the name of the child it was for on its tag.
"Alright, ma'am, I show you have a 14-year-old female? What's her name? Samantha. Any idea what she might like? CDs. What kind? Country. Anything else? Cologne or perfume." He wrote down everything she told him onto her sheet.
"Okay, I show a 10-year-old. What's her name? Candice." Candice wants the same stuff her big sister wants.
They have two little brothers, Scott and Shane, and two little sisters, Rachel and Tiffany.
"Do any of them want bikes? They all want bikes? I'm not sure we have enough bikes for all of them, but we can bring bikes for some of them. Scott, is he tall, short, skinny, fat? I mean, what kind of bike would fit him? We have 20 inch and 24 inch bikes, which would be best? Okay, I can do that. I'll bring some bikes out."
He ended the call by letting her know when he would be out and giving her instructions to the closest St. Vincent de Paul Society was to her, where he told her she could pick up food if she needed it.
He made some notes on her sheet, then turned to the next one. He didn't like this woman as much. She wanted gifts for 5 children: two 3 year olds, a 2 year old, and two 3 month olds. Apparently, her family was prone to having twins. He got exasperated with her on a few occasions. "I can't promise we'll bring much, if anything, for the 3 month olds. We have things for kids from ages 2 to 12, and that's pretty much it." I guess he had decided to make an exception for 14 year old Samantha. "An 18 year old girl and a 16 year old girl? No, we can't do anything for them. Look, ma'am, I have 47 families I'm trying to help this year. This is for children, not 18 year old girls, and not 16 year old girls. I can bring things for the 3 year olds and the 2 year old, but that's all I can do. About 3 gifts for each one."
It's official, kids: when you are old enough to drive and vote, it doesn't matter whether you are naughty or nice, because Santa's not bringing you anything, anyhow. Get a job and buy your own stuff if you want it so bad.
He was negotiating when and where to drop off the toys when I finished my coffee and got ready to leave. Santa obviously 45 more calls to make and I didn't have time to listen to them all.
My 5-year-old son has expressed doubts about the existence of Santa Claus, but I have sat next to him in a Starbucks and so I happen to know he's real. I also know for a fact that he can be cranky when he feels like he's being taken advantage of, but kindly about pointing people toward places where necessities such as food and clothes can be picked up year round when the North Pole is closed for business if he thinks you might need that kind of help. I also know that he dresses up in red suit and visits children on Christmas eve and Christmas Eve's eve, because he told their mothers that's what he would do.
So, yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. I have seen him with my own eyes.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
.
.
I went to a local Starbucks to buy a cup of coffee and write in my journal, which I do at least once a week to stay sane. My journal is an old-school paper journal. Unlike what I write on the Internet, this journal is for private consumption only, though I rarely go back and read anything that I've written in it. I have these journals going back to when I was 10 years old, a whole box of them. There were a few years of my life during the last 30 years I didn't have one, but for most of them I do. They are what I do instead of seeing a psychiatrist. Lately, every entry has begun with the words, "Still unemployed."
I can't write in a journal at home, and I've never written in one while at a place of work; I must be in a so-called "third place" where I can be alone and neither people nor an obligation will pester me while I'm trying to think. Sometimes, though, another patron will sit too close and talk too loud while I'm trying to write, and I will record what I'm hearing into my journal since my own thoughts can't make in it in there because of the distraction they are causing. Yesterday the distraction was from no other than Santa Claus, himself, talking on his cell phone. He was not wearing a red suit when I saw him, mind you, but this guy was the real deal: he delivered toys to boys and girls for Christmas. In fact, he was calling up their mothers to find out how the names of their children and what they wanted for Christmas.
Santa is a gentleman in his 50's and he's not as overweight as the rumor has it. He has a gray beard, but it's not snowy white and it's not long; he keeps it neatly trimmed. He talks and carries himself like a business man, which I suspect he is 11 months out of the year. When I saw him he carried a file folder with sheets of paper in it. After he got his coffee, he sat down, selected the top sheet of paper from his file, and made a phone call. After establishing where the woman lived, he got down to grilling her about what he should bring to her home when he planned to visit on, yes, Christmas Eve. She had 6 children. Each could expect about 3 gifts, he told her. He needed their names because each gift would have the name of the child it was for on its tag.
"Alright, ma'am, I show you have a 14-year-old female? What's her name? Samantha. Any idea what she might like? CDs. What kind? Country. Anything else? Cologne or perfume." He wrote down everything she told him onto her sheet.
"Okay, I show a 10-year-old. What's her name? Candice." Candice wants the same stuff her big sister wants.
They have two little brothers, Scott and Shane, and two little sisters, Rachel and Tiffany.
"Do any of them want bikes? They all want bikes? I'm not sure we have enough bikes for all of them, but we can bring bikes for some of them. Scott, is he tall, short, skinny, fat? I mean, what kind of bike would fit him? We have 20 inch and 24 inch bikes, which would be best? Okay, I can do that. I'll bring some bikes out."
He ended the call by letting her know when he would be out and giving her instructions to the closest St. Vincent de Paul Society was to her, where he told her she could pick up food if she needed it.
He made some notes on her sheet, then turned to the next one. He didn't like this woman as much. She wanted gifts for 5 children: two 3 year olds, a 2 year old, and two 3 month olds. Apparently, her family was prone to having twins. He got exasperated with her on a few occasions. "I can't promise we'll bring much, if anything, for the 3 month olds. We have things for kids from ages 2 to 12, and that's pretty much it." I guess he had decided to make an exception for 14 year old Samantha. "An 18 year old girl and a 16 year old girl? No, we can't do anything for them. Look, ma'am, I have 47 families I'm trying to help this year. This is for children, not 18 year old girls, and not 16 year old girls. I can bring things for the 3 year olds and the 2 year old, but that's all I can do. About 3 gifts for each one."
It's official, kids: when you are old enough to drive and vote, it doesn't matter whether you are naughty or nice, because Santa's not bringing you anything, anyhow. Get a job and buy your own stuff if you want it so bad.
He was negotiating when and where to drop off the toys when I finished my coffee and got ready to leave. Santa obviously 45 more calls to make and I didn't have time to listen to them all.
My 5-year-old son has expressed doubts about the existence of Santa Claus, but I have sat next to him in a Starbucks and so I happen to know he's real. I also know for a fact that he can be cranky when he feels like he's being taken advantage of, but kindly about pointing people toward places where necessities such as food and clothes can be picked up year round when the North Pole is closed for business if he thinks you might need that kind of help. I also know that he dresses up in red suit and visits children on Christmas eve and Christmas Eve's eve, because he told their mothers that's what he would do.
So, yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. I have seen him with my own eyes.
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no subject
Date: 2009-12-16 04:27 pm (UTC)Haha...priceless!!
Yet another reason why I shouldn't have children. I refuse to bring them up believing in Santa, so my kid would be destined to be that kid that every parent hates b/c their kid came home crying b/c Little Johnny told them there's no Santa Clause. Mwahaha!!
no subject
Date: 2009-12-16 04:35 pm (UTC)"Lisa Beth, Santa is FICTIONAL" said big sister who knows everything.
That said, this guy did sound very sweet and helpful. Age limit or not, it's very kind that he is helping those kids.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-16 04:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-16 04:48 pm (UTC)Man, everyone needs to read that old "Yes, Virginia" response from 1897; it's truly the best answer to the question every written: http://www.barricksinsurance.com/virginia.html. Whimsy, imagination, creativity, and generosity are as vital to the spirit as food is to the body.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-16 06:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-16 07:54 pm (UTC)Santa is timeless, but he is also eternal and adaptable. For example, there is a man who rides around east Houston every Christmas in a red low-rider convertable who calls himself "Pancho Claus." He wears a red and white zoot suit and hands out toys to kids in the working-class, Hispanic neighborhoods on that side of town. He may call himself Pancho, but like the guy in Starbucks he is also a real, genuine Santa.
Santa is real, because there are men and woman who go to great lengths to make him real. :)
no subject
Date: 2009-12-16 06:43 pm (UTC)Did you know that if you switch the 'n' his name becomes Satan? =)
no subject
Date: 2009-12-16 07:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-16 06:55 pm (UTC)I'm seriously jealous...I have distinct memories of writing (at least periodically) in a journal as far back as third grade. But I think sometime in my "teen embarrassment years," I pitched 'em. Not that I had all that much written in them anyways; it seems I thought back then that a journal or diary could only entail a description of day-to-day events, and God knows, my life was less than enthralling at age 8. But still, it'd be nice to read little me's thoughts...
no subject
Date: 2009-12-16 08:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-16 09:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-17 01:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-16 11:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-17 01:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-29 03:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-30 09:16 pm (UTC)