Santa's Boo-boo

A Christmas story I made up just for fun.

"Good God, Man! What happened to your leg? How can you work with all the lap sitters that wiggle so much?"
"Well, Mr. Hardie, It's really looks worse than it is. The pain, well, pain is to be expected. Life, you know?" I couldn't quit. It was the first money I'd earn in months, the store was nice and warm, and I could even eat in the employee cafeteria for FREE. They had great chicken soup.
"Show me how you can get around and not make a scene. We can't have a scene. Scare the kids and all. At least you're not inebriated and smelling like a distillery like that guy we had to fire last year."
I leaned the crutches the hospital had lent me against the wall behind the lighted tree and sort of jumpety- limped the six feet to the Santa Throne. "See! Piece of fruitcake!" I could be so clever with words. Not so
clever in avoiding that darn car that ran me down and left me in the gutter.
"O.K. but how's it going to feel with a kid bouncing up and down? You'll hurt and probably drop one and the store will get sued." His face showed the strain of the season and I could comisserate, but I couldn't just leave and go "home." It was too cold and too far. Besides, I had to get in at least a couple hours to pay the cabbie I had told, "You can trust ol' Santa. I get paid every day and I promise to repay you when you pick me up here at eight-thirty."
I put on my most winning smile hoping it showed through the itchy white beard. "Please, Mr. Hardie. I promise to do it right. No lawsuits."
He rubbed his hands together sort of like Herod washing the whole matter away. "If I see one unhappy kid or parent, you're out. Hear me?"
"Yes. Yes. I hear you. Thank you for the chance." I meant what I had said but wasn't too sure I could deliver. But, heck, I was Santa and he could really deliver. The pain pills the nurse had given me at the ER after the stitches had helped some. I had four more, but knew I was in for some serious pain later. I didn't want to take too many of them and act goofy, remembering what had happened to last years Santa.
I steeled myself noting the increasing line of "Visitors". There were dozens. The littlest ones each had an adult herding them. "Lord," I prayed (which I never did). Who prays now-a-days? "Please help me get through this and I promise to help somebody else; maybe even Louie who stole my blanket when I was out panhandling." Now that was a real promise. No one could refuse to answer such a sincere petition.
This was a real small time operation, meaning there were no Elves or anyone else to help the little lids up and down from my lap. The bigger ones had to stand. No professional photographer either. Any pictures had to be taken by the adults who may have thought to bring a camera. Just as well. Even with the "disguise" I was wearing, I felt exposed. What if somebody from the olden days recognized me?
I had passed the required Santa Clause Course and had practiced "the VOICE"--not too hearty and loud enough to let the listening parents what their little dears wanted. We were told to repeat everything in case they kids couldn't be heard by his attending adult. The mirror had shown a too tall, too slim, too old, and too tired homeless man in a poorly fitting and kind of smelly red and white suit. With the "Waistline Ajustment Device strapped on under the jacket, I looked a bit more Santa-ish. Good enough to fool most kids and if they weren't, who gives a s--- (I mean "darn!" Have to watch the language, too. I need the job.
At precisely four PM, Mr. Hardie re-appeared, pulled the fake evergreen garland off the candycane posts and said, "And here he is everyone, Santa Clause brought to you by Danver's Department Store. Step right up and visit." He glared at me in warning and stepped over near the tree. The first kid was a girl of about four. Her Mother helped her sit on my lap. Darn! so this is what it's going to be like? The pain flared in my left knee. I wiggled to get it into a better position, she wiggled to stay on my lap and Mr. Hardie and the Mom wiggled toward us in a sort of odd dance. I gritted my teeth and, using "The VOICE" asked, "And what do you want for Christmas, little girl?" She stared into my face and then whispered, "A doll that does real
people stuff and clothes and a big candy cane." She smiled and I nearly did, too, but the knee wouldn't let me. She got down and I sighed.
Only four hours and about a thousand more kids. I felt like I was in Hell or at least Purgatory. Man! I hadn't thought of purgatory since I ot kicked out of St. Francis Ctholic School years ago.
Evidently I had hidden my pain and been O.K. as Mr. Hardie turned and walked away with only one last small glare. The next few kids were too big for the lap and I relaxed. It became a little easier as the line moved along. Next there was a little boy on crutches. He swung toward me, then stopped and stared behind the tree. I had forgotten the crutches I had put
there, but it was evident that he saw them. He had such a serious look on his face. I wondered if this would be any fun for him at all. He was followed by a lady who looked like life had used her hard and had nearly given up on her. Guess the kid was tough on her. He spoke. "Hey, you're supposed to let me sit on your lap."
"Well, sonny, you're right. Let's see how that works out." He bent over and placed his crutches on the floor and the lady helped me hoist him up. WOW!!! Right onto the sore knee. It seems that the pain pills had totally worn off and it was like someone had driven a sharp, hot,serrated knife into the joint.
"You got bad legs, too?" he asked, "Ain't Santa 'posed to be perfect?"
"Um, yeah, kid. Just sit still and say your piece." I had deviated from the "Acceptable Phrases", but this was no time for the niceties. All I wanted to do was to get the little cuss off me and take a pain pill break. I put my hand down on his leg trying to hold him still and felt an unexpected hardness.