Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry easy money time of the year. I don’t know why it took me so long to figure that being a mall Santa was the way to go. There I was sitting in my living room watching my VHS tape of “Thar she blows!” which is my favorite nautical themed adult movie, when it hit me. Children. Why am I not taking advantage of children? Well, not the children really but we know that parents will open their wallets when it comes to their kids. Especially at Christmas time. Enough of sitting on my ass collecting retirement/disability from the aglet plant. I was going to make some real booze money this year. That was 15 years ago and the rest is history.
Well, maybe it isn’t that simple. Let me tell you a little about me. I am a big man. I very big man. I don’t know how much I weight but I have trouble fitting into most seats. That is one problem with being Santa. I have the beard. That is for damn sure. I have the rosey cheeks, due to the booze. And I am usually jolly when properly liquored up unless I am pissed off then from what I gather from the police reports I can be more than a handful. That is all great but I look unhealthy. I sound unhealthy when I breath. I feel fine but parts of my body spill out from under the Santa costume so it is a bit unsightly. I have tried exercise and diets but they just don’t work for me. By that I mean like I tried skipping a meal one day and I thought about exercises one time. Look, I am fat. That is me. All of me. Everywhere.
The first gig I got was at the local mall. Their Santa was a joke. An old skinny guy with a beard who would make cute excuses like “Ms. Clause put him on a diet”. Pussy. When my ex wife told me to diet I would smack her and tell her to bake me a bigger pie. This doesn’t sound good in court when you have to repeat your lines. She easily won the house and kids. I didn’t have to wait long before the previous Santa moved into a retirement home and I stepped it. Lucky me they didn’t have much choice as it was already November when they caught him taking a dump the mouth of the Hamburgler at the McDonalds playground thinking it was his wife. Yep. You heard right. Apparently they had some serious scat play back in the day based on the things he was saying while doing the deed. So I walked into the mall managers office and just said, “I know you don’t like what you see but you got no choice. I am your mall Santa. Deal with it.” So there I was. They had to reinforce the Santa throne because I am a fat fuck. Just a disgusting fat pig of a man. I rely on the thick Santa suit to keep a majority of the smells in and the booze to make my body in hospitable for most bacteria.
People don’t understand how tough it is to be a mall santa. All day. All fucking day you listen to these little shit monsters tell you how good they were and they want all these bullshit toys. Mom and Dad trying to take pictures with cell phones instead of paying for a picture from a professional like
“Two Eyes” Burt who was the photographer at the time. We called him that because he wished he had two eyes like a normal person but somehow in the fetal process something rather cycloptic appeared to have happened. He scared the living fuck out of the kids so we use to try to draw a couple of normal eyes on him but it only seemed to make things worse. He deserved to make a living like anyone else so when I lost my shit on some sexless high pantsuit mom and smashed her IPhone the cops were called and I was ejected from my first gig. Too bad you may be thinking but this is not the case. It turns out most mall Santa’s are pedophiles working under false identities. I would just walk into another mall. Walk up to the Santa and say “Beat it pal or I tell them everything.” Those sick fucks wouldn’t even blink. They would just get up and leave. I would sit down and Christmas would continue.
I think one of the worst parts about being a mall Santa is who you have to try to hide the drinking and remember that you are face to face with some kid who is going to tell you that “your breath smells like angry Daddy”. The cool thing is you can just chase with mouthwash AND get fucked up off mouthwash. Not knowing how to pace myself on the job is what led to me losing my second job. A smoking hot Milf brought her kid to see me. I hadn’t noticed her until she was up to the front of the line. Tight jeans, cut off shirt and a three year old kid. Yep. Had to be a stripper. Now I was half in the bag and by that I mean flat out drunk. She didn’t look like she was doing to hot either. Having trouble balancing in her pumps. After her kid was done being shy I asked “maybe Mommy wants a turn on Santas Lap.” She played along and I stuck a $10 in her waist band and instinct kicked in. Turns out she was a stripper and started giving me a lap dance in the mall. The smell of money and a fat guy boozed out of his ass along with her own buzz triggered her to think she was at work. The police report said that I had stated in a loud “Santa Voice” that I was going to “Cum Kris Cringle Style” and that is when mall security had stepped in. However, being that is was near Christmas time and people were spending all their hard earned money a number of the fathers who came with their families were also a bit liquored up and had begun throwing singles at us and arguing who was next. Which of course led to couples fighting and some of the fathers battling mall security for trying to stop us. Meanwhile mommy stripper was licking the vodka out of my beard and I don’t even know where her kid was. Regardless I missed a few days that season but I miss days every season. Still had a good haul. The next year I learned to dress Two Eyes Burt up like an elf so he made more sense and then we worked as a team. Since then it has been smooth sailing. Easy gigs. Easy money. Easy women. Strippers go for guys dressed as Santa. I keep the outfit on for the clubs after. I don’t go for strippers as much as to get a whore. Strippers and whores. Same shit.
-Harvey Patterson
-Dec. 2011