THE DAY SANTA GOT FIRED by Larry Stout
THE DAY SANTA GOT FIRED by Larry Stout 12/23/07
The five members of the Committee sat solemnly behind a long table awaiting the arrival of Mr. C for his annual review. Each year it had become more difficult, and the committee president, Mrs. Haggerty, believed that this year would be the hardest of all. The file in front of her was six inches deep, and she knew that these were just the summary reports. This guy was in deep trouble, and unless he got that stupid smile off his face and always acting so jolly and began to toe the line…
At that moment, the door opened, and a robust but hefty elderly gentleman dressed with a furry red cone hat, a flaming red coat and matching color pants, stumbled into the room. He chuckled as he pulled behind him a large canvas bag apparently filled with various sized objects. Quickly realizing that the solitary chair in the center of the room was for him, he again let out a little laughter as he had difficulty maneuvering into the seat that did not quite fit a man of his girth. At the same time, he did not want to let go of his bag, which made the whole process much more difficult than it should have been. As he kept wiggling to get situated, he was quickly brought to a start by the piercing voice of Mrs. Haggerty, “Mr. Claus, if you please!”
Santa loked up and smiled broadly. He stroked his flow, flowing white beard and straightened himself as best he could. “Yes, I think I am ready now. So – what can I can bring you all for Christmas?”
Mr. Simon was definitely not amused. As head of the Labor Relations Group, he had some tough questions and he wanted to get to them. “Mr. Claus, as you know, this committee is responsible for the political correctness of the Winter Holiday Formally Known as Christmas, and each year you make it more and more difficult for us. To be brutally honest, we have some serious concerns about your work.”
Santa tilted his head and frowned, “In what way, Bob? I have not changed the ways I deliver toys to the children for hundreds of years. You didn’t complain when I brought you that GI Joe for Christmas when you were five years old.”
Mr. Simon grimaced at the response. “First off, I do not believe we are on a first-name basis here, Mr. Claus. I did not take this liberty with you – hence you should not have taken it with me,” the bureacrat remarked in a sharp, condescending tone. As a youth, the other kids would add “Simple” to his name, which made the reminder of childhood as unpleasant one. His psychologist had told him that he needed to process his anger in constructive ways, and Simon had found putting people in their place through his knowledge of etiquette and protocol worked excellently.
But before he could followup on his rebuttal, Mrs. Haggerty quickly jumped in. “Yes, let’s talk about that particular gift, and the other toy guns and games and symbols of violence that you so cavalierly distribute every Christmas.” Her voice began to rise passionately. “Boys should never be given such toys, Mr. Claus. Remember, the only difference between a man and a boy are the price of his toys – and when he is older, he buys real guns with real bullets and then uses them to invade poor innocent nations like Iraq and…” Haggerty could not continue as she broke down in tears, trying desperately to regain control of herself.
Mr. Simon put his hand on Haggerty’s arm, then turned to Santa with a scowl, “You see, Claus, it is your intransigence that is exactly the problem. In many cases, your gifts do not show proper sensitivity to the socio/economic climate. And even more serious, from my perspective, is that you admit that you have not updated your working processes in centuries. Consider the fact that you are operating a non-union labor shop there at the North Pole. Who is protecting your employees’ interests? Do your elves receive proper compensation? Do they have adequate health insurance? Have you set up 401K plans for them? It seems that they do not even receive paid holidays, as they are working right up to Christmas Eve itself. Frankly, I think you are a sweatshop employer, Mr. Claus.”
Mrs. Haggerty wiped away her tears long enough to pull out a picture from the file in front of her. “Look at this photo, Mr. Claus. It is you – with a whip – forcing the reindeer towing your sled to perform impossible work. A whip, Mr. Claus! These are obviously endangered species,” she looked at the other members as they nodded approval. Though they might not be on an actual list, no one knew of any other flying reindeer. “You beat these poor, defenseless creatures, when all they desire is to play their little reindeer games…” She began to water up again.
Margaret Mannheim decided it was her turn to jump in. “These animal rights violations are serious enough for your dismissal. Ever hear of Michael Vick, Mr. Claus?” Before Santa could open his mouth, Mannheim continued her accusations, “But these are not even the most serious. I am responsible for compliance with security requirements, and I wonder how many times you have flown your sled vehicle without an adequate flight plan, entered countries without authorized visas, and used undocumented workers, these so-called ‘elves.’ And while we are on the subject of criminal violations,” (Mannheim paused for effect), “what about the charges that could be leveled at you for breaking and entering? I hope you have a good attorney, because I am afraid you are going to need one.”
Santa sat straight up and appeared to be formulating a reply, but he was cut off by Dr. Harvey Hornswallow of the Child Psychology Department of Harweird University. “Let us also not forget your obvious pedaphile fixations, Mr. Claus. You have children which write to you and then ‘coincidentally’ you meet with them in public places like shopping malls and department stores.” Turning to the other members, “Take note, this old man actually encourages these little children to sit on his lap! God knows what he might be whispering in their ears.”
Haggerty had regained her composture again and joined in the fray, “And while we are on the subject of the children, look at you! You obvious lack of discipline in eating sets a horrible example to young people who struggle with obesity.”
“And the winter outfit is definitely overkill, Claus,” added Mr. Simon. “Global warming has come to the North Pole, and you should consider something less heavy that reinforces the reality of climate change. We do not want to confuse the children, after all.”
Santa sat puzzled. None of this made any sense to him. All he ever wanted to do was bring joy and happiness to the children of the world. Suddenly it occurred to him that all of this was an elaborate joke. They could not possibly be serious. As the absurdity of the accusations set in, he decided to join in the fun, so he titled his head back and let off a giant, “Ho, ho, ho.”
Instantly, Minora Africanus Mohammed, the Equal Opportunity Compliance member of the committee, jumped to her feet and in a fit of raged screamed, “Who y’all calling a ‘ho,’ homeboy? Well, Mr. Santa, you better get your claws off of me right now. I am not one of your elves that you can pimp around 365 days a year. I am not one of your Ho’s. You are finished, do you hear? You are done as of right now!”
The other four members immediately concurred. They had heard and seen enough. A racial epithet is perhaps forgivable in the best of circumstances, but Mr. Claus had a clear pattern of racism and insensitivity. He had to be stopped.
Mrs. Haggerty called for a motion, and it was so moved that Santa Claus, resident of the North Pole, was a hazzard to children, a danger to society, and an irresponsible employer, and should be referred to the proper authorities for prosecution of possibly hundreds of violations of laws and regulations. With an immediate show of hands, and a 5-0 vote, Santa Claus was permanently banned from the Winter Holiday Formally Known as Christmas. He was given his formal notice of dismissal in writing (Haggerty had it written well in advance), and was informed that all images of him would begin to be removed forthwith. And yes, one more thing, he was told, the Coca-Cola Company orders him to start drinking Pepsi.
As Santa silently left the room, dragging his bag slowly behind him, he could hear the discussion behind me, “So, we need a replacement. How about Al Gore? Do you think he would be available?”
The five members of the Committee sat solemnly behind a long table awaiting the arrival of Mr. C for his annual review. Each year it had become more difficult, and the committee president, Mrs. Haggerty, believed that this year would be the hardest of all. The file in front of her was six inches deep, and she knew that these were just the summary reports. This guy was in deep trouble, and unless he got that stupid smile off his face and always acting so jolly and began to toe the line…
At that moment, the door opened, and a robust but hefty elderly gentleman dressed with a furry red cone hat, a flaming red coat and matching color pants, stumbled into the room. He chuckled as he pulled behind him a large canvas bag apparently filled with various sized objects. Quickly realizing that the solitary chair in the center of the room was for him, he again let out a little laughter as he had difficulty maneuvering into the seat that did not quite fit a man of his girth. At the same time, he did not want to let go of his bag, which made the whole process much more difficult than it should have been. As he kept wiggling to get situated, he was quickly brought to a start by the piercing voice of Mrs. Haggerty, “Mr. Claus, if you please!”
Santa loked up and smiled broadly. He stroked his flow, flowing white beard and straightened himself as best he could. “Yes, I think I am ready now. So – what can I can bring you all for Christmas?”
Mr. Simon was definitely not amused. As head of the Labor Relations Group, he had some tough questions and he wanted to get to them. “Mr. Claus, as you know, this committee is responsible for the political correctness of the Winter Holiday Formally Known as Christmas, and each year you make it more and more difficult for us. To be brutally honest, we have some serious concerns about your work.”
Santa tilted his head and frowned, “In what way, Bob? I have not changed the ways I deliver toys to the children for hundreds of years. You didn’t complain when I brought you that GI Joe for Christmas when you were five years old.”
Mr. Simon grimaced at the response. “First off, I do not believe we are on a first-name basis here, Mr. Claus. I did not take this liberty with you – hence you should not have taken it with me,” the bureacrat remarked in a sharp, condescending tone. As a youth, the other kids would add “Simple” to his name, which made the reminder of childhood as unpleasant one. His psychologist had told him that he needed to process his anger in constructive ways, and Simon had found putting people in their place through his knowledge of etiquette and protocol worked excellently.
But before he could followup on his rebuttal, Mrs. Haggerty quickly jumped in. “Yes, let’s talk about that particular gift, and the other toy guns and games and symbols of violence that you so cavalierly distribute every Christmas.” Her voice began to rise passionately. “Boys should never be given such toys, Mr. Claus. Remember, the only difference between a man and a boy are the price of his toys – and when he is older, he buys real guns with real bullets and then uses them to invade poor innocent nations like Iraq and…” Haggerty could not continue as she broke down in tears, trying desperately to regain control of herself.
Mr. Simon put his hand on Haggerty’s arm, then turned to Santa with a scowl, “You see, Claus, it is your intransigence that is exactly the problem. In many cases, your gifts do not show proper sensitivity to the socio/economic climate. And even more serious, from my perspective, is that you admit that you have not updated your working processes in centuries. Consider the fact that you are operating a non-union labor shop there at the North Pole. Who is protecting your employees’ interests? Do your elves receive proper compensation? Do they have adequate health insurance? Have you set up 401K plans for them? It seems that they do not even receive paid holidays, as they are working right up to Christmas Eve itself. Frankly, I think you are a sweatshop employer, Mr. Claus.”
Mrs. Haggerty wiped away her tears long enough to pull out a picture from the file in front of her. “Look at this photo, Mr. Claus. It is you – with a whip – forcing the reindeer towing your sled to perform impossible work. A whip, Mr. Claus! These are obviously endangered species,” she looked at the other members as they nodded approval. Though they might not be on an actual list, no one knew of any other flying reindeer. “You beat these poor, defenseless creatures, when all they desire is to play their little reindeer games…” She began to water up again.
Margaret Mannheim decided it was her turn to jump in. “These animal rights violations are serious enough for your dismissal. Ever hear of Michael Vick, Mr. Claus?” Before Santa could open his mouth, Mannheim continued her accusations, “But these are not even the most serious. I am responsible for compliance with security requirements, and I wonder how many times you have flown your sled vehicle without an adequate flight plan, entered countries without authorized visas, and used undocumented workers, these so-called ‘elves.’ And while we are on the subject of criminal violations,” (Mannheim paused for effect), “what about the charges that could be leveled at you for breaking and entering? I hope you have a good attorney, because I am afraid you are going to need one.”
Santa sat straight up and appeared to be formulating a reply, but he was cut off by Dr. Harvey Hornswallow of the Child Psychology Department of Harweird University. “Let us also not forget your obvious pedaphile fixations, Mr. Claus. You have children which write to you and then ‘coincidentally’ you meet with them in public places like shopping malls and department stores.” Turning to the other members, “Take note, this old man actually encourages these little children to sit on his lap! God knows what he might be whispering in their ears.”
Haggerty had regained her composture again and joined in the fray, “And while we are on the subject of the children, look at you! You obvious lack of discipline in eating sets a horrible example to young people who struggle with obesity.”
“And the winter outfit is definitely overkill, Claus,” added Mr. Simon. “Global warming has come to the North Pole, and you should consider something less heavy that reinforces the reality of climate change. We do not want to confuse the children, after all.”
Santa sat puzzled. None of this made any sense to him. All he ever wanted to do was bring joy and happiness to the children of the world. Suddenly it occurred to him that all of this was an elaborate joke. They could not possibly be serious. As the absurdity of the accusations set in, he decided to join in the fun, so he titled his head back and let off a giant, “Ho, ho, ho.”
Instantly, Minora Africanus Mohammed, the Equal Opportunity Compliance member of the committee, jumped to her feet and in a fit of raged screamed, “Who y’all calling a ‘ho,’ homeboy? Well, Mr. Santa, you better get your claws off of me right now. I am not one of your elves that you can pimp around 365 days a year. I am not one of your Ho’s. You are finished, do you hear? You are done as of right now!”
The other four members immediately concurred. They had heard and seen enough. A racial epithet is perhaps forgivable in the best of circumstances, but Mr. Claus had a clear pattern of racism and insensitivity. He had to be stopped.
Mrs. Haggerty called for a motion, and it was so moved that Santa Claus, resident of the North Pole, was a hazzard to children, a danger to society, and an irresponsible employer, and should be referred to the proper authorities for prosecution of possibly hundreds of violations of laws and regulations. With an immediate show of hands, and a 5-0 vote, Santa Claus was permanently banned from the Winter Holiday Formally Known as Christmas. He was given his formal notice of dismissal in writing (Haggerty had it written well in advance), and was informed that all images of him would begin to be removed forthwith. And yes, one more thing, he was told, the Coca-Cola Company orders him to start drinking Pepsi.
As Santa silently left the room, dragging his bag slowly behind him, he could hear the discussion behind me, “So, we need a replacement. How about Al Gore? Do you think he would be available?”
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