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Author
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Topic: LANCE AND THE PRESSURES OF THE CHRISTMAS SEASON
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Tostito
ZooKeeper
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posted 06-16-2001 06:06 AM
   
Lance woke up one Christmas eve to find a fat, old man climbing through his window.
“You don’t have a chimney!” grumbled the man. “How do you expect me to get in without a chimney!”
Grunting with effort, the man dragged a huge, overstuffed bag across the room and out into the hallway. It was dark, but Lance could see that the man had a long, white beard and was wearing a bright, red coat.
Still half-asleep and feeling very disoriented, Lance glanced outside and was surprised to see a magnificent, reindeer-driven sleigh floating in the air beside his window.
“It’s Santa!” exclaimed Lance. “It’s really Santa!” Then he jumped out of bed, raced out of his room.
He found Santa by the Christmas tree in the living room. Breathing heavily, the old man was consulting a folder overflowing with loose reminders, scrawled on napkins, newspapers and small, yellow post-its. Lance noticed that a stray post-it was stuck to Santa’s elbow. Another was lost in his beard.
Lance also noticed that Santa looked haggard and unhealthy. His back was gnarled into an unnatural stoop. His mouth was twisted into a scowl. His skin was mottled, red with blisters, and his eyes were dark, nervous and sad.
Lance cleared his throat to get Santa’s attention, then, grandly, he announced himself. “Greetings, Santa Claus!” he said. “It is very nice to meet you! My name is Lance.”
“I know who you are,” sighed Santa, reaching into his bag. Tiredly, the old man pulled out a few presents, tossed them under the tree, hoisted up his bag with a loud groan, and, muttering to himself, he passed Lance, heading unsteadily down the hallway back to his sleigh.
“Do you need help?” asked Lance. “I could wake up my mother.”
Santa trudged into Lance’s room and approached the window. “I could give you a snack for the road!” offered Lance. “Would you like that? Would you like some gummi candy?”
Santa stopped. He stood, swaying back and forth. “Gummi candy?” he mumbled.
Suddenly, a strange figure appeared at the window. It was an elf, standing inside Santa’s sleigh, peering into Lance’s room. “Hurry up, Santa!” the elf hollered. “Hurry up or we’ll fall behind again!”
“I’ll be right out.” Santa whispered harshly. Then, slowly, he turned to Lance, looking grim and depressed.
“Gummi candy,” repeated Santa. “I’m very busy tonight, but, maybe I have time for one.”
Lance opened a gummi assortment. Eagerly, Santa grabbed, not one candy, but a handful, and popped them all into his mouth.
“I haven’t had gummi candy in years!” said Santa, relaxing a little as he chewed. “Who has time for gummi candy these days?”
“Mmmmmmm.” added Santa. “How sweet it tastes! How I loved it when I was a boy! Of course, they didn’t call it gummi candy back then.”
Before swallowing, Santa grabbed another handful, and, as he gobbled it down, he began confiding in Lance. “I don’t think I can take anymore, Lance!” said Santa with his mouth full. “More and more children every year! Wanting more and more toys! The deadlines! The budgeting! The scheduling! The elves always bossing me around! It’s crushing me!”
“Look!” Santa cried, pointing to his blistered forehead. “I even have a skin condition! Why, Lance? Oh, why did I agree to this? All I ever really wanted was to be a ventriloquist!”
“A ventriloquist!” exclaimed Lance. “What a coincidence! I’m a ventriloquist, too! I have a dummy! His name is also Lance!”
“I have one as well.” chuckled Santa. Then, smirking, he extracted a wooden doll from a secret pocket inside his coat. The doll had a long, white beard and a bright, red coat - just like Santa.
“This is my dummy!” declared Santa Claus. “His name is also Santa Claus!”
“Hey!” Santa’s dummy objected, indignantly. “I’m not the dummy! You’re the dummy!”
Lance giggled. This was his favorite ventriloquist joke, and Santa had performed it perfectly.
“SANTA!” screamed an annoyingly high-pitched, squeaky voice. It was Santa’s elf, of course, and he was extremely angry.
“Stop fooling around and get back in that sleigh! We have work to do!”
The smile vanished from Santa’s face. He stiffened. His dummy stiffened as well.
“Move it, Santa!” the elf commanded. “Put the doll away!”
“I’m not going.” replied the old man.
“What?” said the elf with dread. “What did you say?”
“I’m not going!” Santa insisted. “I’m taking off this year. Instead of delivering toys, I’m going to stay right here with Lance. We’re going to put on a show!”
“A show?” snapped the elf. “But what about Christmas? What about the kids?”
“They’ll have to wait until next year because I’m not budging!”
Exasperated, the elf pulled out a walkie-talkie, and, through it, informed the other elves of their dire predicament. More and more elves filed through the window into Lance’s room. They fought with each other. They pleaded with Santa, but it was no use. Santa was determined to stay with Lance and put on a show, and not even his trusted elves could persuade him otherwise.
All of this made Lance feel very uncomfortable. He didn’t want to upset his new friend, Santa Claus, but he also didn’t want to be indirectly responsible for ruining Christmas. He imagined children around the world waking up to find nothing - no Christmas gifts, empty stockings on their mantles. They’d be so unhappy! So disappointed! And they would all blame Lance for encouraging Santa, catering to his worst impulses!
Eventually, Lance decided that he had no choice but to seek external help. He phoned a psychiatrist - a doctor who had been called upon to help him in the past. It was late, but, realizing the urgency of the situation, the doctor came at once to Lance’s house.
Stroking his beard, the doctor listened to Santa’s complaints. He studied Santa’s nervous tics, examined Santa’s skin condition. Finally, he removed his glasses and spoke.
“This man is in no shape to work!” he announced. “The pressures of the Christmas season have given him a nervous breakdown! He must not deliver presents tonight! If he does, the results could be catastrophic!”
“Then Christmas is canceled!” lamented the elves, huddling together hopelessly on Lance’s bed.
“Don’t despair, elves!” interjected Lance. “There must be something we can do! Can’t someone else deliver the toys? Can’t someone else be Santa this year?”
“Like who?” inquired the elves. “WHO???”
Lance turned suddenly to the psychiatrist. “Why, you have a long white beard! You’re fat! You could be Santa!”
The doctor gaped at Lance, taken aback. “Well ... “ he said. “It’s highly unorthodox, but, given the circumstances, I suppose I’ll do it!”
Lance and the elves cheered. Even Santa cheered. Relieved, he handed the doctor his big, red coat, his bag of toys, his overstuffed folder.
“Michael Bunch wants a hockey mask.” said Santa as he buttoned up the doctor. “And little Annie Brickhouse gets stilts!”
“Don’t worry, I’ll figure it out.” said the doctor, rifling through Santa’s countless post-its. “Really, Santa!” he added, shaking his head. “After all these years, you might have come up with a better system!”
“Santa’s had a breakdown, but Christmas is not lost!” the elf reported into his walkie-talkie. “Lance’s psychiatrist is going to deliver the toys!”
“Hooray!” shouted the elves on the other end.
After the elves and the doctor departed, Lance and Santa put on a wonderful show. Together, they sang ventriloquist songs, danced ventriloquist dances and performed hysterical comedy routines! They drank delicious, old-fashioned, red birch beer, and watched late night reruns of “Dr. Softness, The Dentist” on TV. Lance’s mirror reflection, Ecnal, and Santa’s reflection, Atnas, joined in as well.
“I’m not the dummy! You’re the dummy!” they chanted and their dummies chanted back. “I’m not the dummy! You’re the dummy!” By the time, the doctor and the elves returned, Santa’s condition was greatly improved. His back was no longer bent. The light had returned to his eyes. Even his skin condition showed signs of healing.
“Ho! Ho! Ho!” bellowed Santa as the psychiatrist handed him his coat and folder.
“That was exhausting!” said the doctor. “I’m going home! Now, Lance, remember: Not a word of this, or I’ll have no choice but to tell everyone that you’re insane! After all, I’m a respectable psychiatrist!”
Once the doctor was gone, Lance said good-bye to Santa, and, as he did, he realized that Santa was not only his friend, he was his best friend! Santa Claus was the best friend that Lance ever had!
“MERRY CHRISTMAS!” boomed Santa from his sleigh, surrounded by elves that were overjoyed to see him healthy once again.
“To you, Lance! And to your psychiatrist! To Dr. Softness, the Dentist! To kind, gentle Ecnal!”
“And, most of all, to Lance’s dummy, Lance!” interrupted Santa’s dummy, Santa, perched proudly on Santa’s lap.
“Merry Christmas to all!” the dummy cackled as Santa’s sleigh sped away. “And to all a good night!” | |
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