The Gorko Gazette

The Big Santa

I must have one of the worst jobs.

I’m one of Santa’s understudies. Not even the first reserve at that.

There can only be one main Santa. Everyone understands that. It would be too confusing to have lots of sleighs going out on one night. We don’t have the reindeers, flying reindeers don’t grow on trees.

Each year the Santa Selection Committee go round all the shops, grottos and garden centres in the lead up to Christmas looking for candidates who have the potential to be next year’s Santa.

There is only one Santa each year and then they drop out and go into retirement for the rest of their days. It’s a very stressful job making sure all the presents are delivered in one night, climbing up and down chimneys plays havoc with their bodies and then there are all the mince pies, cookies and drinks. By the end Santa is smashed. They need ten years to recover.

I got spotted at a local garden centre and got invited to the interview in Santa’s secret HQ.

The panel consisted of an elf, a gnome and a talking reindeer.

They asked questions like ‘Where do you see yourself in five years?’,  ‘Can you hold your drink?’, and ‘Do you like working with children?’. I had to lie when I answered the last question.

Cos I can’t stand the little sods.

And then they asked the toughest question, ‘What do you think is the best thing about being a Santa?’

I just wanted to say ‘Because you get 363 days of the year off’. Then I remembered someone telling me not to say that but rather to say something like ‘Because I’d like to bring Christmas joy to all the children of the world.’

I must have lied really well as I made it through to the final selection task.

Then I was escorted into another room for round two. This was the drinking contest. I thought this would be great as I liked drinking lots of pints of beer and spirits. But then I was cursing. They picked bloody Pernod! I hate Pernod!

I did quite well. But two people managed to sink more Pernods than me.

The one who came top was Neal from Rotheram, got the job as the main Santa. The one who came second, Patricia from Leamington Spa, got to be first reserve. They said I could be second reserve.

I soon found out that this was a thankless role. Patricia got a nice cosy office and fitted up to follow the main Santa. All Neal and Patricia did was sit around all day watching TV and eating lots of cookies and mince pies.

No one expected the second reserve to be used so I got sent to the workshop to help the elves out with the packing and loading of all the presents onto the sleigh. I found a room full of grinning elves who just smiled as they worked. I didn’t feel like smiling as my hands were hurting.

It was very repetitive and boring. I cheered myself up by drinking lots of Pernod. That’s all they seem to drink up here and since the contest I’ve grown to like the stuff very much.

Trouble was I drank too much and started shouting and swearing at the elves and urinating over the presents. They didn’t like that and I found myself put on a final warning. My name’s on the naughty workers list on the notice board.

The rest of the elves have sent me to Coventry, just ignoring me. That doesn’t bother me. Those elves are all up one another’s arses saying how much they love working in the workshop and hugging each other, saying how wonderful and beautiful everything is.

It’s not, It’s a bloody dump.

I was banished to the store room on Christmas Eve. I’d been naughty again, messing around with the tags and putting rude messages on the presents.

Just then a message came to me.

Told me I was needed urgently in the Santa zone.

I took a few swigs of my Pernod and made my way gingerly to the top level.

It turned out the main Santa and the first reserve had both pulled muscles in the hour leading up to take off. What were the odds of that happening?

I was the only one left who could be Santa.

They told me I had to quickly get warmed up and get my Santa outfit on.

I took a few more swigs of Pernod.

The head gnome grabbed it off me and the old misery said, ‘You’ll be getting more than enough drink tonight, sonny, try and stay off it.’

I wasn’t happy I told him, ‘Fuck off, Gnomehead, I’m the only Santa you’ve got and this Santa wants Pernod, otherwise this sleigh is going nowhere.’

That was sorted. The next problem was the outfit didn’t fit.

The other two had sat around feasting since May so they had put on a lot of weight, whereas I had been running around the workshop like a blue arsed fly since May so I was a lot thinner.

Good job one of the elves had a big bag of magic pixie dust.

Three puffs of the stuff would keep my Santa uniform on until dawn.

So I got going.

The reindeers were restive; this was the biggest upset since Rudolph’s nose had turned blue.

Good job they knew the route. I was still hungover.

It didn’t get any better. I drank lots of Pernod that night as well as all the drinks left out in each of the houses I visited.

By now the sky was swaying and I was seeing three moons. Rudolph said, ‘Stop moaning, pisshead, and just aim for the middle one.’

I was in a bad way. I threw up a lot going over Norway.

How I managed to finish I’ll never know.

But eventually we made it to the end.

The last drop off was in Derby. I had one more house to do. The sun’s rays were just rising. I dropped off the presents and started walking away. A small child was waking and came down the stairs. Just then the magic pixie dust wore off. And my Santa suit came off. I was starkers!

I ran off as quick as a flash! The kid saw it all and shouted out, ‘Oh mummy I’ve just seen Santa’s ass!’

Mummy was looking out of her window and shouted down.

‘That’s nothing, Lammykins, I’ve seen Santa’s ding dong merrily on high!’

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About the artist

Simon is a writer from England. He seeks stillness and solitude.

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Image: Santa Claus – Emilie V. Clarkson.jpg