Historical December 1989 report or notice. Original dates, prices and contacts describe the source period; current availability has not been established.
As a small boy, Paul remembered that he had enjoyed the excitement of trimming the tree and opening the presents. Having all of the relatives over to dinner was fun because he could play with his cousins, Sidney and Hugh.
They were all about the same age and would go hunting in the woods, looking for deer or even mountain lions.
They never saw a deer, of course, and, fortunately, there didn’t seem to be any mountain lions around. It’s not real clear who benefited most from this absence, Paul or the mountain lions. Sidney and Hugh were nice enough, as cousins went, but they didn’t have a spirit of adventure. “You pansies;’ Paul used to say to them, and then they’d do anything to show that they weren’t what Paul had said.
Once when they were around seven or eight, Paul had dared them to put maple syrup on all the dining room chairs before dinner. Sidney and Hugh later told Paul that Uncle Ebert was so mad afterwards, that he spanked them all the way home.
And they lived in Prutledge, over thirty miles from Paul’s house. Uncle Ebert’s wife, Ellen, was a slow driver too.
The time when the excitement of Christmas started to wear off was when Paul was in the third grade, or maybe it was the fourth, and saw Santa putting on his beard. Paul had gone to the town to sit on Santa’s lap and tell what he wanted for Christmas. Oh sure, by then he knew that there really wasn’t a Santa, not the kind you read about anyway, but, still, mom asked him if he wanted to go and he thought “I better go, just to be safe!’ When they got to the store, Santa’s chair was empty and the sign said, “SANTA WILL RETURN IN 5 MINUTES!’ Paul told his mom that he had to go to the bathroom, real bad, and she gave him permission, along with a stern frown.
The stern frown was because he had been in trouble in school that week for playing in the rest room. Paul and Johnny Drew had jammed up a commode with toilet paper and Henry Barrier’s stocking cap.
They kept flushing the toilet, standing on the toilet seat and watching the water gush on to the tile floor.
Because they had put a STAY OUT sign, borrowed from Mr. Eckert’s science room, on the door, no one bothered them until Mrs. Chapman, whose classroom was immediately below, came to see why there was water dripping into her room from the ceiling.
When Paul met with the principal, Mr. Migneco, “It seemed like a good idea at the time;’ was all that he could say to defend himself. “Don’t dally, young man:’ his mom said, and he skipped out of the line for Santa and into the hall.
He knew that the men’s room was on the right and was just about to turn to the right when he saw a sign on the door to the left. “Electrical Warehouse—Keep Out” the sign said, and that was all the incentive Paul needed.
He went inside anyway.
He was the kind of kid who knew that any sign with “Keep Out” on it was protecting something worth pursuing. Paul looked around, peering to his left behind the door, and saw Santa. Or at least someone who looked like Santa, kind of.
This man had on Santa’s outfit, including black shiny boots and a red stocking cap.
But he was putting on his grey beard!
He was hooking it over his ears, like it was sunglasses! Paul’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped. Santa—well, the guy dressed like Santa—looked at Paul and his mouth dropped too.
For a minute they both stared at one another, each wanting to speak, neither knowing what to say. Finally the Santa broke the ice, “What are you doing in here, kid?” he asked, with some indignation.
Without skipping a beat, Paul, having regained some of his composure, said, “Your boot’s on fire!” and pointed at Santa’s foot. Santa looked down and Paul kicked him in the shin, as hard as he could. “OW!” screamed Santa.
He looked at Paul with a mixture of surprise and pain on his face. Again, Paul didn’t miss a beat, and kicked Santa in the other shin, even harder this time. Paul was on the school soccer team, a fullback, so kicking was something that he was pretty good at. “YEOW!” yelled Santa.
His beard fell to the ground.
He reached down and began to rub each shin; left arm on left leg, right arm on right leg. Paul yelled, “You dirty old fake,” and began to back away. Santa was now fully bent over, pulling up his pants legs to see what his shins looked like and muttering something to himself. Paul quietly backed up a few steps, yelled “Geronimo!” and began running, as fast as he could towards Santa. Then it all happened at once: Santa looked up, Paul’s body hit Santa, and Paul’s mom opened the door. Santa crashed, falling on his back with Paul on top of him.
They both fell into a large stack of empty cardboard boxes. Paul immediately began to scramble, putting as much distance between himself and Santa as possible. Climbing around and through all of the boxes was an adventure in itself.
He imagined that he was in the desert somewhere, crawling across shifting sand dunes and seeking fortune.
The boxes toppled and began to fall.
It was good that they were empty, because Santa and Paul were quickly buried under the boxes. Paul’s mom was buried too; Paul couldn’t see anything, but he could hear a muffled, “PAUL!” from the other side of the room and he knew that she was there.
He also knew that he was in big trouble. “This could be worse than the time I glued the cat to the couch,” he thought.
One of the boxes fell on top of the table holding Santa’s “Playboy” Magazine and his lit cigar.
The cigar rolled to the floor where it ignited some cellophane wrapping paper.
The cellophane burst into flames which caused one of the boxes to start burning.
The box was located by the sprinkler system, so no sooner had flames began to rise from the box when water began streaming out of all of the sprinklers in the room.
The sprinklers poured water into the electrical box which caused all of the lights in the room to go out.
The room was black as pitch, but the sprinklers kept pouring.
They made a hissing sound, much, much louder than garden hoses. Paul didn’t know what to do; he could hear Santa cursing and pushing aside boxes looking for him; he could hear his mother continuing to yell his name, her voice becoming more and more angry.
All he could think was, “It seemed like a good idea at the time!’ There was a noise from the side of the room, someone was opening the door. Paul looked up but couldn’t see anything; it was just as dark outside the room as it was inside the room. “What the hell’s going on in here?” yelled a strange voice. Paul was silently crawling towards the noise.
He knew that the noise was from the hall and that, for now anyway, the noise represented freedom.
A few people had flashlights by now, so that when he got into the hall he could see what was happening. Everything was dark, except for the flashlights, and water was gushing everywhere. People were screaming and slipping and falling. Paul could hear his mother calling to him from the room. “Oh my:’ thought Paul, “this could be worse than the time I put the fleas in the collection basketsat church!’ Just then all of the lights flickered and went on.
As if by magic, everyone stopped for a moment and looked around. Paul’s eyes widened by what he saw: there was water everywhere, the floors were drenched, the merchandise was soaked, several people were sitting on the floor where they had obviously slipped and fallen, and the flashing red lights shining through the window indicated that the fire department had arrived in response to the sprinkler alarm. Worst of all, Paul turned his head and saw his mother and the Santa, his red pants legs pulled up to his knees, standing together and looking at him. —TO BE CONTINUED—
Originally published in The Times of Skinker-DeBaliviere, December 1989.
Read this article in the original newspaper issue.
Archival transcription note: The source promises a continuation. February 1990, the next published issue after the January break, instead prints a new vocabulary column; the Christmas-story follow-up has not been located. No ending supplied.
Original source: SD_Times1989_12.pdf, printed page(s) 8; PDF page(s) 8.
