[stylist] Holiday exercise, part 1: Schmanta Claus

Fri Dec 9 17:28:55 UTC 2011

Also, I like how this story highlights the emotions and worries of parents 
as our economy is down. The guy had a nice white collar job and was out of 
work. He took a part time job at the mall playing  Santa and then afterward, 
I assume outside in his normal clothes, tries to cheer a boy out. Whether it’s 
the Jewish holiday or Christian holiday, a theme is joy, love and giving. He 
said encouraging words to a boy that was feeling down.

-----Original Message----- 
From: Chris Kuell
Sent: Friday, December 09, 2011 9:54 AM
To: Writer's Division Mailing List
Subject: [stylist] Holiday exercise, part 1: Schmanta Claus

Here's my first submission for the exercise--1400 words. I'm planning on
another, maybe 2, depending on how satisfied I am with the work. All
comments, suggestions, fan and hate mail are welcomed.

Schmanta Claus

By Chris Kuell

Irving Nusinowitz shoveled another spoonful of lukewarm oatmeal down his
throat. The taste was bland, a dull beige, perfectly mimicking his mood.

His wife, Helen, was jabbering about the fur coat Sylvia Goldbass was
wearing at Temple Saturday night. Something about her nephew Maury knows a
guy in the city and got her such a deal. She turned and scowled at him.
""Irving, why the sour puss?"

Without responding, he looked at her. Thirty-four years of marriage allowed
Helen to read his thoughts through that look.
"Listen, Irv, it's only for a short time. You've been outta work for
nine-months now, and we really need the money. Winter is here, and we need
oil to heat this place. The kids and our seven grandchildren are coming for
Hanukah, and I don't want them worrying about us."

Irving dipped his head and forced another spoonful of mush into his mouth.
Helen took the kitchen chair next to him and spoke softly. "I prayed for God
to help us find money to make it through the holidays. He works in
mysterious ways, Irving. Swallow your pride and do a good job. It's only for
a month. "

Irving pushed his chair away from the table and stood to go. Sylvia used a
napkin to remove a glob of oatmeal from his thick, white beard before
hugging him good-bye and handing him a sack lunch. She offered him a few
more words of encouragement as he buttoned up his overcoat and left the
house for whatever the day wood bring.

Parked a half-hour later at the Mall, he took a long swig out of the pint he
kept in the glove box. Unemployment had not been easy for the 58-year-old
ex-accountant. He grabbed his Dunkin Donuts coffee and his canvas bag and
locked up.

Inside the security office at the Mall was a nice changing room and a locker
where he could store his clothes. Irving was afraid Mr. Connor, the man who
had hired him, might smell the gin on his breath, but he quickly reassured
himself that the coffee would cover it up and he changed. The silly pants
were elastic at the waist at least, so they could close around his 62-inch
girth. The red jacket was also tight, and the cheap nylon fabric was
probably going to give him hives. He buckled the wide, black belt, which was
vinyl instead of leather, and muttered, "And you Goyem are always calling us
frugal."

The final accessory was the red felt stocking cap, which fit perfectly on
Irving's snowy head.

Mr. Connors introduced him to Dwayne Thomas, a short black guy dressed up in
a green elf costume that matched his own in ridiculousness. Elf Dwayne
smelled like he hadn't had a shower lately, and Mr. Connors was not the
least bit happy when the elf lit up a Marlboro.

While they walked, Mr. Connors went through his schpeal about proper
behavior, never telling the kids much of anything, keep it all open ended,
and push them into pressuring their parents for a photograph.

As Irving took his seat in the large wooden chair in the center of the Mall,
surrounded by Christmas songs, artificial trees and snow and enough blinking
lights to illuminate a major US city, he thought back to his bar mitzvah.
The day he fully embraced his Jewishness and became a man. How far he had
come, and how low he had sunk, to be sitting here representing a
capitalistic fantasy to all the bratty little gentile children.

Irving played Santa to 43 children before lunch break. You can take the man
out of the accounting office, but. 29 were boys; 14 girls. Three kids 
couldn't
work up the courage to get on his lap, and one cried so much his mother had
to come and take him away after a grotesque pleading session that made
Irving want to throw both the kid and his mother into one of the fake snow
banks.

For lunch, Irving went back out to his car and polished off the gin with
his tuna fish sandwich. He ran into Dwayne the Elf as he was walking in, and
they both had a cigarette before heading back for Act II.

The line of nervous children and cookie-cutter parents depressed Irving as
he took his throne. The lies about being good, the greed of the brainwashed
little consumers and the idle promises about bringing lots of toys carried
on through the afternoon.

Irving's lower back was killing him, his bladder was about to burst and he
nearly launched a fat little girl onto the white picket fence when she
pulled hard on his beard, asking, "Is this fake?"

He stood, massaging his sore chin and watched as Dwayne escorted a lone boy
over to meet Santa. Usually the kids had a cheery, encouraging parent
observing from outside the picket fence, but this kid was all by himself.
Irving thought he saw a slight trail of smoke escaping from Dwayne's cupped
hand as the kid stood before him.
"Hello, Son. Is your Mommy or Daddy with you today?"

The kid said, "My Mom's shopping at Filene's. I've got a cell phone to call
her if you try to feel me up or anything like that, so don't even think
about it."

Taken aback, Irving sat down and stared at the kid. He was maybe
eight-years-old, had sandy brown hair and reminded him a little of his own
grandson Samuel.
"Would you like to sit on Santa's lap, or is that a little too close for
you?"

"I'll just stand here, if that's OK." He said. "I know you're not Santa
anyways."

"What kind of attitude is that? Don't you want Santa to bring you lots of
gifts under your tree come Christmas?"

The kid looked at Irv with sad brown eyes." There won't be any tree this
Christmas."

"What? No tree? Why not?" Irving asked.

"My Mom and Dad got divorced. My Dad is Jewish, and so is his new
girlfriend. I'm going to spend Christmas break with him in stupid Denver."

"Well, then, you will be celebrating Hanukah, the Jewish celebration of
Lights,"" Irving said to the boy.

"Hanukah is stupid. All my friends are home having Christmas. I know Santa
isn't real, but I'm going to miss out on all the fun stuff." The kid looked
down and nudged the toe of one boot in the fake snow.

"Santa, Schmanta, that's what I say," Irving told the boy. "Listen, kid. I'm
going to let you in on a little secret. " Irving lowered his voice and
motioned for the boy to come closer. The kid took a step closer and pulled
the cell phone out of his pocket, just to let Santa know he was serious.
"All of your friends, with their presents and reindeer, are missing the big
picture. Santa isn't about Christmas at all.  The Christians stole him and a
lot of other stuff from pagan rituals."

"What's a pagan ritual?" the kid asked.

"That's not important. What is important is to know that Christmas isn't
about gifts and trees. It's about God, and God's gifts to the world. God
gave the Christians Jesus, to try to teach them what is important in life,
love and compassion. The Jews, we don't need Jesus, because we had Moses
thousands of years before Jesus came along. God gave Moses the gift of the
commandments, which he shared with us. God gave us these things because he
loves us, all of us. Doesn't matter if you are Jewish, Christian or one of
those Hari Krishna's that parade around in their bathrobes at the airport."

The kid contemplated this while Irving continued.
"Kid, you've got the best of both worlds. You get to experience the rich
traditions of your Jewish heritage, and visit Denver where I hear the skiing
is fabulous this year."
This got a smile out of the youngster.
"Before you go, I'll bet your Mom will load you down with lots of crap you
don't need. Just like an early Christmas. In fact, I bet she's out buying
you all kinds of fun junk that will turn your brain into mush right now."
A deeper smile rose on the kid's face, and Santa seemed to catch it.

"Santa," Dwayne the Elf called, a wisp of blue smoke escaping from his
mouth. "We need to move along."

The boy took two steps forward and hugged Irving. He stepped back and said,
"Bye, Santa."

Irving smiled wide and answered, "Shalom, my friend."

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