[stylist] Holiday exercise, part 1: Schmanta Claus

[Eve Sanchez]

I love cynical old men who say how it is.  The kid also reminded me of an
old client. Great job in all respects. Eve

On Fri, Dec 9, 2011 at 7:54 AM, Chris Kuell <ckuell at comcast.net> wrote:

> 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."
>
>
>
> ______________________________**_________________
> Writers Division web site:
> http://www.nfb-writers-**division.net<http://www.nfb-writers-division.net/><
> http://www.nfb-writers-**division.org/<http://www.nfb-writers-division.org/>
> >
>
> stylist mailing list
> stylist at nfbnet.org
> http://nfbnet.org/mailman/**listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org<http://nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org>
> To unsubscribe, change your list options or get your account info for
> stylist:
> http://nfbnet.org/mailman/**options/stylist_nfbnet.org/**
> 3rdeyeonly%40gmail.com<http://nfbnet.org/mailman/options/stylist_nfbnet.org/3rdeyeonly%40gmail.com>
>