[stylist] Holiday exercise, part 1: Schmanta Claus

[Brenda]

Chris
SometimesI read the reviewes before the submissions because i want to 
take my time with the actual submission.  After reading all the comments 
on your submission, I had to stop and read it.  Talk about show don't 
tell.  I felt sad when I read the story which drew me in and held me to 
the end.  I liked how it depicted the prospective of the man playing 
Santa.  As for constructive criticism, I really don't have any 
suggestions.  True you aren't supposed to smoke in malls, but I get the 
impression the elf was sneaking.  It might have been nice to have Irving 
point out the boy benefited from Hanukah and Christmas, but thinking 
about it, perhaps the whole point was not to do that.

Brenda



On 12/9/2011 9:54 AM, Chris Kuell 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."
>
>
>
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