Guest Blogger
Guest Post: Satan’s Little Helper
Photo from westerndave, via Flickr
In hindsight, I don’t know what I was thinking. I really don’t know what he was thinking, but I don’t know what I was thinking either. The gigantic pizza slice costume was one thing, but this, this was something else entirely. But nonetheless, there I was, standing in the middle of the pizza restaurant where I worked, in a Santa costume feeling stupider than I’d ever felt before.
The customers you could tell, were even a little embarrassed for me. I looked like an idiot. But the district manager had gotten the inane idea in his head that for some reason having “Santa’s Helper” in the store for Christmas Eve would somehow bring flocks of customers in for lunch in droves. What he didn’t know could fill volumes. Sort of like the time he taken me aside, just as I’d gotten four new tables who were all waiting for me to get them drinks to whisper conspiratorially, “I think someone is stealing…cheese.”
But I needed the extra money because it was my son’s first Christmas, and as a single mother who was also in school full time, I took every shift that I could lay my grubby hands on. Debasing or not, it was money in my pocket. Shockingly, no one actually wanted to have their picture taken with “Santa’s Helper.” I’m not sure if it was the yellowed, fraying beard, or the fact that my pants fell down about every third step that I took, or that I was obviously female, but no one seemed interested. In fact, everyone seemed to avoid me, which was just as well. I used the time to get caught up on my homework. No rest for the wicked.
Finally, just before I was to go home to my son, some family agreed to have their picture taken with “Santa’s Helper.” Perhaps they hadn’t seen me. Maybe they didn’t like their kid very much. Or maybe everyone just had a fantastic sense of humor. Who knows.
All that I do know is that they thrust their tiny baby onto my threadbare lap. And all that the baby knew was that one minute, she was burbling on her mother’s shoulder and the next, she was shoved onto this stinky scary bearded lady in an saggy red Santa Suit. She did the only sensible thing to be done: she opened up her wee baby mouth and she bellowed. She screamed, she cried, and she wailed. The picture was taken and a phobia of Santa was formed. This poor kid was going to grow up terrified of Santa. Jumping at holiday displays and wondering why the thought of Christmas always made her feel nervous and nauseous, always trying to get out of festive celebrations in favor of sitting in front of the television with her twelve cats and a pint of ice cream.
And it would all be my fault. Satan’s Little Helper.
—Becky Harks of Mommy Wants Vodka
Tags: Christmas, Guest Blogger, Mommy Wants Vodka
LMAO! I once took a job dressed as a giant orange and handed out samples of orange-scented shaving cream, but I don’t think I traumatized anyone but myself.
I know you credited the photo, but are you SURE it’s not you? Satan. Heh. My kids don’t even walk by Santa in the mall. Terrified.
Is TOTALLY not me in that picture but man, wouldn’t that be funny if it were? I wish I had that picture.
[...] I traveled up north to Canada to tell the story of when I was Satan’s Little Helper. I cannot believe I never blogged this before. Talk about previously repressed [...]
We NEED to see that actual picture. Perhaps an Internet-wide search & find campaign?
I have a theory about the jolly fat man in the red suit. What normal man would agree to sweat in a velour suit of red and a fake nylon beard and endure snotty germy children and screaming babies for 8 hours? I think Santa is getting his jollies in some way we the public shouldn’t no about.
Did that baby not know how lucky it was to be sitting on Satan’s errr Santa’s knee? Babies these days, they just don’t know how to appreciate a good thing when they see it.
At least you didn’t have to dress up as the Easter Bunny. Those giant heads are rank!
Yep, I have a firm belief that kids should make that choice on their own. They are both shown the big guy in red and if they walk up to him and climb into his lap (My Daughter does this with great gusto!) they do it…..If they aren’t too interested and walk in the other direction (my son does this), then that’s their choice.
I’ve never understood why seeming rational people force their children to sit in Santa’s, Easter Bunny etc’s lap.
Don’t talk to strangers, but go sit in this weird guys lap and look happy while I take your picture!
My oldest won’t even go NEAR Santa in order to get a present at the “Tea with Santa” event at his school. I would never even TRY to get the younger two near him.
On the other hand, my Dad played Santa at the mall when I was very young – it was a volunteer thing in the little town I grew up in. I clearly remember standing in line to go see him and get a picture taken (I was about 5 at the time). There was a little boy behind me who was so excited he was jumping up and down and saying “I’m gonna see Santa! I’m gonna see Santa!”. I turned around and said disdainfully “You idiot! That’s not SANTA! That’s my Dad!”
I guess my personality was formed at an early age. :)
Gail, why am I not surprised to hear that you’d do that. Also, that’s awesome.
I never sat on Santa’s lap until I was in my teens, and then it was for totally different reasons. My son refused to get anywhere near the guy, except for one year. So glad he worked up the courage, because the look of fear and loathing on his face is priceless!!
[...] written three posts for them. Satan’s Little Helper (which if you haven’t read, you should), one that will air later in the week and the one that [...]
Oh god, I wish you had the real picture!!! lmao
Girl. I am telling you, you should be on freakin’ TV. I just love you! I have been so fucking depressed lately and don’t know why, I browse your blog and laugh like I haven’t laughed in a long-long time…thank you my funny friend! Oh yeah, my BFF! hahaha!
What a funny story! You may have been Satan’s Helper, but what an awesome mom you are!