Christmas! Nothing like a good holiday to put everyone in a good mood. Well, not everyone exactly. You know, my friend Mike isn’t in a really good mood. Not really. He hates his job, he abominates his wife; actually, his whole life hasn’t turned out to be exactly what he wished. In the precise moment I’m telling you this, he is on his way to visit his “friend” (like he calls him). Actually, his “friend” is his shrink. But, I indulge him, you know? I just go with the flow. Who am I, you ask? Well, I’m Mike’s best friend, even though he won’t admit it. If you ask him what he thinks of me, he’ll probably say I’m a big pain in the neck. However, I’m the only one who understands him, who’s there to hear his endless bitching, when he goes on and on and on about how he hates his job and how he wished his wife had an inoperable tumour at the base of her spine. Well, anyway, my name is Rudolph, and I’m here to tell you about Mike’s story. Why? Well, I don’t really have anything else to do. Besides, I’m planning on selling this story to a publisher, make loads of money and move to Hawaii. Anyway, enjoy!
"Good morning, Mike! How are we today?"
"Well, I can’t speak for you doc, but I’ve been better."
"Really? I suppose it’s the same, then?"
"Yeah... I’m tired, doc, you know? My job is killing me. I just can’t take it anymore."
"Hm… I see. Tell me, Mike, you’ve been my patient for one month now; however, you never told me how you became Santa. Why don’t we begin there?"
"Yeah, I guess. It all began about 2000 years ago…"
There I was all alone in the forest, somewhere in what is now known as Sweden (I was a druid, by the way) picking some herbs and mushrooms for my magic potions. Suddenly, I saw a light behind some bushes, and it started calling out to me. “Mike, Mike…” I got to tell you doc, at this point I had already wet my trousers, but still I went to see what it wanted from me. And, then, in front of me, there it was, a glowing figure dressed in white with big, feathery wings.
“I’m M-Mike.” I stuttered.
"You’re Mike?" the guy asked. "Funny, I thought you’d be fatter."
"Huh?"
"Never mind about that. I’m here to deliver a message from God."
"God?"
"Yeah, God. The big guy who created everything and everyone, who sees and knows everything… Don’t worry, soon the Roman Empire will fall, and you’ll know everything about Him during the Middle Ages."
"What the hell are you talking about!?"
"Haha! Hell! That’s a good one! But anyway, here’s the message. Ahem, quote: 'Don’t forget to buy milk and…' No, wait a minute. This is for Gabriel. Where did I…? It’s got to be around somewhere. Ah! Here it is! Ahem: 'From this day forth, thou shalt be known as Santa Claus, and thou shalt spread happiness throughout the planet, giving presents for all children on the 25th of December (Roman Catholic Calendar), for all eternity.' Please, sign here!"
"Hey! Who says I’m interested? I like my life here! Besides, I worship Odin."
"Look, kid," the angel sighed impatiently, "you don’t really have a choice here, okay? When my boss makes up his mind about something, there’s nothing you can do. Besides, read the contract: you work one day per year, you don’t pay housing and it’s for all eternity, which means you get to be immortal. How cool is that? Now, sign!"
And, hesitantly, I signed, doc. Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time! How many chances of becoming immortal do you have?
"Thanks, kid! Good luck!" the angel said has he began to fly away.
"Wait! There are still some questions I want to ask!"
"Sorry! I’m in my lunch hour!"
And he just vanished into thin air! That’s what happened, doc. I ran home to tell my wife and, all of a sudden, we were in bloody North Pole! Useless to say she was pretty pissed at me for not consulting her in my “career change.” And don’t even let me get started about Martha! Jesus! Imagine what’s like to be married with the same woman for 2000 years, especially when she is still mad at you because she has to live in bloody North Pole! I even thought about divorcing her. The thing is my Boss isn’t exactly crazy about divorces! I swear to you, after the first 250 years I already wanted to twist that skinny little neck. Sometimes, I even fantasise about it… Fortunately to her, she spends Christmas with her family; at least the unlucky ones she didn’t lose track of.
"Hm… interesting story, Mike. It looks like our time is up for today. I suggest you go home and rest. Eat a good meal and just relax, all right? No stressing activities! I’ll see you next week."
When leaving the psychiatrist office, Mike wondered if he should really waste money on this guy. All the arsehole would do was nod for a bloody hour! Even his reindeers could do that! Anyway, he really didn’t want to think about it.It was a cold, snowy day. Mike was strolling around New York (yeah, we don’t have psychiatrists in the North Pole); he could see the people hurrying along the streets, the shops full, the traffic jammed. “December: the most stressful month of the year.” Mike mumbled “People buy everything in shops nowadays. I don’t really know why I have to keep up with this goddamn job! Oh, it’s for the children, they say. They need fantasy in their life, they say. Do you know what I say? Fuck’em! If they want fantasy, they should tune in on Jerry Springer. Now, there’s some fantasy for you, kids!” And there was Mike, bitter, thinking about what other problems were waiting for him at home. He had just hopped on to his sledge (cleverly disguised with magic powder to look like a car, so that you folks won’t recognize it), when he noticed a small paper stuck to his wind shield. “What the...? A parking fine!? Yeah, just what I needed! Merry Christmas to you too!" he said out loud. "It’s always something, goddamn it!"
After a long, extenuating (and very cold) journey back to the North Pole, Mike finally got home. He didn’t actually call it home. He liked to describe it as his "goddamn shithole.” In truth, the house isn’t exactly a palace worthy of an immortal guy whose job is to bring happiness to the children of the world; the central heating doesn’t work, the second floor toilet shower is leaking to the kitchen downstairs, the other toilet has bugs and the electric installation is a death trap. Oh, and the decoration is horrible. In fact, I think my stable is much better.Oh! I heard the door. I guess Mike got home.
"Hey, Mike!" I greeted him. Mike mumbled a kind of 'hello' in response.
"Do you have a cigarette?" Mike asked.
"Sorry, Mike. You know I’m trying to quit. Do you know how hard it is to travel around the world coughing all the time?" I answered. Mike mumbled something, but didn’t answer. He just sat on the sofa, drinking a beer and watching TV.
Great! He’s in a bad mood, again. And I’ll have to be the one giving him the bad news. I thought to myself.
"Hm… Mike, I have bad news." I said cautiously.
"What? More bills?" he replied panicking. "I already got a part-time job at Burger King! If you don’t want to go to unemployment, you get a goddamn job!"
"I can’t, Mike."
"Why not!?"
"I’m a reindeer, Mike. The lack of opposable thumbs makes it difficult for me to flip burgers. But, anyway, about the bad news. Do you remember the threat the elves made to go on strike if you didn’t give them a raise?"
"Yeah… So?"
"Well, they shut down the toy’s factory."
"WHAT!?"
The next day, Mike stormed to New York to see his shrink, even though he was only supposed to go there next week.
"Mike? What are you doing here? Our next appointment is only next week."
"Yeah, yeah, I know, doc. But, I really need to talk to someone. Come on, doc, you’re not going to deny a favour to old Santa here, are you?" Mike pleaded eagerly.
"Tell me, Mike," the psychiatrist said patiently, "what’s happening?"
"Catastrophe, doc, catastrophe!" Mike said desperately. "My elves are on strike. They shut down the factory, yesterday. They say they want a raise. A raise! Can you bloody believe it? It hasn’t even past 200 years since I gave them a raise. Those greedy bastards! I tell you, since they began reading Marx that they’ve started to think they’re all big shots. There I was drinking my beer and watching Manchester vs. Chelsea; just like you told me, no stressing activities, when Rudolph just lays this one on my lap. I had to go to the factory to have a little talk with the damn midgets…"
Try to picture 1000 little green monsters, ugly as hell, dressed in red and white stripes in front of a big, old factory in the middle of the North Pole. Now, triple that number! I just got there with Rudolph and I went to talk with their union representative:
"Go get them, Mike!" Rudolph whispered.
"What’s the problem, Mr. … elf?" I asked, courteously.
"We want a raise, Mr. Claus!" the elves’ representative demanded, whilst thousands of mutinous elves were protesting behind him.
"What the heck are you talking about? I just gave you folks a raise some time ago!"
"Some time ago!?" the elf gasped. "You call 200 years some time ago?"
"Yeah, for a 2000 years old man, that’s yesterday!" – I answered angrily.
"Well, don’t count on us to produce any more toys for you until you give us a better pay! Do you know how hard it is to raise a family with what you’re paying us? Do you know what the average of children per family is? Thirty, Mr. Claus! Thirty!"
"Well… have fewer kids! I can’t give you a bloody raise! My house needs rebuilding; I need a new sledge, some of my reindeers died, so I got to buy new ones. Do you know how much a reindeer costs? Do you, you little green midget? I also have to feed them, mind you! Oh, and if it’s not asking too much, I also need money to eat! And don’t think my magic powder grows on trees, because it doesn’t. Fairies are also greedy little bastards, just like you, and they don’t sell it cheap! Now get the hell out of my sight and get back to work!" I barked furiously, as I walked away. "It’s always something, goddamn it!"
"And that’s pretty much it, doc! I tell you, I’m in a bind here! My Boss hasn’t given me a raise since… well, never. He’s all powerful, all perfect, all knowing, all wise; he just can’t handle money! Every time I call Him he says something like: “Gee, Mike, I’m sorry, but I have some pressing matters to attend to. War in Iraq, terrorist attacks, hunger in Africa, Christian conservators… The world is completely screwed up, you know? Make an appointment with Uriel, ok? I’ll probably have a free day in 40.000 years time.” I don’t know what to do! I’m drowning in bills: gas, electricity, cable (yeah, only rent was included in the contract. I guess He forgot to tell me that!); do you know how expensive it is to have those kinds of services in North Pole? My house needs serious remodelling, my sledge needs a new painting, I got to buy two new reindeers (the stupid animals found my anti-depressives and died of overdose, can you bloody believe it?), the fairies are all over me because of the magic powder debts, and now Martha wants a boob job. After 2000 years, it’s not going to make a difference, I tell you. But, hey, I’m not going to be the one telling her that! And to top it all, the elves are on strike! Tell me, doc, what am I supposed to do? I’m tired of all this! And you don’t just ignore a contract signed with God! I tried! I really, really, tried to make this work." Mike said, sobbing uncontrollably.
A long moment of silence passed, during which only crows could be heard outside, and Mike’s sobbing inside, his wrinkled face buried in his hands. Slowly, the psychiatrist got up and started walking the room, with sure steps, without saying a word. He approached Mike from behind, put his hands over his tired, old shoulders and said:
"Now, now, Mike. There’s no need for crying. You know, I may have the answer for all your problems." the psychiatrist whispered in Mike’s ear, a smirk in his face. As slowly as he had got up, he sat back on his chair, and calmly continued speaking. "Mike, I work for a very powerful… man. My boss is a businessman, a serious man, and he’s been keeping an eye on your work for a long time. He knows Mike, he knows how hard you work. He knows how, despite all your efforts, God just plays a blind eye to your problems."
"He does?" Mike said, drying his sad, blue eyes.
"Oh, yes! Of course! My boss is a caring man. He never lets one of his employees down. Our… company is like a big family. We’re all here to take care of one another. And, Mike, my boss likes you. Don’t ask me why, he just does. And when my boss likes someone, he means it! That’s why I’m here, Mike… to help you!"
"But, what about my contract with God?"
"Don’t you worry about a thing, Mike! I have a contract here that will allow you to rescind your contract with God permanently, that is… if you sign it."
"I don’t know…" Mike said, suspiciously.
"Mike! Mike, would I trick you? Hein? Your Boss is the one who’s screwing you around."
"I guess…"
"He doesn’t respect you or your rights."
"That sure is true!"
"And, more importantly, he doesn’t respect your feelings, Mike!" the psychiatrist said enthusiastically, whilst holding Mike’s hands over the table. "Your feelings!"
"No, he doesn’t!"
"You see, Mike? I’m not the bad guy, here. According to this, once you sign it, you will be free from all your obligations with God and, in return, you will be another happy employee of Lucif… I mean, Lucius, corp." the psychiatrist said with a big grin on his face with his dark eyes glowing ominously. "And for you, we have a desk job. No more flying around the world in one night with a big, heavy bag of presents for spoiled, ungrateful children, no more debts, no more problems with your house or your reindeers, no more bothersome elves and fairies demanding money you don’t have and, more importantly, this contract is wife free; it’s up to you! Hein? What do you say?"
Mike stared at the piece of paper in front of him, ever more convinced that this was the right option. The psychiatrist could read Mike’s feelings, he could sense his doubts, his fears, and so he struck a final blow:
"You don’t need to rush, Mike! Remember, no one’s forcing you to do anything (unlike others). Take your time, think. And, if you don’t want to, you can just go out this door and go back. Go back to your falling house, to your debts, to your elves, to your wife, to your Boss… Well, I’m sure you’ll make the right choice."
Calmly, and without saying a word, Mike slowly took the pen and signed the contract. The psychiatrist eyes shined in triumphant joy, but his face didn’t reveal the thrill that it was to tempt Santa Claus himself! Fortunately, Santa had committed the same mistake and did not read the small print. It would be too late when he realized his soul would forever belong to his Master. Surely, he would be promoted for such a precious acquisition, for pulling the carpet under God’s feet so easily! He could already smell the promotion to archdemon, the entry into the first hierarchy, where all the important demons belonged! Finally, he would leave his shitty job on earth, and have the appreciation and respect he deserved!
"There!" Mike said. "It’s signed!"
"Good! Good!" the dark angel said happily, whilst hastily grabbing the contract. "You’ll be hearing from us." he said when leaving the room.
"Wait! When?"
"Oh! Soon… Very soon!" he answered with a big, eerie smile beginning to form in his lips, and, then, the smile turned into a laugh.
But, it wasn’t just an ordinary laughter; it was filled with evil, hate and disgust. Something like Mike had never heard before! Suddenly, it struck him, and Mike realized the foolishness of his act, whilst hungry, fierce flames enclosed him. And all the bad feelings of the world enshrouded his heart: sadness, hate, anguish, frustration… And they swirled in his mind, growing and growing ever bigger and more powerful, consuming him, bigger and bigger UNTIL… Mike woke up! He was in bed, and it was 3:16am of December 23rd. By his side, his wife was sleeping peacefully, a sleep without dreams. It had all been a dream, just a terrible nightmare! Thank God! Martha was right, he shouldn’t eat sugar before going to sleep; it always had that effect on him. “Well, better go to sleep.” Mike thought cheerfully. “Tomorrow I have a very, very busy day.”
THE END
Written byRudolph, the reindeer
Well, I hope you all enjoyed it, because the publisher didn’t. They say it has “no storyline or plot whatsoever, the characters are poorly described and it makes no sense at all in the overall”. Humph! What do they know about art? Oh, well, I guess I’ll be just another exiled artist, writing to myself, until one destined day, long after I die, someone discovers my work inside a box, under the bed, who knows? Until then, I have to go to work! See you all soon!
THE END
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