Saturday, December 06, 2003
Skanky Claus
The dirty, drunk homeless Department Store Santa has become a cliché, an urban legend who’s verisimilitude is brought into question by the legions of rosy cheeked, well fed, jolly old fat men who don Saint Nick’s raiment every year to delight and terrify children all across the country.
I am here to tell you, ladies and gentlemen, that the legend is true. Don’t believe the propaganda, the lies, the shiny lights and advertising; for I have met the true: Skanky Claus… and he works at The Bon.
I thought at first he was just a crazy homeless guy who wandered into the offices from the street… it happens frightfully often at The Bon. Just last week, a crazy homeless guy who smelled of urine managed to get an interview with the advertising department, in a bewildering demonstration of the power of aggressive networking (he didn’t get the job, but just getting the interview was a triumph). So when this man came to the door of our offices and said, “Hello girls” as if we were all good pals, I became suspicious. He was wearing a dirty, powder blue down coat, beat up jeans and an equally beat up pack slung across his back. He also had a long white beard, but at the time I didn’t make the connection. I and the other assistant smiled politely, wondering who this guy was and if he was looking for advertising. He nodded and went away. A few hours later, Santa Claus himself walked past our door toward the bathroom. He loped along on skinny legs, his rumpled red suit hanging off his thin frame everywhere but his belly, which was distended by a pillow, making him look like a jolly, bloated famine victim. Then I saw his face, and recognized the white beard, and the leering gleam in his eye. He was Mr. Powder Blue Coat.
Since then, I’ve seen him every day. Sometimes, when the child traffic is slow, he wanders around the Christmas shop, staring distantly at the glowing angels. Other times, when I have to pass him in the narrow halls, he crowds me so that my choices are to touch him, or the wall. And every morning he says ‘hi’ to us, as if we’re all good friends, and I haven’t yet decided if I’m more disturbed when he’s in, or out of costume.
