“We are desperately seeking Santas,” pleaded an employment agency’s ad in the paper. “There’s a shortfall of a few hundred … to fill roles in shopping centres and department stores.” The deputy editor of LSJ brought the item to my attention.
“If they’re that desperate,” she said, “maybe you should apply.”
Dutifully, I rang the ‘Santa hotline’ and was patched through to a faraway woman for a telephone interview.
I was expecting 20 questions. I was asked about three. Did I like Christmas? Could I handle the suit and fake beard? And of course: ‘Do you like children?’
“I love children,” I replied. “But not too much.”
I could hear her typing as we talked. I’m sure it wasn’t because she was recording my answers.
“Ah … well, everything went well,” she said, when she’d registered that I’d stopped talking. (What ‘everything?’, I thought to myself.) “Expect your Santa pack in the mail.”
I did. I checked for it daily. It never came. I rang back.
“Sorry, we’ll Express-Post it now. If you get the forms in straight away, you might still make Santa training.”
Now, I’ve applied for a lot of jobs in my time. Jobs with billions of dollars at stake and others where the remit is people’s liberty, no less. But never have I had to fill in so many forms for a job. You’d think I was applying to be THE Santa.
I posted the forms. I heard nothing. I called again.
“Don’t worry, Santa training is still coming up.”
“By the way, how long is the training?”
“It’s a full day of training.”
“A day! Think of the lost billables … and no CLE points!”
“Sorry?”
“Look, what if I can’t make it to training?”
“It’s okay, we can just send you the training DVD.”
But they never did. Nor did they call me back. They even stopped taking my calls. I’d been Googled, I figured.
“Maybe they weren’t that desperate after all,” said the deputy editor.
But I was. I decided to take the same approach to Santa work as I take to my legal work. I would go freelance.
And, just like in law, I decided to nibble at the edges of the big players. And so, on a rainy Saturday morning, I suited up for the David Jones Christmas Concert in Hyde Park – a concert to welcome the arrival of Santa (x 2).
I took with me a sackful of candy canes and a curvy companion in a sexy Santa’s Helper outfit. (It was a DJ’s event, after all.) Arriving at Hyde Park, we snuck past the stage where Shrek was announcing that Santa would arrive soon. We settled onto a park bench. And then we were mobbed.
Children started running and clambering all over me.
“Merry Christmas! Have a lolly. Now, what would you like for Christmas?”
“A chipmunk!”
“Now, we talked about this,” intervened a parent. “Santa’s going to bring you a bike. Aren’t you, Santa?”
I was made to pose for scores of photographs – seated, standing, even cuddling.
“Give Santa a hug … Now a big kiss!” This I did not expect. It took half an hour before I was able shake my admirers and start inching towards DJs.
Here, again, at the entrance to the store, my presence caused a ruckus, with kids queuing for candy canes and parents arranging posed photos. Police officers came, but kept a safe distance while I (and, importantly, Mrs Claus) managed the crowd.
“Is the magic cave open upstairs?” asked one mother.
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll be up there shortly.”
And, it did cross my mind to head up there and confront my red doppelganger, but I was starting to feel my Santa-ly duties to the kids. And the parents.
“See, I told you we’d see Santa today.”
Just as the cops were being good sports in giving me a wide berth, I thought I’d better not burst everyone’s bubble by bursting in on the sanctioned Santa’s scene.
The couple of hundred candy canes went fast. I walked back the way I’d come, waving at honking cars all the way. ‘Twas a great day of being naughty and nice.