SantaLand Diaries Read Online Free PDF

were built years ago and they frolic mechanically. They stand outside their igloo and sled and skate and fry fish in a pan. For some reason people feel compelled to throw coins into the penguin display. I can’t figure it out for the life of me — they don’t throw money at the tree of gifts or the mechanical elves, or the mailbox of letters, but they empty their pockets for the penguins. I asked what happens to that money, and a manager told me that it’s collected for charity, but I don’t think so. Elves take the quarters for the pay phone, housekeeping takes the dimes, and I’ve seen visitors, those that aren’t throwing money, I’ve seen them scooping it up as fast as they can.
    I was working the Exit today. I’m supposed to say, “This way out of SantaLand,” but I can’t bring myself to say it as it seems like I’m rushing people. They wait an hour to see Santa, they’re hit up for photo money, and then someone’s hustling them out. I say, “This way out of SantaLand if you’ve decided maybe it’s time for you to go home.”
    “You can exit this way if you feel like it.”
    We’re also supposed to encourage people to wait outside while the parent with money is paying for a picture. “If you’re waiting for someone to purchase a photo, wait outside the double doors.”
    I say, “If you’re waiting for someone to purchase a picture, you might want to wait outside the double doors where it is pleasant and the light is more flattering.”
    I had a group of kids waiting this afternoon, waiting for their mom to pay for pictures, and this kid reached into his pocket and threw a nickel at me. He was maybe twelve years old, jaded in regard to Santa, and he threw his nickel and it hit my chest and fell to the floor. I picked it up, cleared my throat, and handed it back to him. He threw it again. Like I was a penguin. So I handed it back and he threw it higher, hitting me in the neck. I picked up the nickel and turned to another child and said, “Here, you dropped this.” He examined the coin, put it in his pocket, and left.
     
    Yesterday was my day off, and the afflicted came to visit Santa. I Photo Elfed for Santa Ira this afternoon, and he told me all about it. These were severely handicapped children who arrived on stretchers and in wheelchairs. Santa couldn’t put them on his lap, and often he could not understand them when they voiced their requests. Still, though, he made it a point to grab each child’s hand and ask what they wanted for Christmas. He did this until he came to a child who had no hands. This made him self-conscious, so he started placing a hand on the child’s knee until he came to a child with no legs. After that he decided to simply nod his head and chuckle.
     
    I got stuck with Santa Santa again this afternoon and had to sing and fetch for three hours. Late in the afternoon, a child said she didn’t know what her favorite Christmas carol was. Santa said, “‘Rudolph’? ‘Jingle Bells’? ‘White Christmas’? ‘Here Comes Santa Claus’? ‘Away in the Manger’? ‘Silent Night’?”
    The girl agreed to “Away in the Manger,” but didn’t want to sing it because she didn’t know the words.
    Santa Santa said, “Oh, Little Elf, Little Elf, come sing ‘Away in the Manger’ for us.”
    It didn’t seem fair that I should have to solo, so I told him I didn’t know the words.
    Santa Santa said, “Of course you know the words. Come now, sing!”
    So I sang it the way Billie Holliday might have sung it if she’d put out a Christmas album. “Away in the manger, no crib for a bed, the little Lord, Jesus, lay down his sweet head.”
    Santa Santa did not allow me to finish.
     
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    This afternoon we set a record by scooting fourteen hundred people through SantaLand in the course of an hour. Most of them were school groups in clots of thirty or more. My Santa would address them, saying, “All right, I’m going to count to three, and on three I want you all to