| Author | Message | ||
| R TERRY
Rating: N/A |
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the bus not a creature was stirring… so, I guess that would be me. While at my MAC—writing a story for Busnuts Online—, there arose such a clatter. Actually I felt the bus rock gently back and forth on its wheels, as it usually does when the wind is gusting. What wind? I stepped outside to see what was going on. To my surprise, sitting on top of the bus was a red sleigh and a bunch of wild animals. “Santa… is that you?” “Yes, it is, ” came the reply. “What are you doing up there?” “Resting, taking a break. You see, the reindeer are union now. It’s in their contract to take a 20-minute break every two hours. Used to be two 10-minute breaks per shift, half-hour for lunch. Now they get an hour lunch.” “They have unions at the North Pole?” “Now they do; this isn’t the 1800’s anymore,” Santa reminded me. “Can I get you anything?” I asked. “You mean… cookies and milk? No, no thank you, I get plenty of that. How about a little something for the reindeer, though?” “Well, gee, Santa, I’m fresh out of Purina Reindeer Chow.” “I know what you mean, that happens to me all the time. Have you any Cheerios?” I went in the bus, grabbed an unopened family-sized box of Cheerios and tossed it up to Santa. As he sprinkled the tasty little circles onto the roof, he looked down, proclaiming, “Reindeer love Cheerios!” “Would you like to join me down here for a nice cup of Swiss Miss?” “Yes, indeed,” said Santa, “that would be wonderful.” “Let me get the ladder out of the baggage bay…” “No, that won’t be necessary,” he interrupted, where upon he put his finger against his nose and jumped off the bus. Ok, I admit it, it freaked me out—I almost fell over backward trying to get out of the way. But he simply floated down to the patio like a rose petal in a soft breeze—all two hundred and ninety-seven pounds of him. “Hey, that’s a nice trick, Santa. I’ll bet Captain Kirk wished he could have done that.” I invited Santa to have a seat in one of the folding camp chairs, went back into the bus and returned with two cups of piping hot Swiss Miss. For me, this was all very unusual and Santa must have noticed me staring. “Is something wrong?” he asked. “Well, no… I, ah… couldn’t help but notice… you don’t seem to be that big and… I don’t mean any disrespect, but you know… fat.” Santa patted his rotund belly with both hands before explaining, “That’s because under this suit, I only weigh 168 pounds. In fact, I am quite proportional to my height.” “But…” “Let me show you something.” Santa unfastened the top two buttons on his suit and reached in to what was a multitude of pockets lining the inside of his outfit. “I have a great deal of work to do on Christmas Eve and it helps to carry a lot of stuff with me.” He began to pull things out of the pockets. “Here, I have all kinds of bows. Some folks can’t afford to put bows on their packages, so I do it for them. It makes a nice Christmas-y touch.” When Santa reached into another pocket, his hand came out with an assortment of wheels. “Very often, kids have perfectly good toys they don’t play with because they’re missing a wheel. I put new wheels on. And in here,” Santa continued, as he fished out another handful of parts, “are my favorites: new eyes for old Teddy Bears that have simply been loved to pieces.” “Wow.” “But this…this is the one I love the most.” He reached way down into the bottom of his coat and pulled out a magnificent, radiant ornament. “No tree should ever be without a Christmas Angel.” “So you put an angel on top of all the trees that don’t have one?” “Oh, indeed I do. And more. When I see stockings hanging with nothing in them, I fill them with goodies. Once I fixed a pair of broken glasses sitting on the table next to the cookies and milk.” “That’s amazing. How do you manage to do all that and keep track of who’s naughty and who’s nice?” “For that, I have this.” Santa put his finger in the top of his wide black belt, ran it around the edge and unzipped it like a Glad Bag. Out came a very long list of names. Next to each name were the boxes, “Naughty”, and “Nice”. Each name had a corresponding checkmark in one or the other of the boxes. “Can you tell me who’s been naughty and who’s been nice?” “Whom did you have in mind?” Santa answered. “How about George W. Bush?” “Ok, let’s see…George W. … Oh, yes, right here.” I was surprised to see both boxes checked. I asked Santa how that could be. “A lot of people think Mr. Bush has been very naughty. But, just as many people, or maybe more, think of him as a very nice man. So what’s a Santa to do? In the best spirit of Christmas, I always give the benefit of the doubt.” “What about… Oprah?” “Now, what do you think?” “Oh, of course. Naughty? No way. Impossible. Silly question.” I paused. “Am I on that list?” Santa smiled. “Everyone’s on that list. But you already know whether you’ve been naughty or nice.” He put the list away, and then asked me, “What do you want for Christmas?” I thought about it for a minute, keeping in mind that I really didn’t want anything. “Ok. I want for all bombs, guns, and ammunition to disappear from this planet.” “There’s only one being who can do that— ‘Gort’, the robot from the movie ‘The Day the Earth Stood Still’. Is there something else you’d like?” “I’d like to go out with Renée Zellweger, or Daryl Hannah.” Santa laughed. “I’m afraid you’ll need to find a genie in a magic lamp for that one. Anything else?” Santa Claus took a long sip from his cup of Swiss Miss. Not really, I thought, but there’s something I have always wanted to know. So I asked Santa, “Who killed JFK?” Santa leaned over and whispered gently in my ear. He smelled of chocolate. “Really?” It was another typically beautiful night in the Arizona desert, a common condition known to us pilots as Perfect Flying Weather. This made me wonder why Santa landed on my bus. He said that most houses have a pitched roof, making it much more difficult for the reindeer to relax during their breaks. The bus, on the other hand, has a long, straight roof, making it an ideal runway, and a good place for the reindeer to graze on Cheerios. “Here’s what I don’t understand, Santa. Every year at this time around the globe, most of us celebrate Christmas, a time of peace, goodwill, love and harmony. However, shortly after the festivities—I’d say 30 seconds later—, we tend to revert back to our… well, naughty ways. How come none of the wonders of Christmas ‘stick’ for the rest of the year? Why doesn’t the Christmas spirit, if it’s such a good thing, last, say, forever?” “I wish it did.” Santa put his head down for a minute before continuing. “I really only know what works at the North Pole. For instance, Santa’s Workshop is comprised of a very large team of dedicated, hardworking, and very talented elves. Individually, all the elves are different. We have short, stocky elves with stubby little fingers, and tall slender elves with long narrow fingers. We have elves with short, dark, curly hair and elves with long red, straight hair. Big feet, small feet. Cute button noses, and noses only a moose would be proud of. But despite their varied looks, they are able to get an enormous amount of work done. This is because they all work together toward the same goal. In other words, everybody has the same objective: Christmas!” “So, you’re saying, in essence, that all people—and elves—are essentially alike.” “That’s correct. I believe there is not one single, fundamental difference between any of them. Simply put, people are people. The ONLY thing that separates people from each other is how they think.” “…And what they believe in, ” I added. “That would be how they think.” “Of course.” Santa gave me a very inquisitive look. “Do you believe in Santa?” he asked. I didn’t want to answer that question. “I don’t know… I think the notion of Christmas and Santa Claus is all very fanciful. Quite imaginative, I’d say.” “So, you think you’re a non-believer?” “Does it really matter?” For a fraction of an instant, Santa looked hurt. “Yes, “ he said softly, “it does. But I can help you. Close your eyes for a minute. If you truly don’t believe in Santa Claus, when you open them I will be gone.” Strangely, I didn’t want to close my eyes. Perhaps I didn’t want to open them and find out he was still there. But I was afraid to find out he wasn’t. I closed my eyes and counted to ten. When I opened them, Santa was gone. I let out a long sigh, not sure if I was relieved or disappointed. Just then, I felt a tapping on my left shoulder. Santa was standing behind me with a big grin on his face. “I was just messing with you, “ he said with a chuckle. “The fact is, you can lie to your brain, but you can’t lie to your heart.” Santa reached into a pocket and pulled out a large round object, popped open its top and said, “Time to go.” He put his finger against his nose and effortlessly whisked himself back up to the sleigh sitting on top of the bus. “Hey, Santa, I just want to know one more thing. Aren’t you supposed to have this low, resounding, robust ‘Ho, ho, ho’? You sound more like Michael J. Fox.” “Yes, to both. My famous ‘Ho, ho, ho’ can be attributed to Thomas Edison. He was the first person to record the voice of Santa Claus. But when he played it back, he did so at half speed. Perhaps that’s the genius of Thomas Edison!” “Well, Merry Christmas, Santa. And ‘Ho, ho, ho!” With a big smile, Santa said, “You sound like Michael J. Fox!” Santa and his herd of wild animals, back on the union clock, departed the bus runway. Before he turned crosswind, I heard him say, “Merry Christmas! And thanks for the Cheerios!” With plenty to think about, I returned to the computer and finished my story for the BNO. I wasn’t sure if I should mention any of this, but, after all, it was the night before Christmas, when all through the bus, not a creature was stirring… just me typing away. Merry Christmas, everyone! R TERRY | ||
| Robert Wood (Bobwoodsocal)
Rating: N/A |
Very entertaining story! Thanks, Bob | ||
| CoryDane RTSII Rating: N/A |
Very, Very Nice. Thanks for the thought. Merry Christmas and don't forget to leave some CHEERIOS out tonight. Who DID kill JFK? cd | ||
| R TERRY
Rating: N/A |
Cory, I knew you were going to ask me that! R TERRY | ||
| Todd Amon (Teqsand)
Rating: N/A |
Great story,  As much as i want to know who killed JFK, and I have my suspicions (cough cough, johnson) that information was R terry's present from santa and I'll wait for mine and not ask him to share. Hey Terry, did you happens to get the PD # off the sleigh? Merry christmas all Todd |