get thee behind me, santa

get thee behind me, santa

With The Pumpkin being two and getting into the whole “Christmas = decorations + presents” thing, we decided to introduce her to Santa this year. After Metrodad posted poor Peanut’s encounter with the “freaky white man,” last year [Peanut did an encore this year, same pose, same Santa even], I was prepared for the worst. My mom wanted to take her to see the Santa at The Grove, LA’s premiere shopping-faux-streetscape [you know, a Disneyfied pedestrian mall with Nordstrom, the Apple Store, Abercrombie and Fitch and the frickin’ American Girl store, but no trash, panhandlers or homeless people], which even has “Snow! Every evening at 7 & 8 pm”—but more on that later. First, we had to reinstitute an old family tradition.

For as long as I can remember, my parents have had a pre-Christmas holiday potluck for family friends. When I and the children of my parents’ friends were small, my dad would dress as Santa Claus, come down from the upstairs bedroom to which he had mysteriously disappeared [none of us kids ever seemed to notice that my dad was gone, I guess], and sit us all on his lap for snapshots and give us a little present. That original Santa suit also played a key role in most of our cheesy, themed Christmas card pictures growing up—my dad in his suit and me and my mom in Santa hats in some oversized gift boxes, or on vacation on a hotel bed with a giant stuffed puppy, or in my uncles red MG convertible—apparently, it never recovered from the “Santa and family in costume in the hot tub” picture. Thankfully, I don’t really remember the actual photo shoots themselves. Heh. Anyway, with The Pumpkin and a handful of other babies/toddlers/preschoolers coming to the party now, we—meaning my mom, my wife and I—decided to buy my dad a new suit. I got a relatively inexpensive one from Target (“one size fits most”) and surprised him with it, hoping that it did fit so I wouldn’t have to pinch hit.

So in the middle of the party last Saturday, after everyone was sated with something like half-a-dozen entrees and an equal number of desserts, it was Santa time. There was a five-year-old (my dad’s former co-worker’s daughter), a three-year-old (my mom’s cousin’s daughter), a two-year-old (The Pumpkin), and an 18-month-old (The Pumpkin’s BFF), and I gathered them in the living room and announced we had a special visitor. Down came my dad in full polyester regalia, and he sat down and tried to get the girls to come to him. Yeah, they weren’t having any part of that. I got the oldest to go first to show the others that it was okay [she was a smart cookie, whispering to her mom that she knew that this wasn’t the real Santa, just one of his many helpers]. The three-year-old refused to budge, on the verge of tears—later, when her mother told her that she couldn’t have any cake until she thanked Santa for her teddy bear but, as Santa had long since returned to his civvies, she couldn’t find him, she almost cried again, until la dra. told her she could draw him a thank-you. BFF did the prototypical bawling-and-contorting freak-out. And our little toddlergirl, Santa’s own unsuspecting granddaughter?

Instead of pulling a Peanut or BFF or even realizing who was under the fake beard and pulling it off or something, she took a different tack. She decided to pretend that it wasn’t happening, and that he wasn’t there. Sort of, if i don’t look at him, he’s not really there. Heh. We got one shot of her reluctantly and fleetingly meeting his gaze, but the rest of the time, she wouldn’t even look at the camera, let alone the man on whose lap she was sitting. She refused to smile, though she didn’t cry either—she just kept this pitifully studied look of blankness on her face. She reached out a couple times to be picked up and taken away from this guy, and at one point, after a few snapshots, she said “All done.” Even both my parents telling her who Santa really was didn’t help.

So, the next day, I didn’t really know what to expect at The Grove. First, though, let me set the scene. A few weeks ago, we had been down there in the morning and had gone by the Santa house to see if we could get The Pumpkin’s picture taken, just on the fly. The signs outside said only that it was open “during Grove hours.” Okay, what’s that mean? Most stores open at 10, a couple at 9, but it was after 10 already and both the front and back doors were closed. So my mom, who, by the way, is in The Grove’s VIP club for being, shall we say, a frequent and reliable customer, pokes her head in the back door and gets a perfunctory “open in half-an-hour.” Okay, so we walked around and window shop, come back, it’s been way more than a half-hour, and still no open doors, no signs giving any straight answers about their hours. So la dra., with The Pumpkin in hand, pushes open the front door, sees Santa chillin’ in the big chair, and asks if they’re open yet. All she gets is a miffed “No!” for daring to disturb him, no info on hours, no “we’ll be open in five minutes,” and I don’t know if it was the attitude and tone or just the suit and the beard, but he scared The Pumpkin. So we split.

What follows is a series of e-mails between my mom and one of The Grove’s concierges (yes, this is a mall with concierges), with only (some of) the names changed to protect the, well, whatever.

From: The Pumpkin’s Grandma
Sent: Tue 11/21/2006 1:08 PM
To: Concierge Lady
Subject: Grove Santa

Hi Concierge Lady--

I don't know if you remember me, but I met you at one of the focus
groups you had and have talked to you at the concierge desk.

My grand daughter, daughter-in-law, and I had a very bad experience
with your "Santa." Yesterday, November 20, Tuesday, we went to the
Santa house at 10 a.m. We peeked in the back door and were told to
come back in half an hour. We came back at 10:30, and it still
wasn't open. At 10:45, my daughter-in-law and grand daughter peeked
in the front door to find out why they weren't open. The Santa was
sitting there, glared at them and said gruffly that "We're not open."
No smile, no "We'll be open in a few minutes."

He was very rude and scared my grand daughter. I was shocked that a
Santa would act like that. Granted he wasn't open for business, but
one would expect a Santa to be jolly even when he's NOT on duty.

I just wanted to make sure you were notified about this. I hope this
doesn't happen to anyone else.

Sincerely, The Pumpkin’s Grandma

Subject: RE: Grove Santa
Date: Wed, 29 Nov 2006 07:59:50 -0800
Thread-Topic: Grove Santa
From: Concierge Lady
To: The Pumpkin’s Grandma

The Pumpkin’s Grandma,

Thank you so much for contacting me regarding your family's experience with Santa on November 20. Please know that as an extension of Concierge Services, Santa must uphold our service standards at all times.

I apologize for your less than satisfactory experience at our Santa Cottage. My Assistant Concierge Services Manager, Kaiu, has spoken to Santa Joe and has explained our services standards to him.

We have rotating santas in the Cottage. I would like to invite you and your family, especially your granddaughter, to come back, visit and take pictures with Santa Jack. You can choose a photo package and I would be more than happy to comp it for you.

Please let me know when you are planning to visit and I can provide a schedule for Santa Jack.

Thank you,

Concierge Lady

From: The Pumpkin’s Grandma
Sent: Wed 11/29/2006 7:34 PM
To: Concierge Lady
Subject: RE: Grove Santa

Dear Concierge Lady--

Thank you so much for your reply. I just feel that as long as a Santa is in uniform, whether or not he's on duty, he should act like a Santa.

I really appreciate your comping a session with Santa Jack.

My granddaughter lives in Bakersfield so the only time they can make it here before Christmas, is on Sunday, December 17. They will be here on the 16th, but have no time to go to the Grove on that day. They will be leaving Sunday in the early afternoon to go back home, so a morning time would be great, if possible.

Thank you so much for this.

Sincerely,
The Pumpkin’s Grandma

Subject: RE: Grove Santa
Date: Thu, 30 Nov 2006 14:17:54 -0800
Thread-Topic: Grove Santa
From: Concierge Lady
To: The Pumpkin’s Grandma

The Pumpkin’s Grandma,

I concur. Whether on or off duty, Santa should uphold our standards while on property. I would be more than happy to accommodate your family December 17. Please call me on my cell xxx.xxx.xxxx when you finalize your plans.

Thanks again,

Concierge Lady

After all that, I was expecting a scene out of “The Santaland Diaries.” Alas, when we finally cut in line past a already-long queue of babies in Bugaboos and little girls clutching doppleganger American Girl dolls by going in the out door, as instructed by Concierge Lady via cell phone minutes earlier, there were no elves named Snowbell or non-traditional Santas, just a peacoated-and-scarfed concierge named Marcel who vaguely reminded me of Lt. Gaeta on BSG (maybe it was the hair) who was expecting us. We turned the corner to find Santa waiting (and in full view of the line we had just circumvented) and beckoning The Pumpkin to his knee. Again, no screaming, no going boneless, no crying—just a sad, resigned, calculated effort to show no emotion, to avoid the gaze of both Santa and the camera, and to pretend that she wasn’t sitting on the knee of a large white man with a beard to whom she was not related. Of five shots, only one had her looking in the direction of the camera [see photo below, on full entry page]. Santa gave her a white-chocolate-star lollilop, which she promptly tried to unwrap [the gold ribbon around the stick was embossed with an ad for “The Nativity Story” movie, and all I could do was imagine David Sedaris in elf drag intoning, “This lollipop is brought to you by Jesus”]. By the time we had gotten our free photo package, printed, as advertised, in two minutes while you wait [and at those prices, I can’t imagine buying one if it hadn’t been comped], The Pumpkin had downed two of the star’s five points and was working on the third.

I figure by the time she makes the “Santa = presents” connection, she’ll deign to make eye contact with him. And at that point, we’ll just have to worry about how to explain that everybody’s been lying to her when she figures out the truth a few years later. Heh.

Merry Christmas, everybody. [And Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy Winter Solstice, Happy New Year, Merry Chrismukkah, Happy Chrimahanukwanzakah—however you celebrate, peace.]

Tuesday, December 19, 2006