Stanley’s headache hadn’t gone away. He knew how to pace himself on the nights where he filled his glass with whiskey, but when he indulged, treated himself, to cheap limoncello, his data was off. It was easier to drink, and the extra sugar had a way of metabolizing that found a home in the corner of his left temple. Throbbing. Pulsing. Beating at his forehead, reminding him of his past mistakes.
It did not leave the same smell on his breath though, fortunate since when he woke up he was already late for work. It was hard for Stanley to find a job. He was unkempt, overweight, and old. He had stopped shaving a long time ago, and his white whiskers hid what remained of his face. And ever since his Eugenie died three years ago—almost exactly 3 years ago—he had little reason to search for something new. She was always the planner. Decades ago, when Carol was born, Eugenie had insisted on life insurance policies. Stanley thought it was all a little silly—going to a Doctor who would take your blood pressure and then feed the data to some actuary who determined how long he would stay alive as to not bankrupt the insurance company underwriting the policy. Luckily for Stanley, they didn’t do a very good job. Eugenie had proven their math wrong. So Stanley could afford booze.
“God dammit Stanley. You know most places just get volunteers to do this right? You’re fucking lucky. I don’t pay you to be a pain-in-my-ass.”
“Sorry Charles. I know. I know. I’ll try to do better.”
“Try? You can’t even commit to anything?”
“I’ll do better period it won’t happen again.”
Stanley hated lying, but he did need the job. He needed a reason to go somewhere.
By the time he reached his post, his uniform being buttoned as he walked through the back corridor past the rows of vending machines and turning at the food court, the line was sad. When he started this gig two years ago, the lack of demand for his services surprised him, but he could never have predicted that it would decline further in just a few more seasons. The magic wasn’t there, at least not like it was when he used to wait in line. With Carol. And Eugenie.
These days, most of the storefronts were empty bays—the Gap Kids turned into a model train association office, the “Made in Nebraska” now a “For Lease.” The seasonal calendar store that was once relegated to a series of kiosks dotted through the center of the main fairway now had their pick of real estate and permanent displays to set up shop for the two months of the year that they needed them. Once the Spirit Halloween moved out, they moved in. And the rest of the year the space sat empty. Hopeful. The lights still worked, the furniture was in good shape. A single security lamp shone next to the EXIT to ward off any burglars. But empty.
It wasn’t what Stanley remembered.
He felt bad, but only because he knew Charles had enough stress without having to wonder what time Stanley would clock in. But, he also knew being a little—or more than a little—late wouldn’t have any real impact on his productivity for the day. It was even harder to be alone, when you’re pretending to be someone everyone wants to see. And when you had to pretend you weren’t hungover. Pretending you didn’t have to drink. Pretending the lack of customers didn’t bother you.
But despite what he told Charles. It did. He knew Charles couldn’t hear the truth. Charles already knew things weren’t the way they used to be, but Charles was pretending too.
Larry was walking by with his wife Janice. They were always there, walking the corridors each morning since the winter air made it too cold for the duck pond by their retirement village. Stanley didn’t meet them until last year. He didn’t notice them at all his first season, he was too busy—well, busy enough—but gradually with each lap and polite wave, it became too uncomfortable for Janice not to say something instead of half-wave with a half-smile. Larry with a half-nod and no smile at all.
“Well, where are all your customers?”
Janice thought she was being funny the first time she said it. As if Stanley hadn’t noticed. As if he hadn’t heard the exact same thing—or some form of it—from every parent when they were surprised to find out there wasn’t a wait for Stanley’s attention. Stanley always acted like it was the first time he had heard it. As if that parent—or more likely as the years went by, a grandparent—was the first to observe this shift in demand. Stanley usually pretended he didn’t hear them. He never knew how to respond and stay in character.
“Didn’t there used to be some people taking photos?”
That was Janice’s next ice breaker when her and Larry made their way back around the circumference of their indoor walking track. There used to be. But those helpers went away. People had smartphones now. No one wanted to pay $25 for a photo package. All they needed was a quick shot for an Instagram reel and the appropriate hashtag. Not that Stanley knew those were the names for those things. He never had someone to explain it to him.
“Hey Stanley, Merry Christmas.”
This time it was Larry. Gradually, he started taking over the small talk. They moved slower now. Larry had a cane. His back pain had reached a point where Janice talked him into getting an MRI and a cyst was found near the base of his spine. Nothing life threatening, but required surgery. And a cane. The doctors told them to stay active, so Stanley still saw them in the winter. And the slower pace increased the time it took for the couple to loop around Stanley’s roped off Christmas village. And Larry liked taking a break at the bench next to the recycling bin, each time complaining how no one knew what to throw into it.
But then Larry would respond to Janice’s gentle teasing, plant his cane firmly against the linoleum, push himself upward, and start the next lap.
And Stanley would get back to work.
•••
Stanley had shown up to work on time, but it didn’t make much of a difference. He was out of limoncello, that was a treat, and he was out of money. And didn’t have anything to celebrate.
Larry and Janice hadn’t been around for a while. Janice told him they were taking the next few weeks to fly to Georgia to visit their son and his wife. They had just had a baby a few months back, but because of Larry’s back they couldn’t travel to see their new grandchild. It was hard on them—seemingly harder on Larry than Janice—to be told to wait, but eventually the doctor gave him permission to travel. They made arrangements that same day. They had a direct flight in the evening of the following day, and gave Stanley their news on their morning walk. He was happy for them, but he knew that meant he wouldn’t have a friend for the rest of the season.
And he had yet to decide if he would sign up again next year.
He didn’t think so.
He wasn’t sure if there would even be a job available.
He didn’t know why there would be.
He had a few customers that day, but not many. The interactions were always over more quickly than he would have liked. And the gap between visitors grew longer and longer.
A woman wearing an apron started walking in his wing of the mall. She wasn’t a mall walker, Stanley recognized her uniform from when he used to get lunch at the food court before starting his shift. She carried a platter of samples, chunks of chicken that had been speared with a toothpick and handed out liberally to draw customers to the Asian Express Chinese restaurant. Stanley would always get a sample, when he ate lunch at the food court, before grabbing a Sbarro slice of pepperoni. He liked the chicken, but he didn’t like all that extra stuff they put in the food. And Sbarro was cheaper.
He didn’t recognize the woman, though she looked familiar in the way that everyone who worked at the Chinese restaurant looked familiar. Her platter was still covered in samples. She made her way toward the bench near Stanley and dumped all of the remaining chicken in the recycling bin.
With a blank expression and the platter dangling from her side, the woman walked back toward the food court.
The next day Stanley saw her again. She held out a toothpick clutched between her thumb and index finger, tempting the few customers leaving the calendar store with an appetizer to lure them her way to the food court. They politely refused. The next couple, not so politely.
The woman would drop her smile as they walked away, painting it back on when a man holding a JCPenney bag rounded the corner and crossed her path. He didn’t look at her. The woman kept looking at him. There was no one else to look at.
She walked toward the recycling bin with a defeated gaze. She lowered the tray and began tilting it.
“Hey! That’s the recycling! Hey! Hey! The garbage is on the other side!”
The samples were half gone when the woman realized Stanley was yelling at her. She acted like she hadn’t noticed him until just then.
“Ohh, sorry. I didn’t think it mattered.”
With what remained on the platter, she walked towards Stanley.
“Well, to most people it doesn’t I guess. But the blue tops are supposed to be recycling.”
“Yeah I know, I just figured it was more for show than anything. Like to pretend we cared about the environment, but really all the trash just gets dumped in the same place as the rest of it.”
“I don’t know I guess. Honestly, I don’t really care. I just thought you should know what it was supposed to be for. In case you didn’t know.”
The woman smiled. It wasn’t the same smile she gave when handing out samples. It wasn’t as prominent as that one. This smile was softer. Slight. Natural.
“Why are you handing out samples all the way out here anyways?”
“I go where the people are. I figured they wanted to come see you.”
“Ha ha ha ha ha, well you’re wrong there.”
“I thought you had a different type of laugh.”
“Ohh Jesus. OK fine... ho ho ho. Happy?”
“Yeah. That’s better.”
“Want to know a secret? I’m not actually the real Santa.”
“No shit? No wonder no one comes to see you then.”
“Maybe that’s it.”
“Wanna sample? They’re cold. I always make too many. Way too many.”
The woman extended the platter towards Stanley, what remained of the teriyaki chicken bits glistened where the grease had started to harden into a rind.
“No thanks. I don’t really want one.”
The woman’s soft smile grew, just a bit. Only a bit. But Stanley noticed.
“Where’s the garbage?”
“Over on that side.”
•••
Stanley had the next day off, but when he got to work the following day—late, again—he had just enough time to grab a granola bar and some Advil before getting scolded by Charles. It wasn’t as bad as all the other times. Charles seemed to be a little less concerned than before. A little less, hopeful.
Stanley flipped the sign from “Santa is currently feeding his reindeer,” to “Santa is brought to you by the Oak View Mall, please visit our website for inquiries about leasing.” He checked the boxes stashed inside the cardboard gingerbread house to see if there were any candy canes left to give out to kids. There weren’t. They had bought fewer this year, and Charles had warned that once these were gone they weren’t buying more. They were sick of having extras at the end of the year and trying to figure out what to do with them. Stanley broke down the empty boxes and started walking toward the recycling when he heard a shout echo through the empty corridor.
“Hey Santa, I brought you a present!”
It was the woman with a platter. Stanley could see small curls of steam coming off the quarter sized bits of chicken breast.
“These ones are fresh, I tried bringing you some yesterday but you weren’t around.”
“Yesterday was my day off. I am kind of hungry, those smell pretty good.”
“That’s the whole idea. Back when we were busier we only gave out hot samples, but now we don’t go through them as fast. And they don’t stay fresh very long when you have to walk around to find people to give them to.”
Stanley grabbed a sample. It tasted like he remembered, the generic salty chicken flavor identical to all food court mall Chinese restaurants.
“Thanks. I think this is actually going to make me hungrier.”
“Well, take another then. I’ll end up throwing half of them away anyways.”
She placed the platter down on the bench and sat Stanley joined her on the other side of the chicken.
“So how’s this all work anyways?”
“How does what work?”
“The whole Santa thing.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know about Santa?”
“Well I get the basic idea, the whole goes down the chimney and gives you presents thing. But what’s the point of having one in a mall?”
“Well. Kids go up and tell Santa what they want for Christmas.”
“But don’t they know it’s not actually Santa? I mean at least you have a real beard, most of these fake Santas working here just look like they’re wearing a wig. One of you is even black.”
“I think kids know it’s not the real Santa, most of them anyways. Did you think it was the real Santa?”
“What do you mean?”
“When you were a kid, did you think it was the real Santa?”
“We didn’t do Santa. We didn’t do Christmas. I didn’t think anything about it at all, other than all my white friends seemed really excited about it.”
“You didn’t celebrate Christmas?”
“No my family isn’t from here.”
“They don’t celebrate Christmas in China?”
“We’re not Chinese, we’re Vietnamese.”
“Well. close enough.”
“What do you mean close enough? It’s a completely different country.”
“Yeah but, it’s like close to China.”
“The United States is like close to Mexico. Does that make you Mexican?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah... Unfortunately, I think I do...”
The woman’s face looked like someone had just refused her sample. She started getting up.
“These are getting cold, I better keep moving.”
Before Stanley had a chance to respond the woman was on her way.
•••
Stanley finished shoving the cardboard boxes into the recycling, noticing there was an old candy cane stuck to the packaging tape on the bottom. He ripped the candy cane off and put it in the pocket of his red coat.
The rest of the day went by slowly. He only saw four families, one of the kids smelled terrible and another was way too fat to comfortably sit on his lap—but insisted nonetheless. The whole sitting on the lap thing was a lot more uncomfortable than it once was anyways, both because Stanley was getting older, but also from the stern gazes he seemed to get from each parent. Charles came by and told him he could go home early.
Stanley flipped the sign back to “Santa is off feeding his reindeer,” and started walking back toward the changing room where he stored his street clothes. As he took off his red coat, he felt the broken candy cane he had rescued from the recycling. He hung up the coat, and started heading toward the garbage can in the food court, so he could dispose of it properly. He could smell chicken.
He turned and saw the woman with the platter a few yards behind him. He started back her way.
“Here, take this. In appreciation of the samples earlier.”
“Ohh, it’s Santa. You look different without your whole get-up. What is it?”
“It’s a candy cane. We used to give them out to kids, but we ran out. This was our last one.”
“It’s broken.”
“It still tastes the same.”
“I don’t like peppermint.”
“Ohh, well. OK. I don’t really either.”
“Let’s split it.”
The woman sat the platter down in front of the cash register. As Stanley ripped open the cellophane packaging, he started talking.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said.”
“About how Mexicans are the same as Americans?”
“No, not that. I mean, I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to offend you. But about why kids keep coming to the mall Santa even if they know he’s not real.”
“OK, why is that?”
“Well. When my daughter started getting older I knew that she knew Santa wasn’t real, but she always wanted to go see him each year. To the point where it became kind of weird. Like how she seemed too old. All the other kids in line were way older than her, and it was kind of uncomfortable waiting in line with her.”
“Did you still take her?”
“I didn’t want to. But my wife still would. I would just wait on the bench for them while they waited in line. I was kind of embarrassed really. But Carol really loved it.”
“Is Carol your wife?”
“No Carol is my daughter. Eugenie is my wife. Was my wife.”
“So why did your daughter still want to go then?”
“I think it was because she still wanted to believe in something, even if she knew it wasn’t real. Like there was still a part of the magic. Even if she knew she wasn’t supposed to believe in it anymore. And to move on from that would kind of ruin the whole thing. Make it less special, you know?”
The woman was sucking on her half of the candy cane, and Stanley put his to his mouth. No one said anything for a little while.
“Does anyone ever ask Santa what he wants for Christmas?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like all those kids coming with all those demands and lists of things they want, but does anyone ever ask Santa what he wants?”
“Some kids bring me pictures they drew.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“I guess not. I don’t think so. I guess I’ve never noticed. I can’t think of a time.”
“Well, what does Santa want for Christmas?”
Stanley sucked on his candy cane as he thought. He thought of Eugenie. He thought of Larry and Janet with their new granddaughter. He thought of Carol.
The woman took off her apron.
“Are you hungry? I know how to make something other than chicken teriyaki.”
❤️ I really enjoyed this!