Sorry to nose in on your time here, fella- I’m sure you’re swamped. Just wondering if we could take care of my wish a bit early this year? Thinking you might have a delinquent elf who needs a project for extra credit to get him out of Detention in one of your North Pole igloos or wherever the hell it is elves shack up in your corner of the world.
When you get a free moment in between fattening up and explaining to Mrs. Claus why you didn’t load the dishwasher correctly for the eighth time this week, please review your Christmas lists and see if you come across one particular lady. She’d be in, oh, I’d say her early 60s or so. You’ll recognize her by the oversized sunglasses she is wearing in her profile picture and her hair, which is so obnoxiously coiffed and overly bleached that a farmer is likely to mistake it for a bale of hay. I’m betting her name is Shirley or Rhona, but for all I know she will come up in the database on your end as Lucifera. Which would be more than appropriate.
I met this lady last week. I was stopped in my recreational vehicle along the quiet, easy-going path in our neighborhood- a path that runs parallel to a busy, high traffic road when she pulled up next to me in her vehicle.
“CAN WE GO????” is what she barked at me from across her seat, tilting her giant sunglasses off the bridge of her nose with her fancy manicured fingernails as she stared me down, seething with impatience.
“Well, out of respect, I’m staying put,” was my impromptu and somewhat perturbed response. An impromptu response that was instantly met with a snort, then a huff as the lady with the bad dye job and shrill voice took a quick glance at what I was looking at.
“Well,” the lady barked even more loudly now, flipping her oversized sunglasses back onto the bridge of her nose and pressing her foot to the pedal of her vehicle. “I have some place to be!”
Vroooooooom! Vrooooom! And just like that, the lady with the obnoxious hair and shrill voice sped off down the path, leaving me sitting there in my stopped vehicle, mouth agape with shock and awe.
I glanced a few yards down and to my left to the high traffic road running parallel to mine. The high traffic road along which I had been sitting still with my vehicle in pause out of respect. The high traffic road along which several blue and red emergency lights were spinning authoratatively. The high traffic road along which the usual flowing traffic now stood at a complete standstill. The high traffic road along which two vehicles had apparently collided. The high traffic road along which the passengers of those two vehicles were being hoisted onto stretchers by EMS.
“I bet they had some place to be too, you selfish bitch,” is what I muttered as I watched the rear of the lady’s speeding vehicle get smaller and smaller in the distance as she moved along the golf cart path.
Perhaps the woman was having an emergency of her own, Santa? I’ve really tried to convince myself of this, I swear. Maybe she was racing for a medical appointment that just couldn’t wait a few lousy minutes so that two injured people along the road could be attended to without the hassle of passing vehicles? Or maybe she was being eaten up by a roving band of fire ants that had somehow gotten inside her pants?
But I don’t think so.
There was something about her casual, disinterested countenance that wreaked of entitlement, Santa. The way she huffed when I pointed to the emergency crew working along the road- the way she shrugged (yeah, dammit! She actually shrugged at the accident scene!) She didnt even take a second to consider what the people around her were going through. She didn’t care if they were dead or alive. And that tells me that she wasn’t in a rush because she had to be; this lady was in a rush because she wanted to be.
So, um, if you happen to see the name of this lady with overly coiffed hair and shrill voice on your Nice list, can you please do me a favor and shove her on over to the tippy top of your Naughty List so she doesn’t get any presents? I picture her asking for a pink Cadillac- screw that, right? Huh? Okay, yeah, yeah, maybe that’s not fair. I see your point. Perhaps she’s a lovely lady who was just having a really bitchy day. Yeah, yeah. Fine. I see your point. Understood. So, forget what I said about the tippy top of the Naughty List. How about you just shove her and her over-bleached hair onto, like, the middle area of your Naughty List, okay? Huh? Really? Wow. Fine. Okay, fine, fine. I realize I’m overstepping my bounds here, and that’s probably gonna land me at the tippy top of your Naughty List which I totally do not want. Let’s see. Um…
Okay, got it. How about we agree that the lady stays on the Nice List (I’m being nice here) but you bump her and her overly coiffed hair way down to the bottom? Like, the very bottom. Like, she gets a pink Cadillac, but it’s one of the miniature replicas the size of a matchbook. Sound fair? Ah, good. I’m so relieved. Thank you, Santa, you rock. Seriously. You totally rock.
Um, one more thing if you don’t mind? When you leave the present under the lady’s tree, can you include a little note from to her? I think that would add a nice personal touch, don’t you? Everyone always loves hearing from Santa. Maybe something like this:
“Dear Lady With The Overly Coiffed Hair & Shrill Voice & No Manners:
Sorry I couldn’t get you that real pink Cadillac you asked for this year. But I had some place to be.
© Copyright 2015 Alison, All rights Reserved. Written For: Alison Grambs