I’m stationed in House #3 with a guy I like to call, "Don't-Touch-Me-I'm-Comatose-Santa."
Whereas, Extremely Fabulous Santa is vibrant and demonstrative, "Don't-Touch-Me-I'm-Comatose-Santa" is the complete opposite.
He sits in the corner on his throne and sighs to himself in the first 5 minutes of our session.
He shakes his head back and forth and I wonder, "Is "Don't-Touch-Me-I'm-Comatose-Santa" depressed?"
because he is managing to majorly bring me down.
All of his visits with the families continue in this subdued manner.
"Perhaps he's hungover", I wonder.
"Perhaps he's Zen", I rationalize.
Finally, there is a slight break in the visitor
traffic and "Don't-Touch-Me-I'm-Comatose-Santa"
turns to me and drowsily says, "I have three jobs."
I nod my head knowingly and say something like, "Yeah, tough times."
He continues, "I wait tables at some restaurant at night. I sell merchandise for two crappy Broadway shows and I work part time in a law office."
"Four!", I say.
"What?"
"Four. You work four jobs. Don't forget this...Santaland?"
"This isn't a job, this is my calling," he says with no irony whatsoever, as he languidly shifts in his perch.
"You're an inspiration to us all," I manage, as I stifle a yawn and a sob at the same time.
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