Close Encounters
The four stages of Santa:
You believe in Santa.
You don’t believe in Santa.
You are Santa.
You look like Santa.*
My favorite memory of Santa takes place in November at a Wendy’s in Virginia Beach, VA. My father drove all the way out to Norfolk to pick me up at school with my little sister Patsy who was five at the time. It was dark out and he needed to feed us dinner fast, so he took us to Wendy’s. A large man in a red suit with a white beard was in the dining area polishing off a bacon cheddar cheese burger and baked potato drowning in velveeta and broccoli. When he finished his meal, he snapped his candy cane suspenders on his stained undershirt and slung his red fur trimmed coat over his shoulder. He must have noticed my fbi stare and Patsy’s uncontainable excitement as she squirmed in her seat and frequently whipped around to catch a glimpse of you know who. As he got up to bus his trash, he stopped by our table, winked at Patsy and handed her a red business card that said: Santa: North Pole. Like a frenzied maenad, Patsy got up and sniffed the seat where the man was sitting. She returned to the table proudly declaring, “Now I will always remember the true smell of Christmas!”
Wells Chandler
Originally written for Hos in this House at Soloway in Brooklyn, NY. Published in the exhibition catalog for Christmas in July at NADA East Broadway in 2024.
*Dad joke origin unknown.