I managed to push half the reindeer out of the gazebo.
Good enough.
Then I turned back to deal with the crush of people waiting to have their picture taken.
After the first few guests had seen Santa, it was apparent that we really could have used about five more elves on crowd control duty.
“Can you hurry it along?” A man waiting with a little boy and a cockatoo in a festive vest gave me an annoyed look as I tried to keep people from cutting the line.
“We’re trying to make sure everyone has a chance with Santa.”
“That woman had her kid there for the last ten minutes.”
The little girl’s mom was snapping pictures of the baby from all angles. She had brought her own step stool.
“Ma’am,” I said.
“I’ll be done in a second.”
“That was what she said the last time,” the cockatoo’s owner complained.
“Ma’am, you can come back tomorrow.”
“She was here yesterday,” the cockatoo’s owner said snidely.
“Get some fucking Christmas spirit!” the woman hollered at the man, picked up her step stool, and snatched her daughter out of Santa’s lap.
“Who’s next to see Santa?” the large man said. I looked around. We had gotten through only six people.
“We’re going to be here all night,” I whimpered.
The elf shrugged. “We get paid hourly, shut down at one am.”
“One am?”
The man with the bird set the kid on Santa’s lap. “And what do you want for Christmas?” Santa asked the little boy as his father arranged the large white cockatoo on Santa’s shoulder.
“I want an octopus.”
“Ho ho ho!” Santa laughed. “An octopus? I have the elves making a very nice one.” He winked at the boy’s father, who was busy trying to get the cockatoo to stop chewing on its vest.
“Not a toy!” the boy yelled and hit Santa with the plastic Aquaman trident he was carrying. “I want a real one, a big one, a Pacific octopus, and I’m going to train it to eat our neighbor’s cat!”
Good lord have mercy.
“All right, smile for the camera,” his father said, finally convincing the large parrot to strike a somewhat attractive pose.
The elf snapped a picture. The flash startled the bird, and it gave an ear-splitting screech. I clapped my hands over my ears as the bird latched its beak and claws into Santa’s beard and flapped its wings.
“No. Bad birdie,” the father yelled. “Bad bird!”
Santa hollered in pain. The kids in line started crying, which set the dogs off. Prancer, deciding that his help was somehow required, raced toward the gazebo from where he had been gorging himself on the half of a wedding cake someone had brought, because small towns, and raced toward the gazebo. He misjudged the header’s height and banged his antlers on the low beam, stunning himself.
The half-conscious reindeer slid into Santa’s throne, and Santa, the parrot, the reindeer, and the little boy, who was whooping like he was at a rodeo, crashed into me, sending us all flying against the fencing of the gazebo in a heap of red velvet, fur, feathers, garland, and Christmas lights.
“Is everyone okay?” I asked, groaning.
“Best Christmas ever!” the little boy yelled happily.
