The Mall Santa Blues

Photo by Salah Alawadhi on Pexels.com

Son, I know your mama said she was just going to pop
Over there for a second into that shop,
But unless I can find that worthless mall cop,
It looks like you’re stuck with me for a while.

But Santa don’t get paid for babysitting
And it’s 6 o’clock – time for quitting
Yet here I am, your caregiver unwitting
So let me unload on you while we wait.

I’ve been Santa Claus for 52 winters
Almost as long as I can remember
And I’m starting to dread each December
When Christmastime draws near.

See things are different now from when I started
Seems people and civility have long since parted
Why just today at least 12 children farted
While sittin’ on my lap.

Nine of ‘em tried to pull off my beard
Some teenagers laughed and called me weird,
Son, I hate to say it, but I fear
It ain’t fun being Santa anymore.

Each year the kids get a little more sassy
Department store elves get a little more brassy
While I’m left feeling a little less chatty
Some days I don’t utter a single “Ho.”

Every day I sit here on my throne
Waiting for people to get off their phone
So I can take a picture with little Jimmy and Joan,
While their parents just scroll away.

They want the Likes, not the memories
Nobody’s paying any attention to me
So I’ve started secretly
Flippin’ them the bird.

But what’s worse is when the parents start laughing
And the lookie-loos begin clapping
And my dumbass assistant keeps photographing
When the children begin to cry.

See Santa gets no joy from children’s misery
But some parents do, that’s plain to see,
This season I’ve suffered four testicular injuries
From children trying to run away.

My boss this year is half my age,
I’m barely pullin’ minimum wage,
And my 5 minute smoke breaks cannot assuage
The pain of disappointment anymore.

Oh, I’ve got the Mall Santa Blues
And I know just what I’m going to do,
I’m going to dig this flask out of my boot
And drink away my Mall Santa Blues.

See, peppermint schnapps keeps Santa’s beard white,
Keeps my cheeks rosy, keeps my eyes bright.
Keeps Santa from looking how he feels on the inside,
Like a zombie, shufflin’ from his grave.

Now don’t you go feeling sorry for me,
I’ve got 52 years of good memories,
And hey – no one looks better in fur trim than me,
‘Cause I’m hootie-hootin’ Santa Claus.

If only Mrs. Claus had seen it that way
Maybe I could’ve convinced her to stay,
Now it’s just me and the reindeer, but hey –
I got all the toys.

Some days I just putter around,
Drive up through the mountains or across town,
Lately I’ve been thinking about moving down,
Like to San Andrés, where Christmastime’s in summer.

Can’t you just see me now?
Sipping on rum and curacao,
Sunburnt cheeks and a sweaty brow,
No malls for miles around.

Maybe next year I’ll get out of this place,
Sell this suit; shave my face,
Take nothing that won’t fit in my suitcase,
Drive the sled south as far as it’ll go.

Between you and me, that sounds like a plan.
I can already smell the rattan
Santa’s bowlful of jelly is going to get tan,
Just as soon as I get out of this place.

Son, I see your mama is heading our way
You’ll be gone soon, so I’d just like to say,
I wish you the merriest of all Christmas Days,
Thanks for listening to a Mall Santa’s blues.