Merry Christmas! I hope this letter find you well and well prepared for your upcoming journey. I hope you do not take offense to this letter, but I feel I must make my complaint known. Please do not hold it against my children. They have been (mostly) good this year.
Santa, Santa, Santa. Last Sunday, we drove one hour to see you. Yes, proper preparation would have resulted in a much earlier date, but my husband, the KING of Spontaneity, decided last Sunday was THE day. We drove. We ate. (I'm not sure who had the bright idea to eat spaghetti, but. . .) We washed my daughter's clothes off in the bathroom to the best of our abilities. . .We arrived at the mall to find a long, but tolerable line to see you. Kady stood quite patiently for about 45 minutes while we waited for all the other good boys and girls to meet you. We obliged the "no cameras on set" rule that was posted, and quietly chose our over-priced picture package. All was OK.
Then, Trey and the-elf-that-I-forgot-his-name (henceforth referred to as the other elf) announced that the cameras had crashed. An elf frenzy commenced during which all elves were on the phone to corporate to remedy the situation. Trey and the other elf opened up a "special" line, in which you could see Santa but not have your child's picture taken by the elves.
Several people jumped at this opportunity, but still desiring a picture of my (almost) clean daughter with you, I resisted for a few minutes. Finally, I gave in and joined the group taking their own pictures. When we were two people away from you, your elves announced that CORPORATE had made the decision that no one would be allowed to take pictures with Santa. (Santa, who is this corporate that makes such poor decisions for you? When did they take over your life?)
Now, Santa, here's where I try to avoid a lifetime of coal, switches, and reindeer poop in my stocking. . .Santa, if you couldn't provide the services I was requesting--the services that you were advertising-- then WHY CAN'T I TAKE MY OWN PICTURE?! Seriously, you turned a very important moment in my daughter's Christmas memories into a complete letdown and disappointment for me. We will NOT be back to your "house," as Kady called it. I may have to pay the fat man down the road to dress up, but I WILL NOT make the journey to the dictatorial corporate mall. You, Fat Man, have let me down. You have commercialized just one too many things in my Christmas. Then, you have sucked every bit of joy out of that commercialized morsel that you tempted me with. You can take your over-priced pictures, your tacky "no cameras" sign, your corporate-grunt elves, and you can go back to the North Pole. As for me, I chose not to call the 800 number the other elf offered and am instead using the "great equalizer"--the internet, to share our little "incident." Merry Christmas.
Rachel in Paradise (Lost)
PS Please tell Mrs. Clause hello.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009