Santa Claus's
Retirement Letter
by S.B. Julian
Dear World,
Boy, have
things ever changed in the toy-delivery field
since I started my career. Remember when people
wrote letters to Santa? They didn't
expect to get one from me, but here
goes ... I need to give you notice of my imminent
retirement. I used to deliver a sleigh-full of
dolls, teddy bears, train sets, roller skates and
pencil sets on every magical Christmas Eve. (Pencils!
Can you imagine?) But no more. Gifts have gone
electronic. It's all game-boxes now, and fit-bits,
gift cards and peculiar little digital devices
that fall to the floor and get lost at the bottom
of the sleigh.
I used to be
able to park right beside the chimney I would be
slipping down; now there are few chimneys left,
only “smart heating” and roofs
cluttered with solar panels. Last year, one
sported a poster saying “REINDEER-DRAWN
SLEIGHS EXPLOIT UNGULATES”.
Some houses
even have notes on theirs roofs warning “mask
is mandatory”. A mask, over a beard like
mine?! No one needs a mask if they're already
muffled by a deep thicket of white facial hair.
I used to find
thoughtful treats of cookies and warm milk
waiting for me beside people's hearths, but now
everything they leave is stuff I'm scared to eat,
like Guatemalan Keto Shark-free Spice Balls, and
Dirty-Snowman Vegan Nut-free Kumquat Squares. And
whatever happened to a nice cup of tea? Now I
find a note advising me there's a Pomegranate
Gingerbread Iced Latte in the fridge, or a
Jagermeister-Curcumin Espresso Shot in the
microwave.
And no one's
decently in bed taking their long winter nap
while I lurk in their living rooms; they're all
hunkered down in separate rooms. I see the blue
light from their digital devices glowing at
windows and under doors. Even the kids aren't
asleep, dreaming about what might be in their
stockings while visions of sugar plums dance in
their heads. They're all texting their friends
from under the covers.
No: Christmas
Eve isn't what it was when I started out,
apprenticed to Great-grandfather Claus. Nor is
the elf staff! Not one knows how to wield a
hammer and nail -- or even speak English. The
North Pole is all immigrants and refugees now.
Many are illiterate and can't even write the
lists I need, so I can't check them twice.
Luckily every kid wants the same thing anyway:
digital stuff. High-tech robotic amazonian wares.
I might as well retire, I'm beginning to feel,
and be replaced by a drone. I'm just not as jolly
as I used to be. I guess drones do go further and
move faster than anything a bunch of reindeer
would pull. They're much more efficient ... so,
Tallyho-ho-ho, drones!
Still, I can't
help thinking something magical is being lost.
Yours truly,
The Old Man in
a Red Suit
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