The Season of Giving

Being a jolly old elf more complicated than just fitting into the suit
Published: Tuesday, December 14, 2010
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor

Oh my. Are we to be treated to how Morsch also can't play Santa Claus effectively?

Several years ago, a friend asked that if I could fit into the suit, would I mind playing Santa for an event he was organizing. Excuse me … if I could fit into the suit? I thought Santa suits started at XXXL and worked their way up from there.

I'm guessing there will be lots of these, so let's keep count: Fat Joke #1.

I politely declined because at the time, I was 40 pounds heavier and didn’t need to be reminded of that by the presence of a red suit that wouldn’t fit. How come it’s always fat guys who get asked to play Santa? We’re not all jolly and we don’t particularly like that “bowl full of jelly” comparison.

Because Santa is fat? How come it's always the black guys who are asked to play blacks? Fat Joke #2.

Besides, having never done the Santa gig before, I would have been woefully unprepared for the task. On the surface, it looks like an easy job. Once the red suit and beard are in place, one just needs to show up, say “Ho-ho-ho!” a lot and listen to what the kids want for Christmas.

Turns out it’s a little more involved than that, according to the Lansdale Borough Council’s Parks and Recreation Committee. The committee, which has been looking for prospective Santas during the holiday season for its Santa House, is offering some tips for wannabe Kris Kringles.

Ooh, maybe this isn't a "can't do XXX" article! We may be looking at yet another "talk about a story from the Internet" article!

Included in the list are things like not wearing jewelry, watches, aftershave, cologne or irregular shoes that might give away one’s identity. I assume by “irregular shoes,” the committee means that since Chuck Taylors are not generally recognized as Santa’s preferred winter footwear, something other than black boots might spoil the fun for the kids.

I would think that black boots would be included with the basic Santa costume, but Morsch is missing the point. They're advising the person not to wear something that would give away their identity.

Other tips include addressing groups with generic terms like “folks,” using a straw to take a drink so nothing spills on the beard or suit and making sure to not only remember the names of the children but also the names of Santa’s nine helpers.

These things all make sense. By "helpers," do they mean the reindeer?

That’s a lot to remember, especially if Santa starts sipping cold adult beverages through a straw. If that happens, be prepared for the list of Santa’s helpers to include “folks” like Dasher, Dancer, Prancer and Vixen . . . and Grumpy, Sleepy, Bashful, Sneezy, Groucho, Chico, Harpo, Zeppo, Gummo and Chuck Taylor.

Shockingly he doesn't invoke a "Moe, Larry and Curly" reference. I think I heard this bit on ALF once... but nice, classy reference to getting drunk in front of children. And it's NOT a lot to remember.

It occurred to me that other tips not included by the parks and recreation committee should be in the areas of bad breath and sanity.

"Tips.. in the areas of"? That doesn't sound right. After long absences, both alcohol and bad breath make their return to "Outta Leftfield"! This really is the season of giving.

First of all, Santa probably shouldn’t have coffee breath. Some kids are frightened by the mere presence of Santa, and blowing bad coffee breath right up a kid’s beezer can do nothing to alleviate those fears.

"Beezer"? That's just stupid.

Plus, it’s probably not good for little kids to get a caffeine high from secondary coffee breath.

And Santa probably should not be batspit crazy, although it’s a short journey to crazy-go-nutshood if one has to sit in a mall or store and listen to Christmas songs like “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” 847 times during the Santa shift.

"Batspit"... does this man ever exhaust his vast reservoir of substitute swear words? I would also like to note that numbers beginning with "8" seem to be designated as "funny" ones.

My brother-in-law had it right. The only non-fat guy I’ve ever known to don the Santa apparel, he had a pretty sweet deal in our central Illinois hometown for years being the parks and recreation department’s Grand Poobah of Santas back in the early 1990s.

Another hilarious made-up title!

He got paid, for one thing, but he also had the correct temperament for the job and didn’t drink coffee while on duty.

Plus it was great to have a Santa in the family. When Older Daughter was little, Uncle Mark would sneak out the garage door at my folks’ house without her knowing it, get in full Santa regalia, and then come in the front door, working the jingle bells overtime. (Editor’s note: I think she’s still unsure that it was Uncle Mark, so don’t tell her.)

But you just told everyone in the world (and possibly Older Daughter), via your Interenet column. So way to ruin a treasured childhood memory, sir.

Although the look on her face was always one of pure joy when Santa came through the front door, she always seemed a bit puzzled as to how Santa knew she was at Pawkaw and Granny’s house and not at her own. That, and the fact, that he walked right in the front door and didn’t come down the chimney, never mind that Pawkaw and Granny didn’t have a chimney in their house.

You don't need a comma after "the fact." Although these pointed questions are presented as being totally unique and amusing, I'm sure that every kid in the world has wondered the same thing.

Still, despite meeting the minimum girth requirements, I’ve never had the inclination to belly up to the volunteer Santa trough. I don’t drink coffee, so that wouldn’t be a problem, although come to think of it, garlic breath probably isn’t any easier on little kids.

Fat Joke #3.

So to recap both the parks and recreation department tips and my own additional suggestions, prospective Santas should remember every kid’s name, drink through a straw, lay off the coffee before going on duty and not be crazy.

Ha... ha... ha. Totally worth it.

Because for this gig, everybody knows that yes, Virginia, there really is a sanity clause. And it will be tested.

What?

Morsch's Greatest Hit

This is undoubtedly the most commented-on entry in the entire history of Outta Leftfield. Two of the comments are mine.

Outta Leftfield: You need to bulk up on patience if you’re going to shop at Costco
Published: Tuesday, January 26, 2010


Get it?

There are three things that I can count on virtually every single time I go to the grocery store: (1) I will not be able to find a parking spot within two miles of the front door; (2) I will choose a cart that has a bad wheel; (3) When it is time to check out, I will get into the slowest checkout line in the history of grocery stores.

Bad parking! Carts with bad wheels! Slow checkout lines! Where does he come UP with this stuff??? Sometimes I wonder whether, instead of being a humor column, this is some kind of post-modern commentary on bad humor columns.

Knowing this, I still go to the grocery store because, well, that’s where a lot of the food and bathroom tissue can be found. I usually need a lot of both.

Paging Archie Bunker! You've got competition in the "fat guy who goes to the bathroom" department!

There is a place, though, that compounds my usual difficulties in this area: Costco. The place is like Texas. Everything is bigger. So given the aforementioned problems, those of you who frequent this Genuardi’s on steroids probably can surmise three things about my infrequent visits to Costco: (1) that I will not be able to find a parking spot within eight miles of the front door and will in fact need to take a bus just to get to the dadgummed place; (2) that I will choose a dump truck in which to carry my items that has at least one bad wheel; (3) that when it comes time to check out, I will need to take vacation time away from work because I will be standing in line from now until next Wednesday.

It appears as though MM's usual difficulties with the English language are also increased by Costco. His standard run-on sentences have ballooned into a mighty Mississippi of compositional butchery.

It’s always an adventure at Costco. The place is usually packed, which makes negotiating the aisles with a three-wheeled cart, uh … challenging. It reminds me of going to the county fair when I was a kid and watching the demolition derby — all kinds of drivers going all kinds of directions bashing into each other like their undershorts were on fire and the other car was carrying a bucket of water. (This is not in any way a reference to the Underwear Bomber because I don’t need the Idiot Terrorists Anti-Defamation League starting a petition drive to get you to cancel your subscription because I have offended one of its members.)

To go from "undershorts" to the Underwear Bomber... what kind of a brain makes that leap? I'm pretty sure that nobody, ever, would make that connection.

The other thing about Costco is that, as you know, it’s a bulk item store. One can’t just buy one bottle of ketchup. Everything is measured in kegs: a keg of potato chips, a keg of peanuts, a keg of paper towels, a keg of mouthwash — although in my particular situation, a case could be made for buying mouthwash by the keg.

Something tells me a keg of potato chips wouldn't be much of a problem for MM. And for the record, this is just the first of many references to his purportedly horrendous breath.

The only thing I can’t find there is a keg of beer, but it’s a big place and the possibility exists that I haven’t found it yet because I’m out of vacation days at work and just haven’t had the time for a thorough search of the premises.

And the twisting, tortured sentences continue. Please also note that this will not be the last time MM sings the praises of beer.

Of course, a store that big has everything. Why, if I had wanted to, I could have bought The Blonde Accountant a diamond engagement ring from Costco. Now it may be that Costco carries fine jewelry, but I wouldn’t know it. What I do know, however, is how that conversation would go had any guy come home from a trip to Costco toting a diamond ring and a marriage proposal.

The Blonde Accountant seems to be his code-named wife. Also, what? Here is the evolution of this "joke" thus far:

1.) MM jokes that Costco carries jewelry.
2.) He admits that maybe Costco does carry jewelry... but maybe not.
3.) He continues to craft an entire "comical" scenario based on this rather murky jewelry concept.

Well Intentioned Guy: “Hey honey, look what I found. Would you marry me?”

Female Jewelry Expert: “Oh, it’s a beautiful ring. Where did you get it?”

WIG: “Aisle 7 at Costco.”

FJE: “You’re an idiot.”

WIG: “Uh, I will need to inform my friends at the Idiot Terrorists Anti-Defamation League of your insult. Does this mean you’re not going to marry me?”

FJE: “Oh, just be quiet and go back to Costco and get a 30-pack of bathroom tissue, will you.”

Direct from an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond to your local newspaper. And BONUS! We get a callback to the "undershorts/Underwear Bomber" joke, which in retrospect was much funnier than this is.

There’s a fun story to tell the kids, huh? I remember the day I got your mother’s engagement ring at Costco. It was the same day I had a coupon for bathroom tissue.

Joke... wearing... painfully... thin... And we've got our second toilet paper reference.

I will say this, though, about Costco: It will at least feed you while you’re hiking around its warehouse. I love those little stands set up at the end of some aisles that serve up bites of whatever food products the store is pushing that day. Why, those customers who are in pretty decent shape that can make two or three trips around the entire store can get the equivalent of a fairly decent lunch.

In general, I try to avoid the place. However, the advantage of Costco — bulk buying — also becomes the disadvantage quite quickly. The cart fills up with heavy bulk items and then becomes difficult to negotiate. Since I am generally considered the muscle in my family, it falls to me to navigate the overloaded three-wheeler for the right to stand in line for three days to check out.

Um, usually a "however" is followed by an idea that differs from the previous one. Here he says, "I don't like Costco. However, there are also things I don't like about Costco."

And just once, I’d like to find a decent parking spot close to the door. After shopping at that place with all the challenges that it brings, I really have little patience left for the eight-mile bus ride, especially toting groceries that haven’t been bagged.

I always forget the bags.

And finis! Way to leave them with a big laugh, MM. Someone named George Luken actually commented on this story, defending Costco from MM's rapier wit and Swiftian satire. I couldn't resist responding:

A very passionate defense of Costco! Could it be because Mr. George Luken is in fact Jim Sinegal, the PRESIDENT AND CEO OF COSTCO??? Seems like you have the attention of some real 90-caliber pezzonovante here, Mr. Morsch... keep speaking truth to power!

Some dope named Steve then said:

Yeah, I'm sure the CEO of Costco has nothing better to do than scour tiny weekly newspapers across the country looking for any mentions of his company.

To which I replied:

Well spoken Steve, a.k.a. Jeffrey Brotman, CO-FOUNDER OF COSTCO! I'm not sure what your current involvement with the company is, Mr. Brotman, but don't you think the earthquake victims in Haiti are more deserving of your attention than indulging in petty conspiracies with your corporate confederate? Don't back down, Mr. Morsch - they're coming out of the woodwork now!