One Sick Christmas

Essay by Anonymous UserJunior High, 9th gradeA+, January 1996

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'Hurry up Joe! It's 10:15, your fifteen minutes late!' Claire screamed from

outside the dressing room with a hint of a New York Accent. Claire was Santa's helper at

the mall.

'I'm coming!' Joe yelled back. 'Stupid kids, I hate kids.' Joe mumbled to himself

while getting himself dressed.

Joe was the Santa at the local mall. Since Joe had just been released from the

mental institution for insanity, the cost of the institution wiped him out of money so he

needed the job badly. When the job was offered to him he had to take it.

Joe was a scrawny man. Not your usual Santa Clause. He had no rosy cheeks or

round belly, he didn't have the hearty laugh nor real white hair. His ribs poked out of his

skin and his stomach looked like an empty cave. His eyes were pushed into his head way

more than most people, the dark rings circling his made his eyes look like they were going

to pop out any second.

The bones of his cheeks showed through his dry, pale skin making

him look like a zombie.

'Let's go now!!' Claire screeched at the top of her lungs.

Claire meant this time. Quickly, Joe stumbled out of the dressing room in a clumsy

fashion. Looking like he had just chugged a couple of kegs, dragged his oversized Santa

coat and pants with him hopping they wouldn't fall down and left the dressing room. Joe

and Claire walked toward where Santa's hut was while watching a crowd gather around it.

'Ya know Claire,' Joe said, 'I really hate my job.'

'Really,' replied Claire in a sarcastic tone, 'Who doesn't hate little brats crawling

around on your lap.'

Joe sat down in his special Santa chair and waited for...