Straight To The Top Of The Naughty List

I’m a sixty-five-year-old male with a full, white beard and a well-earned beer gut. Just after Thanksgiving, I am shopping at a fairly nice mall-anchoring department store. Now, to be fair to the woman in this story, I am wearing a bright red hoodie — but with old, nicely broken-in jeans and gray hiking boots. It is absolutely nothing like the business casual attire of the store employees — also nowhere near a full Santa suit. (I know; I’ve got one.)

I am browsing the kid’s clothing, trying to find something cute for one of my granddaughters, when I hear, “EXCUSE ME!” at a fairly high volume from somewhere behind me. Naturally, I ignore it, although I say a quick prayer for whatever luckless individual it is actually directed at.

Silly me. The next thing to break my shopping focus is a painfully forceful three-fingered blow to my shoulder, hard enough to make me take an extra half-step for balance.

I whip around to face my assailant, stepping back to open up space, my left hand coming up with fist clenched. This startles a squawk from this woman with an elementary-age-looking child in tow. She takes a half-step back and I relax a bit. We eye each other for a half-second or so in silence, and I recover first.

Me: “What is wrong with you? Why did you hit me?”

She is very contrite, mumbles an apology, and flees.

Just kidding!

Woman: *Screeching* “I did no such thing! And if you weren’t ignoring customers, I wouldn’t have had to!”

Me: “I don’t wo—”

Woman: “Now, take me to your village or whatever! My niece wants her picture with you!”

Me: “Wha…?”

I think my brain locked for a second trying to make sense of this nonsensical topic shift.

Woman: “You know, where you take pictures of kids!”

Me: “Lady, I’m not a photographer.”

I’m totally confused now.

Woman: “Of course not! The kids sit on you and get their picture taken! What kind of Santa are you?”

My brain gears finally start meshing and I remember the color of my sweatshirt.

Me: “Ma’am, I’m not Santa. I’m a shopper just like you.”

Puzzlement finally replaced entitled wrath on her face.

Woman: “Well, well… then you shouldn’t dress like one! You’re just a… a… tease!”

Me: *Shaking my head* “So, I shouldn’t wear jeans?”

The woman stalked away without another word.