Arbitrary Xmas Story

Santa Claus is looking at his MacBook. iTunes is open. He looks at the song “On Fire” by Sebadoh. He clicks it and drags it to the playlist “Bitch Ass Winter Mix.”

Samuel Beckett is sitting on a park bench somewhere near his house. He thinks about Santa Claus. He thinks about other things. He has noise-cancelling earbuds that are attached to his iPod in his ears and is listening to the song “Bed Rock” by Young Money.

Santa Claus turns the volume up very loud and listens to the song “The La-Z-Boy 500” by the Falcon. He thinks about the sincere tone the singer is using. He tries to remember the last time he felt sincere. He thinks about Samuel Beckett. He double clicks the song “Dancing in the Moonlight” by Thin Lizzy.

He thinks about present-tense Santa Claus. There are multiple present-tense Santa Clauses. “They keep replacing each other,” he thinks. He feels like he can’t keep up. There is only one future-tense Santa Claus.

“Representational,” he thinks. He puts his coat and hat on and walks outside.

Samuel Beckett gets up from the park bench and walks towards the park’s entrance. He can see Santa Clause. Santa Claus sees him. He is smiling. Samuel Beckett removes his earbuds. They stop at the entrance, near an iron gate.

Samuel Beckett touches Santa Claus’s shoulder. He is still smiling. “Do you want to go to the movies,” Samuel Beckett says, “Inception is playing at 9:30.”

“Inception,” Santa Claus says. He still seems to be smiling, “Is Inception better than me? Am I dumber than Inception? Does Inception have a perceivably higher IQ than me? What am I saying? Would Inception ever even pose that question? Inception isn’t aware of my existence. Inception is unconsciously contented by that, I think. Inception is subconsciously glad it will never have to come into contact with me.”

“I think I’m going to go. Other’s are going. Are you coming,” Samuel Beckett says.

“Inception is an existential thing that hates my guts,” Santa Claus says, “so smug and condescending.” All the present-tense Santa Clauses are dramatizing crying. The future-tense Santa Claus seems angry. “An army of outdated present-tense Santa Clauses,” he thinks.

“I’m going to get coffee. Call me after the movie if you want to drink beers with me somewhere.”

“OK,” Samuel Beckett says. He looks at Santa Claus.

“I don’t know what I’m doing right now,” Santa Claus says.

Samuel Beckett walks away. Santa Claus walks towards the street.

“I don’t know what I’m doing right now,” he says quietly to himself, “I don’t know what I’m doing ever.”

Santa Claus thinks about future-tense Santa Claus being angry at the present-tense Santa Clauses who all seem to be trying to piece together a collective thought. “I don’t understand the logic behind future-tense Santa Claus,” he thinks, “and why is there not a past-tense Santa Claus. Why can’t all the present-tense Santa Clauses go away and, like form one coherent past-tense Santa Claus?”

Santa Claus walks across the street. A car swerves to miss him and honks. Santa Claus feels angry and confused at the consequential temporary meaningfulness it gives his life.