Sant-e-Claus

It was hailed as a brilliant marketing campaign, but Diana called it cruel and unusual. Did a company really have the right to change time-honored tradition? To rewrite the legend for their exclusive use?

She was appalled when the ads started to appear in some of her magazines last year;
In this day and age, why do we lie to our children? Flying reindeer? Elves that mass-produce brand-name toys? With the loss of the polar ice, how is it that Santa lives at the north pole?

She hated those ads which were meant to appeal to our reason. She hated them because half the population was sophisticated enough to agree with the premise yet stupid enough to not see it for what it was. They really thought Santa Server was doing them a favor.

Let us be the embodiment of Santa Claus for your children. We have the marketing data, and may know more about your child's interests that anyone except you. You set the budget and leave the rest to us. On Christmas morning your child's in-box will be filled with e-gift certificates from among the millions of gifts in our databases. You will share in your child's surprise and joy as you open each e-mail and choose to accept or even exchange the gift for another to be delivered to your home…

She thought back to last year when the oldest of her two boys had asked, "Mom, how did Santa get into the house to leave these presents? The biometric locks will only open for us..."

I stayed up and let him in, dear.

"Nuh uh, I watched the security loop from last night."

She was certain that Santa Server had somehow planted that question. At face value, she admitted, the company made a bit of sense. She just had a problem with tradition... her tradition, taking out of her hands and spun in a different direction.

To make matters worse, this year the company forced themselves onto her children with the most insidious marketing ploy ever devised. Santa Server produced a new "classic" animated Christmas special called "Santa's Last Sleigh Ride." It told a dramatic tale of Santa rescuing the last of the Polar bears and seals off the tiny piece of ice that supported the famous "North Pole" pole. Santa shouldered part of the blame himself for the receding ice and vowed to reduce his carbon footprint by e-mailing toys to the good girls and boys from now on. It never did explain how a reindeer-powered sleigh was a major contributor to greenhouse gasses but it was sufficiently easy to pass along just enough guilt to make him a hero with his green awakening. Diana thought they missed a great marketing opportunity by not putting him on some sort of brand name anti-depressant as well.

After the program ran, there were widespread reports of parents leveling with their children about Santa rather than succumb to the perceived blackmail by Santa Server. Diana almost counted herself among them but decided to hold off for the sake of her youngest son. He deserved at least one year of magic.

Diana and her boys had been leaving cookies of a different sort for Santa all year long inside their computers, it was time to make use of them.
___________________________

Hello, this is Santa Server; how may I help you?

Um, yes; I'd like to… sign up for…

Yes. I see you are calling from 555-4734, are you Diana Greenfield?

Yes.

And I seeee… you have… two sons, ages 8 and 6... one Sumner and the other Thomas...

Tommy. His name is…

Yes! Tommy. Thank you, that is important.

This is my first time…

Oh, yes Ms. Greenfield. We see that. Let us take a moment and get some more personal information which helps us deliver a most authentic and personal experience for the recipients of your gifts. Ms. Greenfield, we see that you are no longer married, but are you still dating a Mr. Richard Evans?

No! I don't see where that's any…

Ms. Greenfield, please. We just want to know who to list as the givers of the gifts you purchase. Santa, obviously; but maybe you would like to list others on some of them…

Doesn't that kind of detract from what you are all about? I can buy my son gifts from me…

Well, you got us there. Some of this info serves at a cross-purpose. Are you near your computer Ms. Greenfield?

Yes.

Good. Please check your email now. We have sent you some mail with a link that you are to click on. This will allow us to perform a very limited scan of your computer to ensure the correct delivery of our services through whatever spam filters you have, and to narrow the list of appropriate catalogs from which we will select the gifts. I see that you have not clicked on the link yet; would you please do so now?

Yes. I have to tell you, this whole thing is making me rather uncomfortab…

OK! While it is scanning, let me tell you about some of the popular services we offer. As you probably know, we don't perform any price markups on the gifts. We charge a simple flat rate of 10 percent on whatever amount you choose to spend on your gifts. Because this is your first time with us, we will allow you to add as many recipients as you wish for free. Usually, people take advantage of this by being nice to themselves. Would you like to be nice to yourself this Christmas Ms. Greenfield?

Well, yes. I mean…

Well sure you do! You can literally surprise yourself this year. Why not treat yourself to 10 or 15 thousand dollars of long deserved...

What? What makes you think I have that kind of mon…

Ms. Greenfield, come on now. We have your financial info right here. You are in the top eight percent earning range… as a doctor such as yourself should be. Most people spend about 2.2 percent of their income during Christmas but that does not include themselves. We are trying to change that and let you be nice to you for a change. Since you are currently not dating, that leaves more of your budget for your sons. They will be lucky lads with... say $3000 dollars worth of gifts for Christmas. Each.

You people are out of your…

Oh! I see your info is coming in now…

What makes you think I'm not dating…

Ms. Greenfield, I am so sorry. That was very forward of me. That did not represent the opinion of the company at all. That was my own carelessness. Ms. Greenfield, are you bisexual?

What?!

Well, we are showing a small amount of lesbian-oriented pornographic viewing as having taken place on your computer. Could that have been Mr. Richard Evans?

I… I don't know.

It's nothing to be ashamed of, Ms. Greenfield.
Ms. Greenfield?
Ms. Greenfield? You have to understand; we are simply ensuring the best service possible. You have to spend the appropriate amount of money on gifts this holiday; why not spend it through the best provider of gift services? We can only be as good as the information we have. We see that your mother is recovering from a double-mastectomy; would you like us to consider this in selecting her gift from you this year?

Ms. Greenfield?
Ms. Greenfield, deleting our email has no effect. You have already clicked on the link. We see you are about to receive a phone call from one of our competitors; let me tell you what they will do with your information…

Social Christmas

The line snaked around two corners.

Benny could see at least that much as he made his way to the end of the line. This was the windy side of the building, and the cold gusts made his cane wobble from side to side as he used it to lever forward. At least this line moved fast compared to some of the other lines in the city. The soup was awful thin here, but they knew how to move em' in and out.

Most of the people in his line stared down at the ground and shuffled forward in silence. What was there to say? Standing in a soup line 3 days before Christmas said everything that needed to be said. They say misery loves company, but Benny felt nothing but bad for the other people in his line. It never really crossed his mind that he was in the same boat. Maybe that's how they all felt; maybe that's the work of mercy.

Too old to care, he stared across the street to the other line, which today was nearly as long as his. They noticed his stare, and soon a chorus of rude taunts and gestures from the line of men in their 30's, 40's, and 50's were being hurled his way. Benny couldn't imagine being a parent of one of those men; the shame would break his heart.

He looked at the fine suits worn by the other men; suits once cut to fit but now falling off the shoulders of more than a few. He looked at his own clothes and rubbed the stubble on his cheeks and noticed most of the others in his line missed a date or two with a razor.

His line was just as quiet as the other line was boisterous. The occasional hacking cough or honking nose were the only sounds escaping from the line ahead. Ahead, the end of the line. It was occupied by a hawk-nosed man with an uncompromising ladle and a dour look. The soup man had grey skin, the color long washed out by the dull fluorescent light he lived under.

Benny thought about the man at the end of the other line.

A clamor erupted across the street and Benny scanned until he caught sight of the problem. A kid, just some kid who might not even have a name was standing in that line valiantly resisting all the pushing and shoving to get him out. Foul language echoed between the tall buildings as they told the kid he didn't belong in the line. The kid kept one toe sacredly planted at his place in line as he was pushed this way and that. Out of the kid's line of sight, an older, athletic-looking man with a smile plastered to his face snuck up behind the boy in a creeping crouch. He came up out of his crouch and took three giant strides before coming off his feet to deliver a vicious kick to the middle of the child's back. The boy still had a toe pointed down as he sailed through the air and landed well into the street. The kick would have killed Benny but the boy got right up and gave his assailant the finger while tears rolled down his cheeks.

Howls of laughter erupted and the assailant was roundly congratulated. Benny caught pieces of his bragging that he learned martial arts from some famous name or another. Even now, the line of ex criminal banksters and ex Wall Street executives displayed their primal need to sport their brand-name existence as they stood in line to demand their entitlements from Santa.

Even now they could be heard mocking Santa and his socialist ways.