THE RED ROAD LESS TRAVELLED

Quite a few years ago, I was wandering around a large suburban mall on a slow Wednesday afternoon. I had no particular destination in mind but I thought the food court might be a good place to hang out and watch the mall crowd push on by, so that’s where I headed.

You see, it was the first day of December and the mall was teeming with those annoyingly eager early Christmas shoppers. You know the type. They love to get you involved in an apparently casual conversation about shopping for gifts and once you admit that you haven’t even started yet, they smile in a condescending way and loudly tell you and everyone else within a hundred yards that they’re all finished. Well, by the looks of it, these folks were out in force that day, heavily laden down with gaily coloured bags, humming barely recognizable versions of Silent Night or god forbid, Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer.

It was while I was sipping from a warm can of Diet Coke and munching on a cold French fry that I noticed him. Over in the corner, in the shadow of a tall scraggly artificial Christmas tree that seemed to only have about half of its slowly blinking lights actually working. Maybe it’s because I’ve read so many spy novels over the years, but I very quickly realized that he was pretending to read a large mall flyer but was actually watching me. This is one of the oldest spy tricks in the world and I had a brief moment of annoyance that if he wanted to spy on me, he could at least show me some respect by using a more sophisticated technique like James Bond would undoubtedly use in a similar situation.

I tried looking in another direction but using the reflection off the nearby HMV store window, I could see him making notes on a piece of paper and watching me even more intently. I was getting a bit unsettled by what could only be called ‘surveillance’, so I got up and headed purposely down toward the Sears store. I paused in front of Laura Secord and pretended to consider what type of dark chocolate I was going to buy. A quick, furtive glance confirmed my growing unease that he was following me, also pretending to be window shopping but really keeping me clearly in sight.

Over the next half hour, I lead him on quite a tour of the mall. I even tried spending some time in the Victoria Secret outlet, admiring but of course, not touching, the lacy bras and panties. He didn’t follow me into the store and disappeared. When I could finally stand the withering stares and obvious whisperings of the VS sales clerks no more, I stood as tall as I could and looking straight ahead, walked confidently out of the store, winking knowingly to the manager who had been slowly working her way toward me with a rather large looking fellow who seemed as awkwardly out of place among the lingerie as I did.

No sign of my stalker who I had started calling Darth Vader in my mind. I strode off for a brief pit stop at the Men’s Washroom before I headed out into the mall parking lot. Standing at the urinal, I was congratulating myself on how I had given Darth the slip. But then there he was, standing at the last urinal at the very end of the row, smiling at me while he looked after business.

OK, this had now gotten too weird and I quickly zipped up, washed my hands and headed for the exit. I decided that I would go to the Mall Security desk, report Darth and let them handle it while I made my escape out of the mall and into my car.

I was about thirty feet from the Security desk, when Darth came in unexpectedly from my right and tapped me on the shoulder. ‘Excuse me, sir’, he rasped, ‘Can I speak to you privately for a moment?’ He now had a firm grip on my sleeve and was expertly guiding me away from the Security desk toward a cluster of four chairs and a table covered with a scattering of McDonald’s wrappers and spilled ketchup.

‘Now look here, Mister, get your bloody hands off me. You’ve been following me around here for almost an hour and I am getting very annoyed’. I thought that I had managed to spit that out with a fair degree of malice and threat in my voice.

But Darth persisted. ‘I have a business proposition for you. One I think you will be very interested in hearing about if you just give me a few minutes. I’m not a stalker. I’m not a weirdo. I work here in the mall as a Human Resources advisor’. And with that he pulled out a red and green lanyard from under his jacket at the end of which was his photo ID. ‘James O’Connor’, he said holding out his hand. ‘And what can I do for you, James?’ I replied with as much frosty cool as I could muster.

‘I think you would make a great Mall Santa’, enthused James, a wide Cheshire cat smile now firmly in place. ‘Your white beard is great, you have a Santa type voice the kids would love and given that little hide ‘n seek tour you just took me on around the mall, your patience must be amazing. They’re the perfect qualities for our Santa’. He paused for a breath and then resumed. ‘The pay is great and we could work out the hours that fit best with whatever it is you do in real life’. Then as an apparent afterthought which he hoped would be the deal closer, he blurted out, ‘We even supply the red suit, belt, hat, bells and black boots!’

Well I would be less than honest with you if I didn’t say that James’ offer to become that year’s Mall Santa was quite flattering. I had immediate visions of me tucked comfortably into the big red velvet chair, looking elegant in the red suit, warmly welcoming little tykes onto my lap and gently comforting the ones who could only stand and cry. Maybe I could even write a best-selling book about my Mall Santa experience. 

But my own two kids were still little and believed without any reservations that Santa was a real, jolly old man who came down the living room chimney, ate the cookies, drank the milk, filled their stockings and left piles of presents under and around the tree. And of course, Santa always took the carrot as a snack for Rudolph who was impatiently waiting up on the roof.

I declined James’ offer as politely as I could and apologizing for behaving like an ignorant dork for my earlier behaviour and comments, quickly made my way out into the mall and disappeared into the throngs of early shoppers.

Every year in early December, I find myself wondering what would have happened if I had taken the road less travelled and become the Mall Santa. Maybe now that I am retired, I should give it a try. I just know that I’d look really great in that red suit!

Written by Don Herald (A member of Peterborough Storytellers)