Santa
Dad
Mum
Son
Daughter
Dad
What a blow-out! Almost as good as Christmas day, Nora.
Daughter
Better. I much prefer a barbecue to the huge Christmas dinner we have.
Why can't we do that?
Mother
(Horrified) Because it's part of the Christmas tradition!
Son
I thought you'd be glad of a change, getting Dad to cook instead of
wearing yourself to a frazzle.
Dad
(Hastily) Your mother's right. We can't destroy our heritage just on
a whim.
Daughter
It's hard to believe it's already four days since Christmas.
Mother
From the broken toys lying round I could easily believe it's longer.
(Enter Santa Claus. He is in full regalia, but minus the reindeer,
and carrying a clipboard. The family does a double take at the sight, not
sure whether it's Uncle Harry in another of his practical jokes. Dad quickly
checks the date on his watch calendar. They're all puzzled. Exclamations
all round.)
Dad
Er, are you Father Christmas, or are we on "Naked Home Video"?
Santa
No, this is perfectly legit. I am Father Christmas. Hope you'll pardon
the lack of reindeer, but they've been grounded because of the threat of
another air traffic controllers' strike.
Dad
(Nods understandingly) But why are you here? (Points to the clipboard.)
Getting in early orders for next year?
Santa
No, I'm doing a survey. Have to keep up with the times, you see. Quality
control and customer satisfaction is the name of the game these days. They've
knocked back my ISO 9000 application until I comply. So I'd like to run
through a few questions with you if I may, to check whether you had the
Christmas you were expecting from me.
Mother
I'm sure that's perfectly okay with us. Here, it's too hot to be running
around in that stuffy outfit. Take off your jacket and have a cool drink
while we talk.
Santa
Thanks. Well, I'll cover the obvious first. Presents? Did they come
up to standard this year?
Dad
The computer certainly seems to be a hit. (Indicates the noise from
inside.) They've monopolised it since it arrived. Mind you, I had hoped
they'd do something more constructive with it than just play games. And
they can't seem to do even that without fighting.
(There is the sound of all-out war and a loud crash from the direction
of the computer room. Dad leaps out of his chair.)
Dad
(Yells) Why can't you kids play for five seconds without gouging each
other's eyes out! (Exits on the run.)
Son
Do you supply technical support? I think we're going to need it.
Santa
Sorry, I just supply them, I don't fix them.
Son
I thought you said you were into quality control? Doesn't that include
after-sales service?
Santa
Yes, but only when you operate according to the maker's instructions.
Mind you, that applies to more than just toys.
Daughter
What do you mean?
Santa
Would you try and learn to use a computer without a set of guidelines?
Daughter
Don't be a nerd.
Son
I keep telling her, this year's number one hot tip is "Read the manual."
Santa
Do you hear anyone saying, "There are no absolutes. Just do what's
right for you?"
Son
Of course not. It's hard enough to get it right if you follow the book.
Santa
"Convergence of standards" is the current buzz-word, I think.
Son
Of course, otherwise we'll never realise the potential of computers.
Santa
Pity we can't apply that lesson to the whole of life.
Mother
This all too deep for me. You asked about presents. I'm sure we were
all very grateful for the things we received, even if the boys complained
they didn't get the 16-speed mountain bikes, the trailer sailer, Disneyland
trip and the Destroy-the-World game kit they asked for. Nice gifts, that's
what Christmas is all about, isn't it?
Dad
(Returns waving a letter.) Nora! What's this Visa account I've just
found in your drawer?
Mother
(Pales) Oh, it must have come on Friday, dear.
Dad
But this amount? How did we spend all this? How are we going to pay
it off? And on top of that, the brats have just gone and nuked the computer!
Mother
I'm sure we can get it fixed, dear. (Brightens) And we did have a lovely
day at the mall doing our Christmas shopping, didn't we. They do the shop
windows up so beautifully now, and there are so many bargains.
Dad
And if I hear "Snoopy's Christmas" one more time, I'll scream. (Turns
to Santa.) Can't you do something about that?
Santa
It's hard to write a new carol when no-one believes any more in the
words. Peace on earth. By who's hand? The old writers knew. But it doesn't
cut it these days. Forgive me, I sometimes get a bit nostalgic doing these
surveys. Tell me, how did Christmas dinner go?
Dad
A great family gathering. All the trimmings, even (grimly) if I didn't
realise how much we'd spent. We had my dad, and Nora's mum, and party hats
and crackers, and a Christmas tree and plenty to drink. There was so much
we just sat around in a sort of stupor afterwards, while the kids ran riot
outside with their new pressies.
Mum
My headache took a bit of the edge off it, I must admit. But mum is
getting so critical these days, she even found fault with the stuffing.
I had to go and lie down afterwards because of the stress, and then she
told me off for being lazy -; after I'd been up till 1 o'clock in the morning
Christmas Eve getting the dinner ready, and wrapping presents.
Daughter
Dad, why did grandad cry at the table?
Dad
He always gets a bit sentimental when he's had a couple. Never mind
him.
Daughter
I heard him saying something like, 'why can't we be a family all year
round, instead of just at Christmas?'
Dad
I told you, he's getting a bit doddery. That's why we had to put him
in the home. We just haven't got the time to run round after him, like
he'd have us doing. (Laughs) Your mother would have to give up her self-actualisation
classes if we spent more time with him. Let's not get morbid, though. What
about you, Santa? You've asked us a lot of questions, but how does Christmas
look from your side of the fence.
Santa
Getting shakier by the year. In fact, I'm not sure if there's much
future in it. Political correctness could be the death of it.
Mother
What on earth do you mean?
Santa
Take my name, for instance. Once upon a time I used to be called St
Nicholas. In those days I was a Christian bishop in what we now call Turkey.
Then the name got shortened to Santa Klaus. And then some advertising agent
for a soft drink company invented Father Christmas. But now the feminists
are up in arms over the word 'Father'. I'm another manifestation -; sorry,
personification -; of male domination. And so many children have bad images
of their fathers, I'm told, that they can't relate to me. I know they've
managed to desex God in some churches. I don't know whether Person Christmas
is going to survive, though. Then there are all the court cases I have
to face.
Mother
What court cases?
Santa
You name it, and I've been accused of it. I'm being prosecuted under
the Trade Descriptions Act for false advertising. They say I'm not delivering
on the promise of peace and goodwill. That's another reason I'm doing this
survey. Consumer Affairs are taking me to task for toys that break almost
before they're out of their wrappings. And those are the simple ones. I've
had a shocking time getting bail on some of the others.
Dad
Like what?
Santa
Breaking and entering. With so many cities banning open fires, the
chimneys just aren't around these days. I've been arrested more times than
I can count for getting through a window, or a locked door.
Son
Yeah, how do you do that?
Santa
Trade secret, and pixie dust. Then there's the sinister. I was able
to laugh it off when people started looking sideways at me in shopping
malls, because I had little girls on my knee, offering them sweets if they
would be good. But can you imagine the stink when the child protection
agencies realised I was creeping into children's bedrooms late at night.
I guess those kind of activities are over, even if I survive the trials.
Son
It's a classic marketing problem. We'll just repackage you.
Santa
You haven't heard the worst. Because of the Privacy Act, I can't even
get the names of children, and whether they've been good or bad during
the year. I'm hoping I can get enough through this survey to make it worthwhile
turning out again next year………
Daughter
Maybe it would be better if you didn't.
Mother
(Horrified) What do you mean?
Daughter
It's all become too commercialised. (To Santa) And you're the cause
of it!
Santa
No, lass, actually I'm just the symptom.
Daughter
Huh!
Santa
It wasn't like that when I was simple Saint Nicholas. But they've made
me into their image of Christmas, because they refuse to accept the real
King of Christmas. They killed him once before, two thousand years ago,
because they would not accept him then. The tragedy is, they are using
me to kill him all over again. (Turns, and starts to leave, then stops
and turns back briefly.) I nearly forgot... (hollowly) ho, ho, ho, everyone.
© John McNeil 1996
All rights reserved
This play may be performed free of charge, on the condition that copies
are not sold for profit in any medium, nor any entrance fee charged.
In exchange for free performance, the author would appreciate being
notified of when and for what purpose the play is performed.
He may be contacted at: soul.communication@outlook.com
Or at: 36B Stourbridge St, Christchurch 8024, New Zealand.