A Krismas story
Harley hat Santa walked up as I threw my sweatshirt into the back of the Volvo. He was friendly and well lit, impressed with the automatic tailgate. “You're way cooler than me!” He greeted me with a handshake and a hug. Instant brothers. “I wish I had my camera,” I said. “You'd be an awesome portrait.” In addition to the Harley hat, he wore big rings on both hands, three or four of them.
“What's your name?”
“Today, I'm Kris, but my given name is Joseph. Let's go get a refreshment.”
My original plan was to walk over to the Thai place, but now that my new friend was with me, I needed a new plan to go along with him.
Plenty of sidewalk to think while slow walking. There was some discussion of who was cooler, and whether he rode in on his Harley or a sleigh. “Jeep. Careful, let's not get run over.”
We were running out of sidewalk. I ducked into Pacific Sales, the last store on the end.
“What are you looking for?”
“I'll know when I see it.”
I made for the refrigerators, in the back where the salesmen were. Hoping for a friendly face and an out. A salesman latched on, and Joseph introduced us as brothers. I asked for something small. The salesman took us down to where the small fridges live.
All eyes were on me for an opinion. My eyes were all in on escape.
“I need to go outside and check with my wife.” I expected Santa to follow me out, but he was in the Kris Kringle spirits and gracious to allow me a private conversation. I called Penny to let her know what was going on and took flight to my sled, no sign of my new friend as I scanned the surroundings.
“Want to meet me at Panera then go see the folks?”
“Ok!”
In my history of escapes from talkers, this one went quick and smooth. Not like that time I stopped for a hitcher who'd just wrapped a seven year murder stretch. Or that girl Paul and I picked up on our way to the hot springs, back in college. “We gotta get rid of her,” Paul said, once we tore away for a moment. But how? People die from talkers. They can be charming and normal at first, till they stuff you in a fridge after refreshments.
Murder guy left a day later. I put him up in my apartment, and he told me how the neighbor molested his two year old daughter. So he killed him. Seemed plausible at the time. My bigger worry was that he would not shut up now that he was out. He gave me a couple of deer antler pipes, even though I don’t smoke. They were beautiful pipes, each with a story to go along with it. Not sure how I finally got rid of him. Any longer, I would've wished he'd stuffed me in the fridge.
That was the last time I stopped for a hitcher. Of all the ways to go, being talked to death is the least talked about, and the most likely to send you to Hades.
Next time you’re in the Red Robin parking lot, keep an eye out for Harley hat Santa. Shake his hand, give him a hug, and get the hell on your way.
