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5:29 a.m. - 2004-12-20

I'M ONE KICK-ASS SANTA

So Saturday morning ... after a particularly long Friday night at the club ... I had to go play Santa at a "Breakfast With Santa" party for the local kids.

I was bleary-eyed and cranky to say the least.

The first kid that came in was extremely nervous about meeting Santa, seeking refuge behind his mama's ass for a good five minutes as his mama cajoled "Go sit on Santa's lap. Go tell him what you want. Go promise him your first-born child for a Hot Wheel. Go tell him he has a nice bulge in his pants. Go go go go go go go."

The kid just remained snug in the safety that his mom's ass provided.

So I waved at him a few times.

Pointed at him and patted my knee, signaling "Come sit on my lap."

Did a few Michael Jackson "Hee Hee Hee"s to let him know I was kid-friendly.

And he finally slowly walked over to me.

Sat on my lap.

And just began babbling his ass off.

He sat on my knee for a good ten minutes, just shootin' the shit with Santa.

We talked about my appearance at his school recently (I told him I was tired that day, having engaged in a particularly rowdy elf orgy earlier that morning) and the movie "The Polar Express" which apparently I was a pretty good actor in ... who knew?

The parents of each kid had to bring a gift for the kid that was secretly handed to me so that I could give to the kid. That was pretty neat ... I could give away gifts and didn't have to spend a dime on them. Here, the little boy is opening his gift from Santa ... some Hot Wheels/Batman shit that he probably tired of an hour after leaving me.

Notice the tight bulge in the crotchal area. The photographer did and repositioned my belt in future photos so I didn't look like Ron Jeremy in a Santa suit.

Later on in the morning, during a lull time, I walked over to the kid's table, sat down with him and we played with his Hot Wheels together.

I'm sorry ... I don't like to toot my own horn here ... but damn ... that kid's gonna hold on to that memory for a long time. Santa took the time to play with his cars with him. I single handedly erased any fear that kid had of Santa and now he will never be scared of any mall Santa ever again.

Mall Santas ... you're welcome.

The next child was an 8 month-old baby who LOVED me.

I mean ... LOVED me.

Several times, his parents put him on the floor to crawl around ... and the mother would squat down on the floor for him to crawl to her.

Uh uh.

He crawled STRAIGHT to Santa, bypassing Mama every time.

He sat in my lap at least six times throughout the two hour period.

Granted, he was fascinated with my beard and got plenty of tiny fistfuls of it as souvenirs.

I love the expression on his face here. That just cracks me up.

Thankfully, the photographer had already taken care of my penile bulge and everyone was spared gawking at my massive nutbag while they tried to eat breakfast.

All in all, I probably had 30 kids sit on my lap with only one refusing to do so.

Several of them came in to the breakfast wary of me.

And all but one warmed up enough to me to come sit on my lap and spend time with me.

With no screaming or crying.

Because Santa wasn't going to have any screaming or crying.

Santa was coasting on fumes after a long night and week and just wanted the kids to be good and quiet, which they were.

One little girl got all dressed up in her prettiest Christmas dress and was such a little doll. I wish we had gotten a photo of the two of us together.

She walked up to me at first, grabbed my hands in hers and just stood in front of me, swinging my arms gently as she told me about how good she had been all year.

She even thanked me for coming to her ballet performance a few weeks ago. I told her it was no problem. And then added that I was pretty shitfaced that day and didn't remember much about the ballet.

All in all, I really had a great time doing this.

Apparently there's some kinda karma in this world that when you do something nice for others, it makes you feel real good about yourself.

I had no idea this karma existed.

Or I woulda been a helluva lot nicer a helluva lot earlier.



That night I had the Christmas Party from Hell.

(Similar to the Redneck Wedding From Hell, but with more teeth and less fist-fighting)

The people in charge told me that the music of choice for this crowd was "classic rock".

Lots of Chicago, Boston and Kansas. Basically if a band was named after a geographic location ... they wanted to hear it.

So I get there and play an hour of Christmas music while they all hobnob their asses off.

Then I move into the classic rock.

Lemme tell ya ... "Cat Scratch Fever" at a Christmas party? It doesn't work like you'd think it would.

The two guys in charge were snapping their fingers off and tapping their toes.

The rest of the crowd was putting on their coats and heading for the door.

...Until I put on "Yeah" by Usher.

I was told beforehand to play "a very tiny amount" of today's music.

A "smidgen".

A "speck".

A "morsel of today's music".

Because, as the two guys in charge reminded me ... THESE PEOPLE WANTED THE DOORS AND LED ZEPPELIN, BABY!!!

....Uhhhhh ...right.

The dance floor was packed as Lil' Jon screamed "YEAH!" over and over again.

And the music quickly turned from an all classic rock format to a mostly hip-hop format.

And that's when the party got cranked up.

(Later that night as I drove home, I realized that a large portion of the money I earn at these parties is strictly for having the patience to put up with the organizers of these parties and biting my tongue when they insist they know what songs will work and what songs won't work. As I say on an almost daily basis, my job as a deejay is the ONLY job I've ever had where my customers feel they can do a better job than me. EVERYONE thinks they know what will work at their party and they're always wrong. But I get paid handsomely to just smile and say "Led Zeppelin?! Sure! I'll play that!")

The party was supposed to end at 10 and one of the organizers walked up to me, all sweaty from dancing his ass off to HIP HOP, mind you, and asked if I could stay later.

I smiled and said that he could have me as long as he needed me.

THAT'S customer service, baby.

Most DJs would look at their watch and tell the customer that either they were leaving or the customer was going to start cranking out $150 for each extra hour spent.

Not me.

I just smile and keep spinnin' the tunes while suppressing yawn after yawn after yawn.

At 12:15, the manager of the place that this party had rented out walked up to me and said "I'm locking the doors in 15 minutes".

He had been told that the party would go until 10 p.m. as well.

And his staff had been ready to go home for two hours and had been quite rude in taking tablecloths off of tables and shutting down the bar while these people hung in there and had a great time at their annual holiday party.

That's NOT customer service.

I can understand where the employees were coming from.

But the customers were still drinking, still having a great time and still spending money in the joint.

If anyone was tired in the place, it was me. I had worked 17.5 hours on Friday, came home and got a three hour nap before playing Santa Saturday morning, then going Christmas shopping with my son, coming home and getting my stuff ready for the party, going to the party, setting everything up and rocking their asses off for six hours and 15 minutes.

I WAS TIRED.

But I'm in the field of customer service as are these people.

And you saw me appear happy and full of energy.

...Then again ... I walked out of there with several hundred dollars more than they did.

Which goes a long way in explaining my enthusiasm for the customer's satisfaction.

If I was paid minimum wage for this, I woulda been throwing chairs at the customers to get them to leave at that point.

So God bless the restaurant staff for not resorting to violence when I kept them working for two more hours than they expected to work.

I've rambled long enough.

Get to work, you.

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