A Story with Santa Claus

(click here for the Romanian version)


It was Saturday. I had come to see the Christmas Tree near the White House. As always, it was surrounded by lots of railroads, and it was fun, and the kids were noisy and happy.

I tried to record a video, and it was difficult, as the sun was playing games with my camera. I succeeded somehow, not a particularly great video, but nobody's perfect.




There was a small wooden shack a bit further, with a very young lady in front. As she was dressed somehow peculiarly, I asked her what the matter was.



She said to me that she was the niece of Santa and the gatekeeper there: the small shack was Santa Klaus Workshop.

Well, this made me curios, I wanted to see Santa, I had been missing him for a whole year. So I stayed in line there, along with kids and parents and grand parents, thinking at my two granddaughters, who were in a vacation in some distant place where winter is not very different from summer.

I went inside and here he was, Santa Claus, with a gorgeous white beard, with a respectable belly, and with a nice smile. He looked very much like my friend from Toronto, Adrian.

Actually I haven't met Adrian yet, we are only pen pals, but I saw him in a photo. He is very old, with a respectable belly and a huge beard, so the comparison with Santa has strong evidence behind.




Well, the beard of Santa was not only white, it was real! I was amazed: it was the first time in my life that Santa was wearing a real beard. Each time I had seen him before, the beard was from cotton.

All this happened last Saturday. Next day I was in Georgetown and I entered the Starbucks on the M Street. There was a line, and in front of me was Santa himself! Of course, now he was dressed in civilian clothes, like everybody, but the same very real, very white beard (huge and gorgeous, too) and the same respectable belly. Or was it Adrian?

No, Adrian was in Toronto. Had he come suddenly here, just to enjoy a cup of coffee at Starbucks? Impossible. Or, who knows?

I asked him, are you Santa?

Yes, he said, and you should give me money: I need to buy toys for the kids.

Okay, based on this answer he could have been very well Adrian, too.

I didn't know what to say. I mumbled something and I smiled. He returned my smile.

After one hour or so I met him again, on the street.

Here you are again, he said.

I said, yesterday I was at the White House and Santa was nearby in a wooden shack. Are you that guy or not?

You could say so, was the answer.

Then he asked me, where are you from? You have a special accent.

You should guess, I said.

Germany?

You think I would have moved here from Germany?

He tried again, Switzerland?

No.

Austria?

No, Romania.

He looked at me amazed, man, I am old and I witnessed strange events in my long life. But it's the first time I am in front of a Romanian!

Nobody's perfect, I said.

Suddenly he started to laugh, and you were believing I was Santa, is it?

I realized now who he was! Adrian, you are incorrigible!


(Washington, District of Columbia)