COMING SOON: The Italian Collection

T'was The Month Before Christmas...

A little holiday fun, written by a friend of mine about 35 years ago....

T’WAS THE MONTH BEFORE CHRISTMAS

T’was the month before Christmas, and all through the store
Each department was dripping with Yuletide decor
The Muzak was blaring an out-of-tune carol
And fake snow was falling on “Ladies Apparel”
I’d flown many miles from the North Pole this day
To check on reports which had caused me dismay
I’d come to this store but for one special reason
To see for myself what went on at this season
I hid in a corner and in a short while
I saw the store President march down the aisle
He shouted an order to “Turn the store tree on!”
And also “NOEL” in blinding pink neon
Up high hanging grandly from twin gold supports
Four hundred pink angels flew over “Men’s Shorts”
And towering up over the rear Mezzanine
A 90-foot, day-glow “Nativity Scene”
The clock on the wall said a quarter to nine
The floorwalkers proudly stood in a line
I watched while the President smelled their carnations
Then called out his final command—“Man your stations!”
When out on the street there arose such a roar
It rang to the rafters and boomed through the store
It sounded exactly like street repair drilling
Or maybe another big mafia killing?
I looked to the door and there banging the glass
Was a clamouring, shrieking, hysterical mass
And I felt from the tone of each scream and each curse
That the “Spirit of Christmas” had changed for the worse
The clock it struck nine and the door opened wide
And that great human avalanche came thundering inside
More fearsome than Sherman attacking Atlanta
Came parents and kiddies with just one goal—“Santa”
In front stormed the Mothers all brandishing handbags
As heavy and deadly as twenty-pound sandbags
With gusto they swung them, the better to smash ears
Of innocent floorwalkers, buyers, and cashiers
Straight up to the Fifth Floor the mob penetrated
And soon reach the room where the store Santa waited
I followed them closely, the better to see
This bearded imposter who dared to play me
He stood six-foot-five and weighed all of one-thirty
He’d lost half his teeth, and his costume was dirty
His beard dangled down like a wad of cheap cotton
His breath needed “Scope” and his “Ho-Ho” was rotten
Egged on by their parents the kids had one aim
To get to this man who was using my name
They mobbed him and mauled him, the better to plead
For the presents they sought in their hour of greed
The President watched with a gleam in his eye
As he thought of the toys that the parents would buy
Of all Christmas come-ons this crowd would attest
That visit to “Santa” was clearly the best
It was all too much for my soul to condone
And I let out a most UN-professional moan
The crowd turned quickly, and I’ll say for their sake
That they knew in an instant I wasn’t a fake
“I’ve had it,” I told them, “with fast-buck promoting!
“With gimmicks and come-ons, and businessmen gloating!
“This garish display of commercialized greed,
“Is so very UN-Christmas it makes my heart bleed.”
With that I departed up an emergency stairwell
Deaf to each plea, and hysterical yell
On reaching the roof to my sleigh I went forth
Where my reindeer were waiting to take me back North
The crowd came behind me and begged me to stay
And before they could stop me, I was off in my sleigh
But I turned to exclaim as I flew from the mob
“Happy Christmas to all—I’m resigning my job!”