Santa A works Tuesday to Saturday. Santa A has a real beard and kindly eyes and a soothing Yorkshire accent as previously mentioned. Santa A has santaed for 7 years and knows every trick in the book of getting screaming toddlers to smile for a photo. I'm 97% certain Santa A is the real deal, and so are the children.
Santa B's hat doesn't stay on and his trousers are too big. His beard is so small and yellow it is covered over with a fake one. His Belfast accent is coarse with years of chitchat driving taxis and chain smoking. He's a nice man, but he's a terrible Santa.
It is with disappointment I begin my shift on Monday and remember this is one of Santa A's days off. Actually, I later find out, he's tutoring maths. The children begin to arrive and with embarrassment I bring them through to meet their idol. I see the light drain out of their eyes, replaced with a cold disillusionment as Santa B limply asks them what they want for Christmas. To be honest, I'm not sure what he's saying to them. He speaks very quietly, to the point where I'm not sure if he's speaking at all or simply holding their hands and staring sinisterly into their face.
Understandably, there's a higher cry rate with Santa B. Santa A's expert baby soothing is replaced with a clumsy poking of the face, rewarding children who'd previously been okay with Santa with a lifelong fear.
The pictures, even when there is no crying, aren't much better. It's as much effort to get Santa B to look at the camera and look anything other than dead, as it is to get a smile out of terrified toddler.
He even forgets the presents.
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