Back door of the fellowship hall

Did the Christmas party at the Methodist church in Russiaville yesterday. They do it every year. Lunch in the fellowship hall, then the clown, then Santa. I’m the warm-up for Santa. That’s been my job there about twelve years.

Between my part and Santa’s part there’s always a gap while they get him ready in the nursery. I go out the kitchen door in back, where they keep the dumpster, and have one. It was 19 degrees. I was in full makeup, big shoes, the green suit.

I was about halfway through it when the door opened and it was a little girl, maybe six, who’d been looking for the bathroom and got turned around. She looked at me and I looked at her. I had the cigarette down by my leg like that was going to help anything. She said “are you allowed to do that” and I said “not really” and she said “okay” and went back inside.

A minute later the door opens again and it’s an older guy, somebody’s grandpa, Carhartt coat. He says “she said the clown was out here smoking.” I figured I was in trouble. Then he says “you got an extra?” I gave him one. We stood out there and didn’t say much. He told me he quit in 1994 and started back up when his wife died. I said I was sorry. He said “not your fault.” Then we heard Santa’s bells inside and we both put them out and went back in.

I think about the little girl more than him though. “Are you allowed to do that.”

No. Not really.