Andrew Hamm: the Bipolar Express

Ruminations on theatre, music, and just about anything else that crosses my bipolar brain.

Saturday, December 20, 2008

Andrew saves Christmas

Friday was a very busy day at work. My morning started with bad news, I was still sick with this stupid sinus infection (Has anyone seen my energy? I seem to have lost it), and we have the pre-Christmas-break rush of people expecting their glasses for the holidays. I was still a bit feverish, very weary, and rather focused on the night's Christmas party at Liz and Dave's (which would be preceded by a nap).

With about an hour to go before closing the office, one of my coworkers poked her head into the lab and said, "Santa needs his glasses fixed."

So I went out to the optical floor, and there was Santa Claus sitting at the dispensing station, his glasses a mess: one eyewire screw gone, bent all out of shape, held together with a twisted paper clip, and nasty old green nose pads.

"Santa!" I exclaimed, "You've been naughty to your glasses."

Santa chuckled and mumbled apologetically.

"Okay," I said, "you need a screw here, and I'm going to replace these old nose pads. I'm making a list of how many ways I'm going to have to fix your glasses."

"It's hard up at the North Pole," he called to me as I went back to the lab. His southern accent was a bit surprising, but I suppose Santa, like Jesus and Johnny Depp, has the ability to be all things to all people.

I straightened the jolly old elf's glasses out as much as I dared; they were pretty bent up, and bending metal back too far can snap it. A new screw held his lens in snugly, and new nose pads made the whole package look newer. I chose silicone nose pads, which grip a little better during abrupt altitude changes with the wind in your beard. After cleaning them off, I brought the glasses back out to him.

"Well, you're pretty hard on your glasses, Santa," I gently scolded. "You better watch out or you're going to have no glasses on Christmas Eve, and if that happens you better not cry to me because I won't have a lot of sympathy."

"I'll be more careful," Santa promised me. "Before I leave, I need to make an appointment for my two-year check-up."

"The ladies at the front desk will help you, Santa," I promised. "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas!" he called as I returned to the lab.

I'm a Christmas hero. Neil Patrick Harris will be the voice of my claymation character on the TV special, which will be preceded by the big drums-and-horns "SPECIAL" word spinning in a circle.

Santa comes all the way down from the North Pole to get his eyes checked by Dr. Robinson and Dr. Parker in Midlothian. How cool is that?

And as an added bonus: how freaking totally sweet are the presents I'm going to get this year?!



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