Letter From Blitzen

Dear Prancer,

Hey  you kooky Caribou!  How goes it?  Me  and the gang sure miss you, especially at this season.  It’s just not the same without you.  Yup, it's that time of year again when we get the goddamned reigns strapped to  our haunches and have to drag about 3000 friggin tons of toys clear across the world in 12 hours.  Can you believe we are still doing this shit?  Hey, you gotta be happy for a job, especially in this economy.  Plus, I’m super grateful for the health benefits.    The herd has been in and out of Santaland Clinic a lot this year.    Dasher had a herniated disc,  Cupid got parasites  and Rudolph has gone in for 2 colonoscopies.   Turns out everyone here, including the Clauses,  is Vitamin D deficient!

Ode to the Vegan Homeless Guy Who is Allowed to Hang Out at My Office After 5pm

How marvelous is your muddled mind as you glide past my office door talking gibberish after 5pm when most patients and doctors have gone home.

How wonderful are your words of politics and veganism strung together haphazardly into non-sensical sentences and questions for which you never stick around long enough to hear the answer.

How glorious is your gaze which looks downwards, sideways or beyond mine, never meeting my eyes, or looking quickly away when I attempt to glance in your direction.


Letter to the Teller with the Green & Blue Tie at Key Bank on 45th St.

Dear Teller with the green and blue tie at Key Bank on 45th St.  in Wallingford (name unknown),

Hi and how are things these days? You may or may not remember me, but you have been on my mind since I steamed out of the bank on October 25th,  my deposit of $546.27 in 3 separate checks left at your station.   I was late, my fault not yours.   You said that it was only your 2nd day there, but understand, I had found myself faced with an empty carton of almond milk upon that morning, worn some especially scratchy socks,  and it was the 6th time in a row over the past month that I tried to make a deposit at one of your branches where the machine had broken down, the computer had misread  a check or someone’s human hands had punched in inaccurate numbers elongating my time at the window by at least 74 extra seconds with tellers on Brooklyn Avenue,  on 34th St, and yes, also others at your 45th St. branch, I’m afraid to say.  FYI - you are not the only employee there who has appeared mystified by the process of depositing checks. I was in a  kind of huff not to be tempered and clearly didn't have time to linger at your window.