How I Spent Last Christmas- a story by ISTP

[. ._]

Here's a tale I probably shouldn't tell, but tonight I'm really zingin' on the Sprite, so I have a bit of a loose tongue.

I was just finishing up my first semester of third year at Sault College the day after my thirty-fifth birthday, actually. I hadn't flown for a while. I was thinking maybe I should just jump into my aviation career and blow off the whole SOP crazy, tie wearing, daily shaving crowd I had grown to know and love.

In the cozy depths of my basement apartment, I was online browsing the AvCanada Free Job Ads when I came across an interesting one:


Date:18 December 2004
Position:Sleigh Loader
Company Name:True North Gift Delivery Inc.
Contact Person:Santa
Street Address:1 Airport Road, North Pole
City:North Pole
State/Province:North Pole
Country: Canada/U.S.A/Russia/Norway/Denmark
Send Resume By:snail mail

True North Gift Delivery Inc.
c/o Santa Claus
North Pole
HOH OHO
Canada

Job Description:
The ideal candidate is an elf of Canadian, American, Danish, Norwegian or Russian Citizenship.
Must be able to lift containers of up to one thousand (1,000) kg, or have sufficient magic skills to do so.
Must be able to work long hours for one day a year (December 24).

THIS WILL NOT LEAD TO A FLYING POSITION!

Salary:minimum wage
Benefits:unlimited candy canes, smoking permitted on the job
Closing Date:23 December 2004



JACKPOT! This would be the perfect seasonal job to get a taste of the aviation life! If I didn't like it, I could always just go back to Sault College, and finish my Aviation Diploma, then work immediately thereafter at Air Canada!

I couldn't find a pen or pencil around my basement apartment, however, I still had some crayons left over which I bought to draw a Zlin to send to my weather-girl heartthrob Jenni Racicot at MCTV in Sudbury. She actually used my picture on the six o'clock news and called me an official “Weather Helper”. Too bad I never saw it, I had to find out this information from the CFI at the school, who did see it, and wanted to expel me for “behaviour unfitting a Sault College Student” or “demonstration of a feat making Sault College Aviation Students look stupid” or something like that, but there wasn't anything in the SOPs about crayon drawings, so I was allowed to stay. I think there is an SOP amendment now relating to the unprofessional use of crayons.

I also had some coloured paper left over from Hallowe'en, so I put Navy Blue Crayola to magenta construction paper, and in my finest upper and lower case printing, I whipped up a resume for this “Santa” guy. I included my First Aid training, CASO course, PPL with one hundred (100) hours, a 2.07 GPA from Sault College, and my highest Ms. Pac Man score. (I won a t-shirt at a video game tournament years ago, you know.)

I wasn't sure about all of this “ideal candidate” stuff, so I did what my english teacher told us to do, and just wrote down all of the stuff the employer wanted to hear. I said I was an elf too, and included a picture of me standing next to a Zlin because pilots are cool and I wanted Santa to know it. It was a great picture even though I was a little green in the face. (The picture was taken after I finished and Emergency Manoeuvers Training flight.)

Monday morning, on the way to my last exam, I mailed the resume. All I could think of during the Calculus exam was my new aviation job, the fame and prestige of working the ramp way up north. What's an integration thingy again? Two plus two? I wasn't sure. So I sat between Chip Toastbroil, and Jim Swan- the two smartest guys in my class. Getting hints from their tests, the exam went well for me, although my arms were both black and blue from them punching me for being a “cheater” as they called it. I was in good spirits as I marched triumphantly home.

As I entered my basement apartment, I noticed the red light flashing on my answering machine. I had never seen it flash before, so I pressed a couple of buttons and could hear a voice. “HO! HO! HO! Meeerrrrry... aw @#$! it. Hey ISTP, it's Santa Be outside your house at midnight tonight, and I'll pick you up for training at the Pole. You were the only elf that applied for the job, so it's yours. Let's just see them North Pole employment equity bastards get me this time! See ya at midnight, bud!”

Cool! I had gotten the job!

At 11:58- waaay past my bed time, I stood outside, and looked up and down the street for any cars, when exactly at 12 midnight I heard the sound of sleigh bells and Lynard Skynard. Then a loud “Woooaah!” then some skidding, crashing noises followed by a big crunch. I ran around back of my house, and saw eight reindeer squirming around shaking their heads and a broken sleigh. I rushed over to it and noticed a fat, older fellow passed out beside the vehicle. He smelled like lemon pledge and liquor.

I woke him, and as he stood, he said, “Thanks buddy. Hey, do you know where there's an elf named ISTP around here?”

He had starry eyes, long flowing white hair, and a nicotine stained goatee. He was clad in red pants, dinner plate belt buckle, and had a well worn bomber jacket. He was kinda short too.

“Uh, I'm ISTP, but I'm not an elf.”

“WHAT? You fucking lied to me? I can't hire a human! I can't believe you fucking pilots nowadays- always fudging your logbooks and resumes. I thought you were a little too tall standing next to that Zlin. @#$!! And now I gotta fix my sleigh and find some other lazy asshole to load it on Christmas Eve!”

He walked around the sleigh, and looked at the runners. It had retractable wheels on it too, which appeared to be extended. Santa kicked one of them.

“@#$!! I knew this would happen when they put in the asphalt runway up there. What a waste of money. Now I need fucking wheels on this thing, which @#$!, I forgot to select up before landing!” He looked at me. “ISTP with your gut so fat, won't you fix my sleigh tonight?”

“As long as I still get the job.”

“You fuckin' bastard! I like your style. @#$! those employment equity shit-heads. Got any tools here? You're gonna be sleigh loading after we fix this.”

Yes! I got the job!

I searched through the garage, and found some tools to give to Santa. He wiggled his nose, threw the tools in the air, and they started screwing, and bending and banging on the sleigh all by themselves! Neat trick, I thought. But I figured they'd probably be teaching that to us at school next semester anyways, so I wasn't really all that impressed.

Santa pulled a flask out of his inside pocket, and took a big swig, then he lit up a Marlborough Red. Smoke poured out his mouth as he spoke. “So, you know anything about loading freight?”

“Oh yeah, lots.” I had loaded all of my stuff into my parents' minivan to move up to the Soo, after all. What a stupid question.

“What about reindeer, you ever feed a reindeer?”

“Yeah.” Well it was an emu at a petting zoo, but close enough. I liked this little back and forth we were having.

“I tell ya, when I was cutting my teeth at the beginning of my career in the bush, we'd have to sleep with the hay at night so it wouldn't freeze and the 'deer wouldn't hurt their teeth on it in the morning. Those were the days. A lot less houses to drop off presents at too. @#$!, they were mostly all huts and igloos and shacks, really. And every one of them had a chimney. Not like these fucking R2000 pieces of shit. You ever try to drop a bicycle into a heat pump at 10,000 knots? It ain't fuckin' easy! They don't pay me enough for this shit!” He took another swig. The tools were almost finished. “You get some snot nosed punk with a freshly bought PPC on an eight reindeer sleigh- he wouldn't be able to even do a fuckin' hammerhead multi-drop into the Sudbury Superstack! Shit. I used to fly right THROUGH that fucking thing when it was first built. I'm talkin' pre-scrubber, too! The vis was pretty crap sometimes, I tell ya. Then Transport Canada got all in my ass, and I had to stop doing it. It wasn't good for the 'deer either, so I guess it's not all bad.”

Man, this pilot sure had some stories!

He drank some more, and became increasingly agitated. His swearing frequency ballooned, and he started threatening me with bodily harm if I ever told anyone he did a wheels-down landing.

The tools aligned themselves neatly in my landlord's tool box, and the sleigh glistened in the frosty night air. It's registration C-HOHO reflected light from Grandmont Avenue.

“All right, ISTP, let's go.”

We hopped into the sleigh, and I was amazed at the avionics- Bendix/King Gift FMS. Garmin full colour Good Boy and Girl Christmas Registry. Inter-Cranial comm 1&2. Holiday dingo balls with a Kenwood DPX-6020 stereo. Hobbs meter.

“Ever fly a sleigh before?”

“Nope.”

“Shit, then this should be fun! YOU HAVE CONTROL! HEEEYAH!!” With a flick of the reins we shot into the air. Then he turned over the reins to me.

“Uh, I have control, I guess.”

And the sleigh started going way out of control swerving all over the place. Up and down. Left and right. Fast and faster!

“ISTP, OK, this is what you do. For roll, you gotta shift your weight. That's why true pilots have a nice big gut- to roll the aircraft.”

Using my belly, I could now bank it- sort of, but this was definitely not a Zlin.

“Now we're climbing, so the 'deer are really diggin' in. You gotta give her some right rein to counteract left paw or “P” factor. All reindeer are left footed, you see, except for those fucking weird Eastern European jobs. They sure look sleek though. And they're built like tanks.”

I was getting the hang of it now. I was Maverick of the sleigh! Man, Sault College should have given me my diploma right then and there.

Santa continued his flying lesson, “Yeah, ISTP. A monkey can be trained to fly a sleigh at Christmas time-if he has a big enough belly. It's easy- Circumnavigate. Go fly around the world. Donate- give out the gifts, and Enunciate- that's the part I hate, you gotta yell out 'HO! HO! HO! Merry Christmas!' at every house. After a couple of million houses, it gets to be second nature, but post-Christmas, you generally can't talk for about a week. Fucking air law radio procedures.” Santa lit another smoke.

As we approached the black ink of the North Pole, Santa whistled five times, and runway lights appeared. I could hear a voice in my head.

“Christmas One, altimeter two niner niner two, winds from the south at twenty. Cleared to land runway zero zero.”

Santa yelled over the howling wind and the kickin' Kenwood, “@#$! you, Nathan! This is uncontrolled up here, you ATC wannabe. You can't clear me for shit! If you try vectoring me this time, when I land, you're gonna get a size nine right up your ass!”

“Roger, Christmas One. No traffic.”

“No shit, sherlock! It's the North fucking Pole!” he put out his hands, and said, “I have control, ISTP. Good job.”

I placed the reins in his hands, and he thrust his belly towards the runway. We banked a good eighty degrees, and were on short final. I heard Santa talking to himself, “Where am I landing? Pavement. Where are my wheels? Up. @#$!! No.” He pulled a lever on the dashboard, and four little green lights lit up. “Down.” He glanced at me with a “don't you fucking tell” look.

He did a perfect four wheel greaser, and we taxied up to a huge igloo with a bunch of little chain smoking green people scurrying around. One approached us.

“Greetings earthlings.”

What, were we now on Mars?

“Aw, shut the @#$! up Nathan. That's an old joke.” Santa talked my way and shrugged, “Elf humour, ISTP, get used to it. This is Nathan. My CE. He's in charge of just about everything here.”

“What's a CE?”

“Chief Elf.”

“Oh.”

Nathan looked at me with squinty eyes. “What the hell is this, Santa? A human? The employment act of 1786 says, and I quote from page three thousand forty-six, paragraph two, that only elves are to be hired for labour positions. You know that.”

“Aw @#$!, Nathan. He's all right, did an OK job flying the sleigh too.”

“SHIT! Santa! Don't fucking tell me that! The Union will have a fit!”

“Why don't you just tell that Union to go @#$! themselves? They're nothing but a pain in the ass. That's for another day. Anyways, I'm tired as hell. I'm gonna rest up for a few . Got The Biggy comin' up, and I gotta be ready to pull the all-nighter.”

Santa stumbled away, and Nathan noticed his gait.

“So ISTP, is it?”

“Yep.”

“You didn't see Santa drinking at all tonight did you? A because a guy seventeen hundred plus years old needs a couple of hundred hours from bottle to throttle.”

“Uh yeah. I think he drank a bit.” Didn't want to get the old boy in too much trouble. Seventeen hundred years old? Holy Crap!

Nathan had a shocked expression as he turned to see Santa passed out in a snow bank next to a gingerbread house with about ten elves trying to lift him up and put him to bed. The CE turned back to me. ISTP, Santa's fucked. I think... and I'm gonna get some serious shit from the Union here... YOU are going to have to save Christmas!”

Gulp! But really, not so gulp. I did have about point two on type, and I was in third year at Sault College. No problem for this Maverick.

“OK Nathan, I'll be your pilot.”

“Great! Now get over to the main igloo and fix the toilet. It's backed up again.”

“What? But, uh, I'm a pilot.”

“That's right, boy. And pilots fix and clean toilets. They didn't teach that to you? Where did you learn to fly? Fucking Seneca College or something?”

I was taken aback. I stuck out my chest and exclaimed, “No sir, SAULT College!”

He rolled his eyes, and out of thin air, a plunger appeared in his hand. He presented it to me. “Fix the fucking toilet.”

Oh well, ya gotta do what ya gotta do for sleigh time I supposed.

The elves were about the same as the students at the college. They laughed and called me names- all in good fun, of course.

Soon the big night came. Nathan approached me in the briefing igloo with a huge stack of papers. “Your weight and balance is all good. You're just a little over the five trillion pound mark, and a little aft. But once the reindeer burn off a little fat, you'll be fine. Here's your uniform.”

He pointed at my chest, and my clothes transformed into a snazzy green number with coyote fur trim and a patch on the right arm that said, Snowgoose Christmas Program.

“Don't I get some red pants and a hat or something? Santa had red pants.”

“Yeah, but he's a corporate slave to the Coca-Cola Santa image. The union types aren't particularly fond of that, so I recommend you wear this. At least it's green, so you'll look sort of elvish, anyhow.”

“Uh OK. This is fine, Nathan. Hmm. Pretty warm too!”

“Good. Now get out to the sleigh, the kids are waiting all snug in their beds. Just turn on the autopilot, and couple it to the Gift FMS. You'll be fine. If something fucks up, did Santa tell you the big three?”

“Circumnavigate, Donate, Enunciate?”

“That's her! Now get out there, and make us proud, ISTP, you fucking scab! And don't tell a soul we're really up here, it would just @#$! things up.” He gave me a little wink. Ah, elf humour.

With a “HEEYAAH!!” a tossing of the reins, and a few whistles, I flew out of sight of CYNP. My bald head shining in the moonlight, Anne Murray's “Snowbird” cranked on the Kenwood, belly rolling my craft to and fro in the space of Christmas Eve. I was smiling from ear to ear, and I was getting a taste of what a real aviation job would be. But this gig was a once a year shot, and I wouldn't be able to time-build very well. Santa would probably be better next year too, so I'd be loading the sleigh. But I wouldn't have to fix or clean toilets.

As presents magically disappeared off the back of the sleigh, I thought more about my future in aviation.

Somewhere between Hong Kong and Zanzibar, I decided I would return to Sault College and finish what I started. Then just go to work at Air Canada...


I'll bet you never even noticed last Christmas morning that it wasn't Santa who brought you your train set, or Barbie doll, or David Clark headset. It was in fact, me. ISTP. Thanks for all of the cookies and milk, by the way. So I'll say it again to all of you, as I did so many times last year. With my kindest wishes:

HO! HO! HO! MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

[iflyforpie]

While we're digging up zombie Christmas posts.... here's a good one from the poster formerly known as ISTP years back.....

[Adam Oke]

I do miss some of ISTP's literature! There were some great posters in Misc that have long since departed.

Excellent find!

[JMACK]

Nice find thanks! Did ISTP ever land a main line job.......hope so!

Merry Xmas everybody!