It’s one of the most entertaining days in New York City in December. Many people dress up in holiday cheer, interpreting Santa as they wish – from real St. Nick’s to reindeers to one of my personal favorites, the Hebrew School Dropouts. The amount of alcohol consumed on this day is extremely high – often bars are Santacon friendly or not – with signs posted outside to inform the public before entering.
After an exhausting day of bar crawling that began at 8am, we rested at our apartment on Saturday night, the television buzzing in the background as we snacked and laughed about the experiences of the day. I surveyed the living room, remarking to my roommate how the apartment looked like a tornado had barreled through Christmas, resulting in a mess from our Santacon shenanigans – mistle toe, garlands, and gift bows were strewn everywhere. My mother would not have approved.
As I walked into the kitchen to fill up snacks and coffee, suddenly, a furry creature poked its head out from behind a beer can. I jumped back in surprise. Could I be so intoxicated I was imagining this Santacon surprise or was there really a mouse in our garbage?
“Did you see that mouse?” I squealed at my roommate. “What? Nah, I haven’t seen a mouse since last year,” he replied nonchalantly. Now, I had only been living in the apartment for a few months and when I moved in, I specifically asked if there were any bug or rodent issues in the apartment since my roommate had been living there previously. I guess he had somehow gotten amnesia and forgotten to inform me of the mouse’s previous appearance.
Slowly, I tiptoed towards the garbage, peering into the can to try to find the mouse, but it had disappeared. As I settled back into the couch, my roommate handed me the remote, as some kind of silent consolation for his inaction. In return, I felt like reciting the following poem, but I took a swig of beer instead: “Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.”