The last year Yer Ol' Perfeser did the "Santa" gig--two? three years ago?--it was at one of those ticket-fired 'fun&food' joints, like an in-door midway with "games of skill" (now electronified) without the carneys but with card-board pizza. (Those goddam machines just suck the fucking money outta people's pockets.)
Lots of loud noise and flashing lights. Like a casino, without the booze. But it paid $100 for a three-hour shift, three days a week for a couple of weeks, which is serious weed money.
So I was (natural-beard) Santa, the most demanded kind.
That last year, some obnoxious kid crawled up on my lap and said he wanted a gun to kill his little brother. I told him Santa thought he was a psycho, and I sent his parents a note about it... That was the end of my interest in that avatar. I sold my red suit, to my brother, and kept the beard.