Santa hard guy to catch

Sleigh bells ring, and I'm listening. Over the roar of the flowing river water I hear that distinct ho-ho-ho-ing (but by river I mean creek, and by water I of course mean the sewage drain-off from the parking lot), and I know once again that it's Christmas time. I slip out of my bed and stumble into some clothes, still half-asleep, but determined. Clumsily grabbing a coat hanger, bear trap, snorkel and half- chewed pretzel from under my bed, I glance around the room one more time. Perfect. The sun has just begun to rise and I'm on a mission.

Nearly 21 years ago I had a dream — a dream that, upon completion, would carry me to such notoriety that no 20-year-old-acting-like-a-6-year-old would ever parallel. A dream of catching the big red guy himself. No, I'm not speaking of the Kool-Aid man or the bearded lady down the street in the red moo-moo. I'm talking about the decrepit, but jovial, ole swindler we like to call Papas Fritas or Satan Claws — I mean, Santa Claus. Yes, St. Nick was here for sure, and as I began to sprint to the door, I couldn't help but flash back to the time when I almost nabbed him.

It was a few years back and I had stayed up late, biding my time by watching all 18 "Rocky" movies and eating turkey-flavored crackers (which I later found out to be dog biscuits). After my parents went to sleep, I slowly crept downstairs and set up an elaborate booby trap that consisted of a watermelon tied to a string. With the string carefully rigged to a delectable sulfuric acid-dipped cookie, I placed the watermelon on the book shelf across the room, setting it up so it would sail in true flight to the unsuspecting skull of the obese intruder. With my scheme almost at fruition, I deftly sneaked back upstairs and returned to the room I always liked to call, "my room." Feeling confident at my ninth try to catch the kiddie king of Noel, I soundly went to bed.

The next morning, I rushed down the steps like a kid that rushes down steps really fast. However, there was no Claus. No. It couldn't be. Scanning the room, I saw that the cookie had been bit and the watermelon lay in pieces on the floor, yet I couldn't understand what had happened. I even tried explaining things to my Dad at the hospital that morning when he was treated for poisoning and severe head trauma, but even he didn't know. I had come so close — my plan was seemingly infallible. I mean, Santa had survived the acidic dessert (one of the oldest tricks in the book) and somehow evaded the Mongolian speeding-watermelon trap. I was baffled.

Snapping back into reality, I knew that now was my chance at redemption. A golden opportunity to accomplish what every normal college student wishes to accomplish: to catch the one and only Santa in a crude and extremely savage manner.

Leaping down the stairs and out the front door of the luxurious, rural getaway known as Mountain View Townhomes, I wildly scan the parking lot, searching in between cars, in other peoples houses and even under small rocks but to no avail. Finally, I hear the recognizable chanting again, "Ho-Ho-Hoouah!" This time followed by an ungodly stench coming from a nearby bush. Raising the chewed pretzel, poised to attack, I spring like a cat behind the shrub and notice that, in fact, it is not Santa at all. No, it is just my inebriated roommate throwing up after returning from a night at the bar. Coincidentally, he happened to sound exactly like Santa Claus while expelling the "bad water" from his system.

Breathing a deep sigh of discontent, I slowly trudged back to my room, realizing for the first time on the way up that it's 7:30 a.m. and not even Christmas. In fact, it's a Tuesday in December and I have class at 9:30. Grumpily returning to my slumber, I can't ignore the fact that my dream is still incomplete and St. Nick still freely wanders the skies and our homes. But I am not completely distraught, for I know that I'll have another chance, and Santa probably can't escape a tranquilizer gun.

Jesson Zafar is a junior CIS major who is getting a lump of coal or a Backstreet Boy CD in his stocking this year.