Santa One. 3,400 Tiny John has an affinity toward Christmas. (standard:action, 3369 words)
Author: Oscar A Rat	Added: Jul 04 2020	Views/Reads: 1369/962	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
John, an orphan, works as a janitor at an orphanage. He doesn’t know his surname or even age. Then a Santa comes to visit.

Yawning, I stretch out,  arms extended overhead on an army surplus cot. 
Legs stiffly together, there's still two extra feet to a gray iron bar 
across the bottom.  Sitting up, legs hovering over the floor, I jump 
down.  I walk across to the bathroom and sit on a "Kiddy-Craft" toilet 
to relieve myself. 

Afterward, I wash face and hands in a sink especially lowered for my
use.  Rubbing fingers over my lower face, I feel a little stubble, 
still not long enough to bother shaving.  At twenty, I scrape a little 
fuzz off about every week.  Dressing in jeans and shirt bearing the 
label "Jackson Street Orphanage" in a greenish circle with yellow 
print, I'm ready for breakfast. 

It's only 5:30 in the morning.  Most of the residents are still in bed. 
The cook, one overnight counselor, and myself are the only ones up.  
Me, I'm an assistant janitor, working for little more than room and 
board. 

A couple of years ago, at eighteen, I graduated from student to
employee.  At my small size, along with extended slightly-pointed ears 
and a large bulbous nose, nobody saw fit to pick me for adoption.   Not 
having official paperwork, no one is certain about my age. 

Back then, I was called into the director's office.... 

"John," Ms. Mathews told me, "we can't keep you here forever.  You must
be at least eighteen by now, so you'll have to graduate." 

Fidgeting and, frankly, being afraid of the outside world, I replied,
"But, where can I go, ma'am?  I have no training, and no one will hire 
me.  I'm too short to use a shovel or drive a car.  Even too small to 
reach an assembly line at the Ford Plant.  I'm screwed." 

"You're an excellent worker.  I'm certain you'll make out okay.  You
need confidence in yourself and your abilities." 

"Huh!  What abilities?  Last time I was on the street, three dogs chased
me for blocks.  I went out with a couple of kids, a month or so ago, to 
a movie.  For Christ's sake, I couldn't keep up with them without 
riding a tricycle, bicycles being too large for me to reach the pedals. 
We were laughed at all the way there and back." 

"Well, let's leave the subject for now," she said, "while I check
around.  I know some people, and we'll come up with something."  She 
paused for a few moments, obviously thinking.  "Tell you what, to 
satisfy state inspectors you can work for Mr. Smithers.  The two of you 
can fix up that old coal room down there for you to live in." 

"That would be swell, Ms. Mathews." 

"Just until I find you something better.  You really are a good worker,
and intelligent.  But you need more self-confidence.  Size isn't 
everything, you know?  We can't pay you much, but you can eat with the 
rest of the staff." 

"What about the kids?  They'll still pick on me." 

"John.  Face it.  Bullies will always pick on you.  Here, though, like
with other staff, you can't let them give you any flack.  You're an 
employee now, one of us, and have the same authority as the rest.  If 
they give you trouble, tell me and they'll be punished.  You're one of 
the bosses, John, not a kid anymore.  Don't you hassle them, and they'd 
better not hassle you." 

It took the rest of the day and into the night for me to clean that coal
room.   Before we changed to oil heating, it had held coal for maybe 
fifty or sixty years.  The stuff was coated onto all the surfaces, 
having to be scraped then washed off.  Mr. Smithers – it felt strange 
to call him Pete now – knocked off a doorway to a utility closet next 
door and made me a bathroom.  Water was already installed, so that 
didn't take long.  By morning, I'd snuck into my old dormitory and 
gotten my stuff out. The kids were asleep and didn't bother me.  I even 
got a couple hours sleep. 

What I really loved was the way the rest of the staff changed toward me.


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