By Jim Hagarty
1992
As it is with most human mistakes, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
Having just replied in detail for the fourth or fifth time to the oft-repeated, post-Dec. 25 question, “Well, was Santy Claus good to you this Christmas?”, I decided to see if I could spice up my reply by naming gifts I had never received. By substituting a little illusion in the place of reality, I could hang on to a wee bit of the privacy so hard to find any more in today’s world and satisfy my questioners at the same time. My enquirers and I would all emerge satisfied from our Christmas post-mortem sessions.
Not being accustomed to blatantly telling untruths to people in answer to straightforward questions, I found myself a little uncomfortable at the start. But after my first couple of outright lies, it got easier. It was almost fun.
For some reason, I can’t explain, I settled on a popular brand of personal cassette tape player as the main Christmas gift in my reply to my questioners.
“Well, was Santy Claus good to you this Christmas?” came the question from my first victim.
“Sure was,” I replied. “I got a personal portable tape player.”
“Good for you!” continued my co-worker. “Do you like it?”
“I love it,” I said, with sort of a straight face.
With practice, I improved. I began elaborating about how I loved the tiny stereo so much I almost hated to take off the earphones to go to bed. I also started working it in there that this was the best Christmas present I had ever received.
At some point, I even decided to stash another gift for myself under the tree.
“Great Christmas,” I’d reply. “I got a personal portable tape player and a dishwasher.”
A few eyebrows shot up at the news of my dishwasher present but nobody pressed for more information about it and I think my secret wasn’t blown. But I realized I had better stop there and not begin adding things to the list like a new mini-van or a summer cottage.
My deliberate falsehoods were going over well but I suspect there comes a moment of truth in the lives of most people who practise to deceive and mine came Monday morning.
“Well, didja have a good Christmas?” asked Frank, a fellow worker.
“Great, thanks,” I said.
“Get lots of presents?” he continued.
“Yeah, I did all right,” I said. “I got a personal portable stereo and a dishwasher. “
“A portable stereo, eh?” said Frank. “So did I.”
My face flushed.
“How do you like yours?” he asked.
“I, uh, I love it,” I said, timidly. “Listen to it all the time …”
“I was wondering,” he said. “You’ll know. Does it take regular cassette tapes or those miniature cassettes?”
Not being the proud owner of such a machine, I was in a corner, explaining details of the device to a man who does own one.
“Ah, just the regular ones,” I suggested.
“And, how do you turn on the tape?” Frank continued. “Do you flip a switch to ‘tape’ or something and press a button?”
“Ah, yes, ah, just flip the switch to ‘tape’ and press the ‘play’ button.”
“Thanks,” said Frank.
“No problem,” I answered, weakly.
I realize now, I’m not, at heart, a very good teller of lies. I get so nervous in all situations where my credibility’s on the line that I believe I’d fail a lie-detector test even if I was telling the truth. And in a court of law, though innocent, I’d be sure to jump to my feet at some point during the deliberations and yell, “I did it!”
For the record, Frank, I got clothes for Christmas. Two books. Two CDs. A pen. A calendar. After-shave lotion.
And a candy cane. A great, big candy cane.
Bigger ’n a personal portable stereo.
