A Christmas Story: The Juan I’ve Been Waiting For

Yes Virginia, there is a Juan.

He exists as certainly as anger and selfishness and self centeredness exist, and you know that they abound and make your life miserable.

Alas!  How joyful would the workplace be if there were no Juan.

I soon find out.

My “Buddy” announced his retirement effective Jan. 1.

He might be missed, but probably not too much.

We have had our battles over the years but in fairness…I have found him to be an intelligent and at times funny coworker, who has helped me come to grips with my intolerances.

As a coworker he sucked…

as a person….he doesn’t suck as much.

In honor of his retirement and in keeping with the season, I felt the need to reopen this Blog for at least one more time.

Merry Christmas, my friends!!

 

T’was the day before Christmas, and all through the store

was the noise of folks toiling, and a heavy, loud snore!

All were hard working, dirty as hell

And then…there was Juan, awaiting the old dinner bell.

 

The guys (and a gal) were slogging away

Knowing it’s Friday, tomorrow we play.

Christmas bonuses banked, shopping lists done

But Old Fat Bottom’s still snoring and ruining the fun.

 

He jolted awake…he had errands to do

An hour for lunch soon turned to two.

Three hours had passed and still he was gone.

A typical lunch for my buddy Juan.

 

Toward the end of the day, we’re all ready to dash

When out in the parking lot we heard a loud crash.

We jumped over desks and slid ‘cross the floor

We ran to the windows, threw open the door.

 

The glare on the pavement, made us all squint

At the ‘62 Plymouth that was all one big dent.

To its rusty front bumper, 6 burros were hitched.

The driver tumbled out, gave his belly an itch.

 

We stood there dumfounded. Befuddled each one.

We knew in a moment…it had to be Santa Juan!

Slower than molasses and dumb as a post,

He called out to his burros, while munching on toast.

 

“Now ‘Que Pasa’, now ‘Chuco’, ‘Din’t Do It’, ‘Ju Know’!

On ‘Is Hiss Fault’. On ‘Dun Know’… y todos mis burros!

To the curb, to the street!”

Then they tripped and stumbled over their own little feet.

 

He rolled himself over with a grunt and a groan.

Cursing in Spanish as the burros just moaned.

He was dressed in serape, from neck to his butt.

Immaculately clean, ‘cept for the stain on his gut.

 

His eyes were all glassy, no dimples had he

With a huge honking nose and cheeks slathered in grease!

His big old mouth drawn up in a frown,

And the beard on his chin was mottled and brown.

 

 

 

He was chubby and fat, an old miserable jerk,

And I cringed when I saw him, especially at work.

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I had something to dread!

 

He spoke not a word as tried to dodge work,

And soon he had hidden, oh what a jerk.

And sticking his middle finger high in the air,

Said “I’m way too busy!  I doan care!”.

 

He jumped in his Plymouth, that old hunk of junk,

And away they all clattered…ka-wobble…ka-clunk.

But I heard him exclaim, as he crept out of sight…

“Time to retire!  Ju heard me. Dat’s right!”

 

Thanks to Frank Church of the New York Sun & Clement C. Moore for allowing me to play with your words. I know they’re probably cringing in Heaven but I’ll make it up to ‘em when I get there.

And a Special Thanks to Juan for keeping things interesting for the last 10 years….

Vaya con Dios, mi amigo!

 

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