CC Santa

Not being a person instilled with vast amounts of glee, I avoid any holiday parties I am invited to. This wasn’t always the case. I was once young and full of optimism.

I remember a time when I was 18 years old. I was working at a Catholic Seminary, which had amazingly ornate Christmas parties. One of my co-workers was a really hot 30 year old woman named Judy. She and I really hit it off, being we were two fish who really had no business being in that pond.

We were at this party together, which got over early so the older workers could get home to bed before 8pm. Judy said to me that it was too early to call it a night so we should go to her husband’s club for their Christmas party. I was up for it, so we got into my car and she told me to head towards Hackensack. We drove down a foggy Rt. 17 to Rt. 4, and once we got to Hackensack she guided me down roads I had never been on before. We finally ended up on this dark, pot hole filled road with overgrown weeds and trash on the side. We pull up to what looks like an abandoned bowling ally with hundreds of motorcycles parked out side. I’m now nervous…

We walk in the door and are confronted by the loud noise of music, drunken bikers shouting and drinking and bowling. There was a large banner that said C.C. Riders, North Jersey. Holy shit! I had just recently finished reading Hunter Thompson’s book Hells Angles. I walked on egg shells in fear of getting stomped. I stuck close by Judy and Pete. There was no way in hell that I looked at all like I belonged there with my soft 18 year old, peach fuzz, boy face.

After an hour or so I started to relax. All attention was drawn to the biker Santa that came thundering in on a Harley. He got off the bike and sat on a chair by the bar. He shared a few Ho Ho’s and commanded all the ladies to get in line. “OK ladies!” He started, “Come here and sit on Santa's face and I’ll guess your weight!” Oh man, I thought, what the hell am I seeing here? It all turned out pretty harmless. Anyone who sat on Santa’s lap came away with a present of either a dildo or a bottle of beer.

I stayed a little longer, but after two fights broke out I figured it was time to take my 18 year old boy self with the peach fuzz face safely back to safety suburbia where there were nice houses and nice lawns and where anyone with a motorcycle had them cleanly tucked away in their garages with blankets on them waiting for the warm days of spring.

The attendees of the party were used to these sorts of get-togethers where I was not. There is a certain euphoria one feels when they escapes a potentially dangerous situation unscathed. This euphoria stayed with me for days after that party. To this day, when I pass a biker club on the highway and hear their thundering engines bark like lions as they pass, I think back to that night in Hackensack, New Jersey and get a feeling of euphoria again.