My best story is about Santa Claus. A mall Santa had a heart attack at work and was rushed to the Emergency Room in full cardiac arrest. Let me explain that a person playing Santa is generally a certain age (white beard) and body type (round) that is predisposed to cardiac disease. We did everything we could but ultimately our efforts were futile. The mall Santa rode his sleigh into the great beyond. A mother, there to visit another patient, was insistent that her 7–8 year old son be allowed back to visit his grandmother. We had a strict 12 year old age limit visitation policy. I was called to speak with her. ”Why do you have such a stupid Draconian policy?” She insisted. “The Emergency Room is no place for a child ma’am. Besides, the germs and infections he may be exposed to, there are things he may see or hear that a child would have a hard time processing,” I explained. “Like what?” She argued. “Well, there are people in pain moaning,” I answered. “And drunks cursing at the staff. It’s a tough place.” “He’s fine,” she insisted. “I think I know how to parent. I don’t need you to worry about what my son is able to handle.” I caved in and allowed her back. As we passed the room with the dead Santa, a tech exited and opened the curtain. Her child looked in and saw Santa’s lifeless body, ET tube sticking out of his throat, boots still on but costume cut to shreds and strewn across the room. The child lost it! “Mom, Santa Claus is Dead!” He cried. “I’m not going to get anything for Christmas.” “Why would someone open the curtain?” The mother demanded. “I warned you,” I said. “That’s why we have a 12 years and above visitation policy.” She was not happy. Come to find out the child had his picture made with that very Santa a few days prior. Very ironic. Question: Where were Santa's boot after Santa died? === The answer to the above question is
Still on Santa's feet.
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I was a waitress at the New England regional chain Newport Creamery for seven years in Jr. High, High School, and College. In college, I needed money for school supplies, so in addition to slinging ice cream cones and “Awful Awfuls” at the Creamery, I picked up a few more jobs: working the dinner shift at a family restaurant, heaving trays of cocktails at a bar until 3AM, and cleaning houses. Needless to say, I was a wreck, and a big time abuser of coffee and cigarettes. One day just before my shift at the Creamery began, I slung back a huge coffee and hauled on a Newport cigarette in the kitchen (this was when you could do things like smoke in a restaurant kitchen.) I then went out to the dining floor and approached my first table, who had been given menus and was waiting for me to take their order. “Hi, How are you today?”, I cheerfully asked the mother and her three daughters, all looking under 12. “What may I get you?…..” Then, fade to black as a huge swooshing sound took over my head. Next thing I know, I’m on the floor, covered in blood, the girls are screaming blue murder, and my manager is shaking like a leaf as he coddles me. Apparently, I passed out right onto the table of the nice family I was waiting on, then fell back and whacked my head on the corner of a wall. I remember noticing that my kelly green polyester dress was an awful shade of bloodied brown. My main concern was that I had a hot date that night, and now I had to go to the emergency room! The ER doctor was able to sew my head up, and sent me home with a diagnosis of “syncope, unknown origin”. After a few hours, I still felt spacey, but insisted on going on the date. I remember we went to a nice Italian place on Federal Hill! Here’s the Garden City location, where I worked. Question: What did the waitress drink in the kitchen? === The answer to the above question is
Coffee.
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Six weeks after arriving in the United States, Hassan Abduraheem takes a seat in the back pew of Tar Wallet Baptist Church. Tucked into the woods along a country road in rural Virginia, the church holds about 50 worshippers. On this cold November Sunday, Abduraheem and his family of eight noticeably increase the congregation's size. They do their best to follow the unfamiliar English of the old Baptist hymns, which are very familiar to their new neighbors. And they share the hymns from their former home — Sudan. Standing in a single line in front of the altar, the family fills the church with Arabic song. "Unbelievable," Abduraheem says repeatedly, as he describes his journey from a crowded prison cell in Sudan to a fixed-up house on the farm of his new pastor. "Unbelievable" seems like the only word that could describe the turn his life took, thanks to a Facebook post and a U.S. congressman. Abduraheem's work as a former pastor is not outlawed in his native Sudan, but Christians are a minority in a diverse country that has suffered through multiple civil wars. According to the United States Commission on International Religious Freedom, there has been "an escalation in the Sudanese government's persecution of Christians,” since the 2011 secession of South Sudan. Abduraheem says his work was spreading the gospel; the Sudanese government accused him of espionage, and he was detained along with two other pastors in December 2015. "The first day when they took us to the prison, they beat us,” he says softly.  Abduraheem was shifted from prison to prison. For five months, he wore the same clothes he was wearing when he was arrested. His eyes became damaged from the harsh prison light. Yet, despite constant interrogations, just two meals of beans a day and a tiny cell with barely enough room to sleep, he says the worst part of prison was not knowing. Question: Why were the family singing? === The answer to the above question is

the hymns were shared from Sudan
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