Going to see Santa Claus is a classic Christmas tradition. You go to sit on Santa’s lap, he asks you if you’ve been naughty or nice, and he inquires what you want for Christmas. And it’s all jolly well.

What is infuriating about visiting Santa, however, is how there seems to be an unofficial age limit on taking trips to that grand, old giftmaker. As I was waiting in line to see him this year, I was surprised by the number of death stares I received from all the kids’ parents. This  was the kind stare you would get if you wore a neon bro-tank to a funeral.

As time ticked by in the line I started to go over what I wanted to ask Santa for this year. As you grow older, you desire different things. As a 6 year-old boy alI wanted were Legos and a hammer to hit my sister with. As a 17-year-old muscleman I want a girlfriend and an end to world hunger. Since what I wanted couldn’t be made by Santa’s creepy elves so, I didn’t know what to ask for.

Luckily a 17 year-old doesn’t need to know because Santa treats you a lot differently the older you look. Santa wouldn’t even let me sit on his lap, nor did he ask if I had been naughty or nice, nor did he inquire what I wanted for Christmas.

All he asked me was where I went to school, and when I told him he gave me an answer that was more out of Santa’s character than stealing from children: he told me that he drives past my school every day.

This was no-doubt, the most offensive comment I have heard in my life. As if he didn’t live on the North Pole. Catching Santa blatantly lying to me has certainly ruined my Christmas cheer for the rest of the season.