The Monday after a big work week or weekend—not that I know much about working on weekends—is more or less a recovery day. You're exhausted from the effort, cranky from lack of sleep and depressed about all the other ways you could've been spending that time.
That's especially true for Santa and his pointy-eared, curly-toed staff of toybuilders at the workshop.
No matter how many late nights you've put in, I'm going out on a limb and guessing your checklist didn't include working in a snowed in sub-zero environment, five billion stops in one night, having a front-row view of eight reindeer butts delivering their own special kind of presents, cramming yourself down chimneys that haven't been cleaned since ever, or eating more cookies and drinking more milk than a fat man of a certain age should even be thinking about.
BTW, I know what you thought when I said, "..fat man of a certain age." Fuck you.
The point is let's go easy on Santa and give him a break. Sure, maybe you didn't get exactly what you wanted this year. But his red bag carries a lot of gifts, and sometimes, like Amazon, FedEx or UPS, the wrong package goes to the wrong house.
Unlike Amazon however, Santa, believing everyone is entitled to a living wage and safe working coniditions, never engaged in union-busting tactics when the elves wanted to unionize.
I may be getting off topic.
Look, holly jolly and merry ole' St. Nick is a character he plays. In real life, Santa and the elves are people who were young once. They had hopes and dreams. No one wanted to be doing this job, but sometimes life's paths aren't the ones we might choose for ourselves. We play the cards we're dealt.
So if they want to blow off a little steam after a solid nights' work with a few drinks, Marlboros and, um, companionship, who're we to judge.
Have at it Santa. No matter what you do, you'll always be on my nice list.
