A few weeks beforehand, my stepdad and I were in a Disneyland parking lot waiting for the rest of the family. I had questions and he was trapped. “How fast does he fly? Does he stop time?” About 20 Geneva convention violations later the interrogation broke him. “What do you want me to say?” he asked. “He’s not real. Are you happy?” Reader, I was.
Over popsicle stick reindeer I tell the kid what I learned. My news is poorly received. Our teacher pulls me into the hallway. “You can’t say that. It’s fine if you don’t believe in Santa, but other kids do, and that’s okay.”
You have a new roommate who worships mold. He cultivates it wherever he can. He hides fruit in his drawers. He sprinkles water in corners. His room turns into a petri dish. You develop a cough — a black mold infection.
You email the landlord only to find that he shares your roommate’s beliefs. You try to move out only to realize with horror that every other landlord and potential roommate you contact shares them too.