One time, when I was the resident Santa at a well-known and highly respected department store in NYC, a little person came in and sat on my lap. Under the layers of beard, ill-adjusted plastic spectacles, and loose clothing, I had no clue the person was not a child. "How are your folks?" I ask innocently. "A little under-the-weather, they are dead," he replies monotone. I hesitate, we are told to ask using the term 'folks' because it is accepting to children who may be in a non-traditional family setting - i.e. they are fostered or adopted. Therefore I was taken aback when this child, and I truly believed them to be just that at the time, said their folks had perished; in my mind, that seemed to allude to them being a homeless child, a humble street urchin. This set in to motion the procedure I was trained to follow, to get the homeless person out of our up-market store as fast as possible. Without a moment to spare, I engage in the secret call for security: a loud jolly laugh three times in the tune of 'Fight For Your Right' by acclaimed rap trio The Beastie Boys. The little person on my lap grows restless by the third laugh and I am worried he may bolt at any second. Luckily the security arrives in time to throw the guy out and the story has a happy ending as we all have a big laugh at the staff boozy Christmas meal. :)