Dear Santa,
I hope all’s well on the Pole. It’s been quite some time since we last spoke, but perhaps you remember my plea for Suzie Johnston to trip on her new jump rope in the third grade class talent show (thank you for answering my prayers on that one). Or maybe you remember my extra-special efforts to impress you with my crunchy carrot cake gumbo in ‘89 (Dad said your reindeer really knew how to fly after noshing on that mix).
Listen, I know we’ve talked openly before, and I hope we can be frank with each other again. I’m a little older and wiser now, and I’ve graduated from milk and cookies to something a little stronger. You can probably appreciate the need for a stiff drink after a hard day’s night, right? Atlanta’s bar scene needs some of your magical powers, Santa. We’re hurting for bartenders who know how to pour just the right amount of liquor to make your tummy burn with that heat we all know and love.
I don’t want to call out any names, and the really bad ones are probably already on your naughty list. Hell, I probably am, too. (And I can explain that, if I absolutely must.) But about these bartenders…they’re doing OK with their jobs, but sometimes I wonder, just how often do they want us to tip them heavily before they give us a 
fair amount of shots? Furthermore, why the hell do they feel like it’s all right to carry on a conversation with an old friend in the corner when there’s a mass of thirsty drunks waiting at the other end for one of their lousy, weak drinks?
I’m sorry for complaining, especially since you’re probably just interested in getting the list of what toys are going where. But this is so important to all Atlantans and to nightlifers everywhere. I hate to make you put in any extra time in our city when you have so many to visit in just one night, but if there’s anything you could do to just put your snowy spin on some of the holiday drinks, we’d all be much obliged.
I promise you’ll get a really stiff drink when you come down my chimney.
Love,
Kirsten
