WOULD SANTA SURVIVE A REAL NEW YORK CHRISTMAS?

Let’s be honest. If Santa tried to run his yearly operation through New York City, we’d lose him before lunch. The man shows up once a year, does a cute little route, drops gifts down chimneys, and calls it a night. Try that here. Try squeezing a flying sled into restricted airspace. Try parking anything bigger than a Citi Bike without risking a ticket. Try dealing with three different agencies just to land on a roof. He’d age a decade before his boots hit the ground.

Start with the reindeer. Those poor animals wouldn’t survive a single lap around our skyline. They’d get spooked by honking cabs, LED billboards, and that one guy on Canal selling knockoff everything. Someone would try to pet one, someone else would try to ride one, and a third person would livestream the whole disaster. Animal Control would be on them faster than Santa could say “Ho Ho Ho.”

Then we have the MTA. Imagine Santa trying to make deliveries using the subway because airspace is a no-go. Picture him standing on the platform waiting for a train that says “2 minutes” but means “12.” Picture him wedging a sack of gifts through a crowded car while we stare at him like he’s blocking the pole. Someone would definitely step on the hem of his coat. Someone else would tell him to move because “other people have places to be, bro.”

And the co-op boards? Forget it. Santa isn’t getting into a single apartment building without a background check, three letters of recommendation, and proof he’s not dropping soot in the hallways. “You want to enter our building through the chimney? At night? Absolutely not, sir.” He’d be stuck in the lobby arguing with a doorman who already told him no twice.

Let’s not pretend the crowds would help either. Midtown in December is a full-contact sport. Slow walkers. Selfie lines. Families debating dinner in the middle of the sidewalk. Santa would try to get from Fifth to Sixth and lose half his gifts to accidental collisions. By the time he reaches Rockefeller Center, he’s sweating through the suit and reconsidering his whole career.

Prices alone would send him into retirement. Milk and cookies? Cute. Except here it’s $27 for a pastry and $7 for milk that comes in a miniature glass bottle. Renting a stable for the reindeer? He’d need a hedge fund.

Somewhere around 11 pm, you’d find him in a halal cart line, coat open, beard crooked, scarf missing, mumbling about “back home it used to be simple.” A regular New York December meltdown. Happens to the best of us.

So would Santa survive a real New York Christmas? Maybe on paper. In spirit? Not a chance.

The city breaks people who think they can handle it in one night.

We respect the attempt.

But the North Pole didn’t prepare him for this.