He tries to be kind to children who approach him thinking he’s Santa Claus just because he’s old and fat and has a sizeable white beard. It’s almost Christmas, he reminds himself, and they can’t help themselves because they’re children and because they’ve been brainwashed. Sometimes, just to give them a thrill, when he sees them eyeballing him in a store or at the café he waits until they’re within earshot and gives them a soft little “ho-ho-ho” as they pass by. He does this despite his total lack of enthusiasm for the holiday because he is a kind man and because they are poor little brainwashed children. It doesn’t matter to him whether they look like they’re naughty or nice. He’s not checking a list.
The grown-ups, though, are something else altogether. Often (but not always) intoxicated, but inevitably under the overpowering influence of too many radio carols, most of them approach him grinning, eager to point out the obvious resemblance, as if his own mirror and the myriad children he has already encountered were insufficient proof. With the adults, he is less inclined toward kindliness. They, not being children, should know better. They, for the most part, do not. He doesn’t bother to tell them, but he’s making a list and they’re on it.