Discovering there are people with big-big problems.

As Christmas seasons went, this one made the top 10 list.

You made it through your entire two week job at May Company Wilshire without having one kid piss his pants all over you – not one kid toss their cookies and most of the previous days meals in your lap. None of your friends came by to give you grief, being dressed like an elf, escorting kids to confess to Santa. Not one mother yelled at you for not putting their kid first in line.

Turned in your costume, cashed your check and felt moderately wealthy. Life was good and Christmas that year was even better.

You finished your Christmas shopping after the first week – Dad got Old Spice – Mom got Prince Matchabelli – brother got a Revell Mr. Gasser car kit. You were set.

You wandered through the store, jammed with people last minute shopping before closing time in five minutes. Air was filled with the din of panic along with the scent of Coty test sprayers, Camel cigarettes and fake Pine forest. Muzak was still cranking out David Rose and Melachrino variations on White Christmas, one last time, spreading over the May Company main floor like a musical wet sock. It didn’t bother you – not this time, anyway.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you wanted to remember all that – it was going to be one of the nice parts of life on Planet Earth in 1965.

After a good amount of jostling you finally made it out the store and on to Wilshire. The sun was out when you walked it – it was dark now and the temperature was dropping. You headed to the bus stop on Fairfax in front of Norms past a fleet of Salvation Army Santas, clanging bells over pots of coins dropped in by passersby.

Waiting for the light to turn green, you looked over at the bus stop and noticed one of the girls from gift wrap sitting on the bench, looking like her entire world fell down.

As you ambled across Fairfax, heading in the direction of the bus stop, you wondered if you should say something. Aid and comfort were two things you weren’t quite familiar with at the age of 15. You’ve seen her before – she wouldn’t be caught dead with you. She was way out of your league, you just knew that in the pit of your soul. But she was miserable – she’d been crying a lot – you could tell because the street lights showed sparkle from her eyes and it wasn’t makeup – she was wiping her nose and making other people waiting for the Fairfax bus uncomfortable – being Christmas and all.

But you decided it was time to try on your Knight In Shining Armor suit. So you sat next to her and quietly asked it she was okay. You weren’t sure if you should do hands, or stare at her with deep-set emotion, or look like you were writing a parking ticket.

It didn’t matter because she flung her arms around you and started sobbing. You reciprocated and she melted into hysterical weeping.

Now it was your turn to feel oddly uncomfortable. The bus pulled to a stop and passengers filed off while new passengers gingerly stepped around you to clamor on.

With everybody else on, the driver looked at you through the door and motioned if you were planning on coming. You shook your head as the weeping continued. Next bus – or maybe the next – or the next after that. Luckily your family didn’t do Christmas Eve dinner or celebrations – that was all reserved for the morning.

So Christmas Eve you were Lauren’s comfort station. You always wondered what her name was – she still had her May Company name tag on.

After what seemed like an hour and several busloads of passengers on and off, the weeping subsided and she caught her breath long enough to lay out her situation.

It was awful, for a kid anyway. Her parents were getting a divorce – they had another fight before Lauren left for work and the last she heard Dad left to pick up his girlfriend and head to Las Vegas – mom skipped breakfast and headed straight to the Cutty Sark.

As Lauren put it, mom was a mean drunk and she was doing that a lot. She was afraid if she went home the house would be destroyed and mom would blame her for being upright, alive and breathing.

She couldn’t go home and she didn’t know where to go – if she stayed with any of her girlfriends their parents would find out and call the police and it would get really messy. Visions of being dumped in a foster home brought an encore of intense weeping.

Okay – what would the Knight In Shining Armor do? Take his last paycheck and get a motel room? No – dead-ringer for suspicious looks and asking for i.d.’s – they’d be positive the Motel was destined to be the trying-out place for a fledgeling sex life, especially with vibrating beds in every room.

You were starving – you missed lunch – you were staring in Norm’s window. You decided to use some of your hard earned Santa’s Helper money and buy dinner for the both of you.

This was a date, right? No. You were being Todd and Buzz from Route 66, listening to people’s problems and fixing them. Lauren had problems, big problems – she was confessing all over the place to you in between rivers of weeping. This had to be love.

 This was all-new territory for you. You sat and listened, shook your head and watched the clock drift to eleven-thirty.

You knew your parents were going to kill you, no questions asked, coming home that late at night. Asking if a girl you hardly knew could spend the night was good for at least one volcanic eruption, especially since sex was an unknown commodity with you and they would swear heavy petting was going on.

It would be like camping,  you told them.

Your parents were speechless when you showed up at the front door with Lauren looking red-eyed and sweetly mortified. You explained the situation – Lauren started crying. They didn’t yell – they didn’t cause a scene – they didn’t point fingers. Your dad seemed rather proud – your mom gazed at Lauren like she had survived a hurricane.

No questions – mom scooped Lauren up, put her in an extra pair of her flannel pajamas and shuffled her off to your bedroom – you were handed two blankets and relegated to the living room floor, right under the Christmas tree.

Your dad promised you two would have “a little chat” in the morning. You really hoped it wasn’t going to be his second attempt at a clumsy explanation of sex. You just wondered what Lauren was going to think of you, gazing at your collection of stuffed Bugs Bunny toys. You were growing out of everything very quickly and Bugs Bunny was one of them.

Everything was racing through your mind as you lay, gazing up at the Christmas tree, fixated by the bubbling lights and wondering if that was what being an adult was like.

And Christmas Eve 1965 was giving you a rough idea.

And to give you another rough idea, here’s an hour’s worth of Bob Dayton at KBLA from December 27, 1965.