“Dude, why do you work here? This place is a shit hole.”
Josh looked up from his history textbook. “Wow, you might need to say that a little louder; I think a few customers in the back didn’t hear you.”
Ryan turned to observe the store, and Josh’s eyes fell back to the text; after working at Christmas On Olde Maine for nearly a year, he didn’t need to look. Nor did he want to. There was something in the store air that made him sick––physically sick, even, though it did sicken him other ways.
A metal train set squeaked noisily along a suspended wooden track that circled the store above shelves crammed with happy snowmen and smiling Santas. Adding to the cacophony were small, electronic villages with dancing lights––placed near the windows––that spouted ringing, high-pitched Christmas tunes, ceaselessly repeating. On top of that, additional carols issued from the main speakers.
Presently, they hummed with an Alvin and the Chipmunks rendition of Jingle Bells. Josh absently clutched at his head, rereading a line he had attempted to process twenty times already. He twirled a lock of hair between his fingers; the further the Chipmunks got in their song, the more the twirling became violent tugs.
“Whatever, douche, no one’s even here,” Ryan concluded, having completed his visual scan of the store.
A middle-aged woman dressed in a hideous fury coat stepped out from behind one of the shelves carrying an ornament. Two other women followed.
“I believe you miscounted,” Josh said dully, motioning for Ryan to move as he put down his book.
Ryan stepped back and allowed the party of three to make their purchase.
“Do you personalize?” the woman holding the ornament asked. She placed her find gently down on the counter.
Josh’s insides cringed, though his face remained an emotionless mask. He nodded.
“How much does it cost?”
“Nothing.”
“How is it done? Do you engrave it?”
“No. We use a Sharpie.”
“Oh. Well, we want a name on this one. It’s Caetlyne.”
“How do you spell it?” Josh asked as he reached bellow the counter and grabbed an ultra fine-point marker. He uncapped it and bent over the ornament.
“C-A-E-T-L-Y-N-E.”
Josh took his time, making each letter as a straight and neat as possible. Once finished, he slid the ornament over to the woman.
“How’s that?”
She considered, looking it over then showing her friends. “What do you all think?”
“The second ‘E’ is a little cramped.”
“Yeah. Ask him if he’ll redo it.”
The woman plopped the ornament back on the counter. “Can you?”
Josh’s face tightened. “Sure. Just grab me another one.”
Taking her time, the woman selected a second ornament, and Josh tried again. Upon concluding, he realized in dismay that he had spelled the name with the ‘E’ on the wrong side of the ‘T.’ Silently, he cursed whichever parent originally thought it was a good idea to take normal names and give them stupid, bizarre spellings.
“You misspelled it,” the woman pointed out, ever the helpful customer.
“Yes, I’m sorry. Would you like me try again?”
“That was the last one.”
Josh wanted to pound the desk in frustration; if that had been the last one, why had she spent so damn long to grab it?
“Do you have more somewhere?” the woman asked.
“Yes. Upstairs.”
“Could you find them?”
“Sure. Give me a second.”
Josh stepped out from behind the counter and made for the door; he would have to risk leaving the register unattended to search the inventory. His first though was that Ryan might try to steal something, but he reasoned that the women would keep him in check.
The storage room was not be accessed from inside, so Josh would have to brave the weather. He grimaced as he watched thick fleets of snowflakes whip by the windows, then took his first step into the cold. Shielding his face, Josh forced himself against the wind, taking slow, careful steps––but to no avail. His right foot slipped on a pile of slush, and he fell face first to the ground.
Body pulsating with pain, Josh cursed. He rose to his feet, limbs shaking, and wiped snow from his face. The wind howled in his ears, and his bare hands were raw and cold; upon reaching his destination, he could only wonder why anyone was shopping in such bad weather. He fumbled with his keys for a moment before unlocking the door and stepping inside.
A plain, dusty staircase lead up to the storage room. Josh lugged himself up the stairs and began searching. The storeowner took little care of the inventory, so while there were specifically labeled shelves for each variety of ornament, many of the boxes were out of order or simply lay scattered across the floor. Josh spent several irritating minutes pawing through the boxes, finally finding what he was looking for.
He had already reached the bottom of the stairs when he realized the ornament he held was different than the one the woman had selected. She had chosen a moose on skis; the one he held was clearly a moose on snowshoes. By the time Josh had once again scaled the stairs, his fierce grip on the snowshoeing moose had left deep imprints in his skin.
Logic dictated that the skiing moose ornaments would be placed near the snowshoeing moose ornaments, but it was not so. Josh spent another two minutes scouring the inventory before finding the skiing moose. He triple checked it before returning downstairs. On the way back to the store, it seemed that the wind was once again blowing in his face; Josh wondered how that could be possible.
Only Ryan was waiting for him inside. The women had left.
“Where’d they go?” Josh asked, voice hollow.
Ryan shrugged, not caring. “Said you were taking too long.”
“Right then.”
Josh trudged back to his spot behind the counter and slumped into his chair, placing the third skiing moose next to the two others. He then reached for his history textbook, stopping once he realized that earlier he had not marked his place. He allowed himself a long, drawn out sigh, then shifted his attention to Ryan, who was absent-mindedly spinning a dreidel on the counter.
“Did your shift end already?” Josh asked; Ryan worked next door at a T-shirt shop.
“No.”
“Are you on break?”
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
Ryan shrugged, and the dreidel spun off the counter. He did not pick it up.
“Seriously,” Josh said, “won’t they fire you?”
“No. The manger’s not in today, and Bobby said he wouldn’t tell anyone if I left early.”
“When does your shift end?”
“Seven.”
Josh glanced at the clock. It was only five-thirty.
“Bobby must be a nice guy,” Josh observed.
“He’s all right. Kind of ugly.” He smiled. “But whatevs, right? You want to leave with me?”
“Can’t. Store closes at six.”
Ryan laughed. “Dumbass. Who’s gonna know?”
Josh stared at him. “Unlike you, I actually care about keeping my job.”
“This shit? That’s retarded. I bet you don’t get any chicks in here at all.”
“Any chicks?”
“What, are you gay or something? Girls, man.”
“I don’t go to work for the girls. I work so I can make money.”
“Dude, you can do both.”
Josh pursed his lips. “How often do you leave early?”
“Like, every day.”
“And no one’s caught you?”
“Damn straight. Just like school, man. No one gives a shit if you’re gone.”
Josh clicked his tongue and leaned back in his chair.
“Aren’t the Ravens playing tonight?” Ryan asked.
Josh’s parents had been born and raised in Maryland. His dad was an especially avid sports fan––a trait he had passed on to his son––and followed both baseball and football. Since the Orioles had been terrible for years, it was imperative for the Ravens to perform well. Tonight they had a must-win game against the Steelers, with a playoff birth on the line.
“Yeah,” Josh replied. “It’s the Sunday Night game. I’m going to follow the first part of it here on the computer.”
“Starting soon, isn’t it?”
“Probably.”
Josh slid off his chair and stepped up to the computer, where the program that ran the register was on screen. He clicked open the Internet and typed in the appropriate address. After a few more clicks he found the game. The Steelers had received the first kickoff, and their returner had made it nearly to midfield.
“That’s good field position,” Josh muttered to himself, frowning.
“What’s the score?” Ryan asked.
“There’s only been one play.”
“Oh.”
Josh watched in annoyance as the Steelers’s quarterback Ben Roethlisberger threw for a first down, then ran for another.
“So,” Ryan said, “you coming or what?”
Josh lightly bit his lip. “No.”
“All right, pusy. Later.”
Ryan left. Though glad to be rid of him, Josh’s mood did not improve; the Ravens’s normally rock-hard defense had already allowed the Steelers into the Red Zone. In another minute they had scored a touchdown. Then the Ravens fumbled the ball and the Steelers scored again. By six ‘o clock, the Steelers were up seventeen to nothing, and Josh felt sicker than usual. Just as he was about to close out the register, the phone rang. Using the Caller ID, Josh recognized Ryan’s cell number. He picked up the phone.
“What?”
“Dude, you’re so fucking retarded. On the way back to my car, I met up with a group of really hot chicks. And they’re from Sweden! They’re Swedish! They’re fucking Swedish! We’re heading up to a club right now. Fuck, man. Fuck!”
Josh hung up.
He then continued closing out the register. His cash total for the day was short by fifty dollars, and he spent almost ten minutes searching for the cause, finally locating a stray fifty-dollar bill that had been lost in the credit card receipts. Punching the keys with added force, he entered the remaining figures and printed out the totals. When they didn’t print, he tried again. After the third attempt, he realized the printer was out of paper.
The printer paper was buried somewhere deep in the space behind the counter. Josh stuck his arm in a groped for it. His fingers brushed several sheets, and as he was pulling them out, he sliced his hand on a box-cutter that had not been properly sheathed. The paper was now stained with blood. Discarding the bloodied sheets, Josh ran to the bathroom and patched up the wound. When he returned, he successfully found some new sheets and fed them into the printer.
As the totals––three copies of them––printed, Josh walked the store and turned off the lights that weren’t connected to the main power. En route to the final set, he failed to notice a glass ornament that had fell to the floor.
Crunch.
Josh looked down and removed his foot from the broken ornament, which had been crushed beyond recognition.
Josh wanted to cry. Instead he cleaned up the glass, extinguished the final set of lights, and limped back to the register. Before scanning the totals, he checked the game score. The Ravens were now losing twenty-four to zero. He clicked off the Internet and grabbed the printouts. He threw away two of the copies and was about to file the third when he spotted an error: the printout still read that the cash total was fifty dollars short.
He tossed the incorrect printout and was in the process of making the change when he heard a knock on the door. He looked up from the computer. An old man dressed in heavy boots and a leather jacket stood just outside the door, looking in. Josh shook his head sadly, and pointed at the Closed sign. The old man looked at him with pleading eyes.
Somehow, Josh found it in himself to abandon the register, walk up to the door, and unlock it. The old man beamed as Josh pulled open the door for him.
“Thank you so much,” he said, his voice as bright as his face. “We come here every year from Florida, and this is our favorite store!”
“I’ve already batched the credit card machine,” Josh said, “so if you want to buy anything, it’ll have to be in cash.”
“Ah, yes, that’s fine. But thank you again so much.”
Impossibly, Josh found himself smiling as he watched the man walk the store. He seemed so excited, so full of life for someone his age. He held a cane, but his strides were strong. An old wool hat, complete with earflaps, sat askew on his head. A toothy grin was plastered on his face, and looked as though it never left. Josh knew that if he himself could age as well, it would be a miracle.
The old man returned to the counter with a single ornament: a small glass angel. It was one of the many so-called “name programs,” so Josh did not need to personalize it himself; already, the name Mary was in place.
“Who’s Mary?” Josh asked as he rang up the item.
“That’s my granddaughter,” the man replied happily, handing Josh a five-dollar bill. “She’s here on vacation with me for the first time!”
“How long have you been in town?” Josh encased the angel in two thick layers of bubble wrap and gently placed the ornament in a small plastic bag.
“Just flew in yesterday. I’m trying to show Mary the town, but I’m afraid it’s been a little difficult with these old legs of mine!”
“That’s surprising. You seem really mobile to me.”
The old man laughed, long and hard. “The world needs more boys like you,” he said with a wink. “Know right how to treat an old man.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Sir! Called me sir!” As the old man chuckled again, a flash of movement outside caught his eye. “Oh! There’s Mary now.” He waved. “I’m in here, dear!”
The girl outside stopped, then backpedaled and entered the shop. To Josh’s utter amazement, she was gorgeous––tan, tall and slim. Her wavy brown hair was speckled with snowflakes, and her dark eyes shone with the same light as her grandfather. She was no older than Josh.
“Mary,” the grandfather began, “this young man opened the shop for me even though it had long since closed. What do you make of that?”
“That’s really nice,” Mary said, smiling at Josh. “Thanks.”
“Not a problem,” Josh said. His face burned; Ryan could have his Swedish girls. Yet this one would slip away if he didn’t do something. He couldn’t let that happen.
“Well, I think we should be off,” the grandfather said, as if consciously forcing Josh’s hand. “Thanks again!”
“Wait,” Josh said. “I’ve lived here all my life. You said you were having trouble showing Mary around, right? I could take your place for a while if you just give me a minute to close up.”
The grandfather’s eyes sparkled. “Very sensible.” He turned to his granddaughter. “What do you think?”
Mary nodded. “That’s great. You shouldn’t be walking around in the snow, anyway, granddad. It’s dangerous for you.”
“All right,” Josh said. “Just give me a sec.”
Before finishing the printout, Josh checked the score of the game one last time: the Steelers had scored again, extending their lead to thirty-one zero.
Josh did not care.
Gender:
Points: 1040
Reviews: 16