Normally it opted to embody the
body of a sweet, innocent child. It preferred one that was no older than seven,
but no younger than five. This was admittedly a very narrow window, made even
more difficult by the growing lack of well-behaved children thanks entirely to
the precipitous decline in society.
Nevertheless, it always managed to
find a child. It liked the ones that were stricken by hard times and/or poverty.
Fortunately, this criterion was increasingly easy to fulfill. Better yet, they
had even more pathetic looks, looks that were especially pathetic during this
time of the year once the realization hit that there’d be nothing for them and
that special dinner mom and dad promised them would be turkey TV-dinners bought
at the amazing price of ten for ten dollars before the twenty-five cents off
four coupon.
Yes, it, the Spirit of Christmas,
normally loved to embody a sweet, pathetic looking child, but not this year. This
year it embodied a cashier.
* * *
The holiday season started, well,
in mid-October. The stupid billboards announcing their good deeds were still
decorated with pumpkins, spiders and ghosts when the first inkling of the
holidays began to rise. It started simply, with condensing of the already well
picked over Halloween decorations and candy for autumn-ish baking goods. No one
could argue against a good pumpkin pie this time of year and surely, some
people made their own chocolate candy for Halloween so the melting chocolate
chunks were just good advertising.
However, the arrival of far too
jolly renditions of “Jingle Bells” and “Here Comes Santa Claus” the nanosecond
the clock chimed midnight on November 1st was simply too much.
By the time she heard the sixth
different rendition of “I’ll be home for Christmas” played for the twentieth
time in a mere three days, she wanted to whack the fancy bottle of brandy she’d
just run over the scanner. The sound of the shattering glass and feel as it hit
would be both satisfying and invigorating. And maybe it would allow her to continue
in peace for the remainder of the day, or even just the hour. Even for the next
minute would be beneficial.
She held off though, summoning the
strength to do so from some deep reservoir that she was unaware that she
possessed. As the days passed, her anger and annoyance grew. Soon the reservoir
was empty, sucked dry. Next came counting to ten, then twenty, then in a
foreign tongue, then another. When the hordes of savings-crazed shoppers were
finally let loose from their cheap fabric barricades, she was up to counting to
fifty in each.
* * *
“That’s not the price listed here
in the ad,” a middle-aged woman stated adamantly as she thrust said ad in the
face of Christmas.
“But, if you’ll read right here it
says only the games pictured in the ad are on sale.” Christmas had already
explained the ad to her twice, each time with the utmost patience. That,
however, was beginning to wear as the lady refused to read the clearly stated
red explanation.
“But it says this brand is on sale.
It has this brand listed.”
“I’m sorry ma’am,” Christmas began,
barely checking her annoyance, “the ad says right below that it is only on
these specific games, not on the brand.”
“Well, I don’t want any of them
then,” the lady huffed. “Just take them all off.”
“Okay, just give me a moment to
clear them out.” Christmas worked quickly so as to not anger the lady any
further. She didn’t want this witch going to talk to the manager. “Okay,
they’ve all been taken off.”
“No they’re not. I still see them
there.”
“No, I voided them. See the line
through them and the zeros next to them?” She pointed to the large screen.
“That’s not how it’s done. Now,
I’ve cashiered just like you, I know how they’re supposed to look when they’re
taken off. They’re still on there.”
“No, they’re not. Our system
crosses the item out. See your total here; it reflects the lower price as I’ve
taken them off.”
“I’m telling you. I’ve worked
retail. They should be red and subtracted from the total.”
“That’s not how our system works. Here,
it crosses them out. I assure you, I have voided them from your bill.”
“If I find out they’re still there,
you can guarantee I’ll be speaking with your manager about this and I’ll be
sure you’re brought up on whatever disciplinary charges they have. I won’t be
cheated out of my hard-earned money.”
“I can assure you, ma’am that the
items have been voided off as you requested.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Everyone’s out to
cheat you today,” the lady muttered as she slide her well-worn credit card to
make the payment.
Christmas smiled at the lady’s
cynicism as the transaction concluded.
“Have a good day,” Christmas said,
handing the woman the receipt. The woman left without another word, her
cynicism following her like an ever-faithful mangy stray.
Christmas allowed herself a breath
before dealing with the next customer, an old lady with more wrinkles than a well-used
sheet of paper. This day was never going to end.
* * *
Five and a half eight-hour shifts
later found Christmas barely holding back curses at the holiday aggravation. Her
lunch was well overdue and her line backed up clear into women’s apparel. In
fact, she was unable to see where the end was. They were shorthanded today and none
of the floor employees were cashier trained.
“I’ve been waiting in line for a
half-hour,” her current customer, a middle-aged women, complained. That was the
response Christmas got when she asked how the woman was doing.
“I’m sorry, but we’re a bit
short-handed today.”
“It’s the holidays, how can you be
short handed?”
“Sometimes it happens.”
“But this is unreasonable. Thirty
minutes is far too long to wait. I do have other places to be.”
“I’m sorry for the wait. We’re
working the best we can to get every customer through the checkout as quickly
as possible,” Christmas explained. She knew the woman hadn’t been waiting
thirty minutes. Perhaps ten, fifteen tops. It was not ideal, of course, but
considering the situation, not terrible.
The woman huffed, clearly upset.
“I can call the manager for you, if
you’d like,” Christmas offered.
“Yes, I’d like that.” The anger was
evident in the woman’s voice. Christmas would be glad to get this one out of
her hands.
“Just give me a minute to call him
up. He’s likely in the back supervising stocking.”
“Well, it better not take much
longer. Remember I have other places I have to go to.”
Of course, Christmas thought and naturally,
I don’t have somewhere else I’d rather be. She’d much rather be in her
apartment, lying on the couch watching a re-run of something so long as it was
not holiday related. By now, just the sight of red and green paired together in
a joyful display of the season was enough to make her want to strangle
something. This desire, however, she held in check because she didn’t really
want to strangle something, it was just the natural progression of her anger
and annoyance. She wasn’t homicidal in any respect.
Two shifts later, a snotty-nosed
kid came through her lane, his parents in tow. Shyly he placed his purchase, a five-dollar
construction kit on the belt. He never said a word, not even as she greeted him
and told him his total. His mother coaxed him into putting his money up on the
belt, a couple of wrinkled dollar bills and a bag of change. She held back her
inward sigh. Obviously the kid had been saving up for this and really only a
kid could get away with this without earning comment that barely concealed the
annoyance.
A kid could only be so old to get
away with such payment. Proof followed him in the case of two college-aged
girls proved when they came in to buy a few groceries and paid with a
combination of dollar bills, quarters, nickels and the few spare pennies they
found at the bottom of one of their gigantic purses. Christmas checked her
anger though, knowing that she didn’t want another mark on her record. Even
more so, her shift was nearly over for the day meaning she could go home, grab
a bag of chips, sit on the couch and stare blankly at the TV until she decided
it might be best to get some sleep so she could get up for work tomorrow.
That moment when the kid paid was
enough to hold her for the next week, until the nineteenth of December. It was
just after coming back from lunch that her anger surged once again, coaxed from
the deep cavern in which it had hibernated for the previous week. The cause was
a family with too many young kids that had little sense for the others in the
store and with parents that cared more for whether they would be able to buy
the Twinkies and Ding Dongs than with what their children were doing.
A strong, nearly over-powering
desire to kick the little brat of a girl when she walked past the metal gate
placed as a subtle notice to keep customers out of the cashier area overwhelmed
Christmas. But she couldn’t, even as the parents debated over the processed,
fat-laden pastries without noticing this little girl or the slightly older boy
screaming and running around in the busy walkway.
“Excuse me, ma’am.” Christmas tried
to get their attention to no avail.
Apparently, Mister
Don’t-Care-a-Lick-about-my-Kids felt he’d worked hard enough this week to get
the Ding-Dongs because he loved how they looked like hockey pucks, not to
mention the chocolate-y goodness when you bit into one, while the mom-who-didn’t-know-she-actually-had-to-teach-children-to-have-them-behave
argued for the surprise gooeyness of the Twinkies.
Her leg was just about to
mysteriously take on a life of its own when the mother miraculously noticed her
wayward children. Hastily she called them back, but was forced to resort to
physically grabbing them when they, not surprising, turned a deaf ear to her
pleas.
The woman gave a multitude of
meaningless apologies to which Christmas politely nodded because she couldn’t
trust her mouth to remain under her control. In the meantime, the father bought
his coveted Ding-Dongs, handing the receipt proudly to his wife, who huffed as
she turned to leave dragging the two brats beside her. The husband followed
with the processed food full cart and a far too happy smile that even Christmas
wished she could smack off.
The rest of the shift was no better.
It was filled with irate customers demanding price checks, alcohol- buying
college students protesting the strict card-checking policy and a plethora of
stubborn customers who refuted the clearly advertised prices in the ad.
She left the store at the end of
her shift grateful the retail gods had graced her with two whole days away from
this hellhole. Her plans included nothing more than sitting on the well-worn
couch in her pajamas eating potatoes chips interspersed with the occasional
batch of French fries watching whatever appealed even in the slightest. Not
once during those days would she leave the sanctity of her apartment, nor would
she utter a single phoneme to anyone.
The blissful coma she’d slipped into
during those two days shattered into dust when she returned to work on the 22nd
during the final holiday blitz for those idiots who either hadn’t done their
shopping earlier or wanted to see who would max out their every credit card by
the 25th first. Not only was it a disgusting sight, it was worse
than a mad house, a pre-school, and a pigpen combined. Nothing compared to the
chaos she witnessed upon her first step into the store. Why had she agreed to work
an extra long shift today? Was it really worth the pithy extra she’d see in her
paycheck?
Upon being told to clock in early,
she decided it most definitely was not. Everyone was in a rush, determined that
if they didn’t get out of the store in the next ten minutes their extravagant
holiday plans would be permanently ruined.
Then there was the crazy coupon
lady who picked tonight of all nights to come out to do her shopping. Her
excuse was that the deals were best in the few days right before the holidays
and the coupons would expire soon and, gasp, that could never happen. Her cart
full of at least ten of each item turned into thirty-one transactions, each one
monitored closely by the crazy coupon lady. The register or perhaps Christmas
herself committed the greatest sin five times, a coupon never doubled. Christmas
didn’t see the big deal, it was only another twenty-five cents and as she’d explained,
the coupon would only double twice.
“Okay, then take off it off and
we’ll do it in another transaction,” Crazy said frantically.
We? Christmas thought. There’s no
we in this. The crazy woman was clearly on another planet right now. Thus,
thirty-one transactions became thirty-two, then thirty-three. The final total
was forty-two in a grand total of an hour and a half because she checked everything
three times. If this woman wasn’t OCD, then Christmas didn’t know what was. She
was glad to see the crazy coupon lady leave as were the customers that stood
behind her. Most had left twenty minutes into the epic order, but in the last
twenty minutes, she’d gained a number of new customers, all eager to complete
their shopping ventures.
Christmas apologized profusely to
each customer, but none responded kindly. Instead, they had a look of annoyance
and impatience. One even had the audacity to complain as if it were all her
fault.
“This is just ridiculous. I’ve been
waiting in line for twenty minutes just to check out.”
“I’m sorry,” Christmas said. “We’re
very busy today and I had an order that took quite a while to complete.”
“Yeah,” the customer huffed. “She
probably bought half the store.”
“It seemed like it, but I’m sure we
have plenty in stock. The store is prepared for the busy holiday season.”
“Sure. I came out to buy the last
things I needed for my family get together and you’re out of half the things I
need. How can a store not have flour! I need flour. I have to bake cookies or
our get together will be ruined. Absolutely ruined!”
“I’m sorry there was no flour on
the shelves. I can call to see if they have any in the back.”
“Don’t worry,” the customer snapped.
“It’ll take you lazy asses far too long to find it. I’ll just go to Wal-Mart
for my shopping needs now.”
“I’m sure it won’t take long.”
“You know what call, your manager
up here. I want to talk to him.”
“Sure. Just give me a minute to
call him up here.”
Once her manager arrived, the
customer was thankfully out of her hair, though she was sure it would be
tangled with the requisite discipline from the “discussion” the customer was
currently have with her boss.
The twenty-third of December picked
up where the twenty-second had left off and it was getting worse with each
passing second. She’d already dealt with numerous holiday-crazed customers and
she hadn’t even made it to her first break. If one more of these people came through
she wasn’t sure if she was going to be able to contain her rage. It was the
holidays for pete’s sake.
The final straw came on Christmas
Eve when the store was closing, a novelty for customers and employees alike. Her
last customer of the evening was a small group of young couples. They were
purchasing their holiday feast complete with a thirty-pack case of beer.
“I need to see your IDs please,”
she told them after scanning the beer. The woman gladly handed over his license.
“I need to see theirs too,” Christmas informed them.
“Why? I’m the one purchasing the
beer.”
“In groups we have to card
everyone.”
“Some of them are under twenty-one,
they’re not purchasing the beer,” she said adamantly.
“I can’t sell it then.”
“What!” she exclaimed. “I buy beer
here all the time with any of them and this has never happened. None of them
has ever been carded.”
“I’m sorry, but it’s store policy.”
“What if,” one of the young men
leaned forward, “those of us who are underage, just go out to the car, then
those remaining can buy the beer.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t. I can’t
ethically do that.”
“Damn your ethics. Are you going to
sell me that beer or not? ‘Cause I come in here with them all the time and I
buy beer without a problem.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t. It’s store
policy.”
“Stop it with that fucking line,
you crazy bitch.
“I’m just explaining the reason.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me on,” she
said, slamming her hand down on the check-writing stand. The whole stand and
her screen shook from the force of his movement. She grabbed the case, her arm
moving back as though she were winding up for a throw.
“I’m sorry, but it’s store policy. I’m
required to card everyone in a group. I can call my manager if you’d like.”
“Yeah, I’d like that because this
is fucking unbelievable. Fucking unbelievable.”
After making the call, she
continued scanning the order of party goods, minus the alcohol.
“He’ll be up shortly. He’s working
on closing the store.” The woman didn’t respond, at least not to her. Instead, she
spoke to the man next to her. Christmas focused on the order, but could hear her
numerous curses and angry remarks towards her and the store. When her manager
arrived, he confirmed what she’d explained to the woman. And the woman stuck by her
word that she’d done this before and never had a problem.
Fortunately, her boss stuck around
until the order was complete, but mostly to try to calm the customer. It wasn’t
working in the slightest. Christmas was sure the woman snarled at her when she
handed her the receipt and wished her a good day.
In a final act of anger, she
grabbed the case of beer, which had been set aside and flung it at her. Lucky
for Christmas, it only nicked her back before hitting the register. The unlucky
part was the dramatic explosion of beer that nearly drenched her and the few
cans of beer that hit her in the process of exploding.
While the woman was properly dealt
with, statements taken and the mess cleaned up, it was still the final straw
for the Spirit of Christmas. Her drive home was the longest and worst of her
life. She was both angry and sad, angry at the madness the holiday wrought on
people and sad at the people’s fanaticism about the holiday. She was obsolete,
cast aside like an unwanted plastic bottle. Her use was gone; they no longer
recognized the existence of the Spirit of Christmas.
The past two and a half months
conversing and dealing with people had taught her that. Their attitudes had
slowly sucked the life from her until she finally realized what had to be done.
If she was not wanted, then there was no longer a point to her continued
existence.
At the stroke of midnight on
December the twenty-fifth, the last breathe of life seeped from Christmas. Some
would call it selfish, but Christmas called it justice. After she was gone, the
cashier’s body grew cold with death on the floor of the living room beside the
Christmas tree, no longer lit with bright happy lights. The Spirit of Christmas
forever vanished, replaced now by nothingness.
