Lizz Lund - Mina Kitchen 02 - Christmas Bizarre

by Lizz Lund

  “I want my picture with Santy!”

  I looked around for the kid’s mother. She was yakking on her smartphone nearby. I rolled my eyes back toward the kiosk and attempted to referee Sheree and Barry.

  “Wazzup?” I took off my jacket and tucked it under the employee table, behind the computer picture taking setup.

  Barry harrumphed and shoved his hands on his hips. “She’s deleted all the photos off the hard drive!”

  “I did not!” Sheree whined.

  I held up a hand. The boy next to Santa cried some more. “Look, go give the kid a cookie while we fix this.” I shoved a Santa’s Snack at Sheree.

  “Are you kidding? We can’t give him this – they cost seven-fifty!”

  “Just give it to him! I’ll pay for it!” Santa hollered back.

  Sheree shrugged, took the cookie and left.

  “So what happened?”

  Barry sighed and threw his hands up in the air melodramatically. “I don’t know. I think she did a re-boot in the middle of starting up. I can’t find any of the photos from last night! All those families are allowed to email us for the next year for more prints! I’m afraid to take the kid’s picture in case it permanently erases the previous ones!”

  “Wow. That’s a problem.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Did you call Nelson?”

  Barry shook his head. “No. I guess I have to. I hate calling Nelson.”

  I nodded in agreement. Nelson is a real SHIT. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not cussing or making judgments. It’s just that Nelson is Santa’s Helpful Information Technology - SHIT. It even says so on his badge. The fact that he acts like his acronym makes the computer phobic among us a bit tense when we need his help. Which is ramping up to a daily basis, since our motley crew is a tad techno challenged. My team usually reserves calling Nelson toward the end of our shift, so the next crew can deal with him.

  “Who called last time?”

  “I did.”

  “Okay, I’ll call Nelson. Why don’t you give the kid’s mom some coupons and send her shopping?”

  “What will we do about the line?”

  I looked around. A line had already formed. A dozen parents and their charming offspring wriggled in agitation, waiting to get their magical moment with Santa over and done with.

  “Give me some coupons. I’ll handle this.”

  I took the coupons and shoved them in my vest pockets. Then I called Nelson on one of the mall’s walkie-talkies.

  “What is it?” he barked.

  “We can’t take any pictures and there’s already a line.”

  He grunted. “She rebooted the system again, right?”

  “Dunno,” I lied. “When can you be here?”

  “Right behind you.”

  I whirled around to see Nelson slinging his walkie-talkie onto the seat next to him as he whirred past me on a golf cart. Which he really didn’t need. He could have used the exercise. Nelson is quite talented, computer-wise. Unfortunately, all those years sitting in front of a computer hasn’t really helped his physique. He rolled off the cart and huffed toward me, and immediately began tapping away on the keyboard to save the day.

  “How long do you think it will take?” I gazed nervously at the growing line.

  “How do I know?” he snapped.

  I held my breath, counted to ten, and began again. “How long do you think I should advise these families that they’re going to wait?”

  “Forever.”

  I bit my lip, turned around and headed toward the frustrated mob. While the crowd was comprised of exhausted parents scouring the Earth for bargains, even they had to be less hostile than Nelson.

  “Hi! Look folks, Santa’s run into a teensy-weensy technical glitch, so we’ll be a little while longer before we start taking pictures.”

  A collective groan and various uncomplimentary comments hurtled forth.

  “In the meantime,” I yelled above the din, “here are some advance store discount coupons, so you can take a jump on your holiday shopping, and not have to wait in line!”

  “I stood on line for two hours last night and you closed up on us! I had to take a vacation day just to get my kid onto Santa’s lap this morning!”

  “Hey, me too!”

  “Yeah, I thought I recognized you.”

  I sighed. I was wondering how I could get assigned to another shift sans Sheree. “I’m very, very sorry. We’re doing the best we can.” It was lame, but truthful.

  An older lady with her Shirley Temple cloned granddaughter trotted up to me, as I moved down the line doling out coupons. “Excuse me, but you wouldn’t happen to have any coupons for Carols Cards ‘n Wraps?”

  I rummaged around and shuffled my discount deck. “Umm… yes, actually I do.” I held out the coupon. She snatched it from my fingers and hustled away as her grandkid stomped her patent-leather feet. “No, no, no! Grammy’s coming back here with you later, after we find some tape!” she shouted, hustling the tapping child away.

  “Tape?” someone in the line called out. Immediately, several families followed behind, noses toward the ground in search of the scarce commodity.

  I put the Cookie Break sign up, to keep the line from expanding farther while Nelson fixed his sights on keeping us from computer doomsday.

  A kid at the back scowled at me. “I wanna see Santa NOW!”

  “Very soon. Santa’s special computer helper is working on it now.” Even I couldn’t bring myself to call Nelson a SHIT out loud.

  The kid snorted. “That loser couldn’t install a Wii.”

  I thought about it. “Luckily, it’s just a camera setup on a desktop.”

  “Loser.”

  I stared at the kid, and then looked at his father. The dad was engrossed with texting someone. Hadn’t heard a word. I reciprocated by sticking my tongue out at the brat, and stalked away.

  While I usually try to fit in with the Lancaster folk and they’re being so nice and all, there are some things that just irk the Jersey out of me.

  Nelson was right. After what felt like forever, we were back in business. After Sheree’s technical gaff, we figured it was best if Barry did the picture taking, while she worked the line. I got the happy chore of settling the tots on and off Santa’s lap. Another serving of bruised knees, please.

  Eventually the rotten kid’s turn came. He hopped up onto Santa’s lap and immediately pulled his beard.

  “Ow!”

  “Hey, it’s real!”

  “Of course it’s real, you little punk! I’m Santa, dammit!”

  After the kid recited an expansive list of high-end computer games and gadgets, he hopped off, stuck his tongue out at me, and kicked me in the shin for emphasis.

  “Another name for the lump of coal list!” I shouted after him nastily, rubbing my leg. It was all I could do since his father had detached from the Borg and stood patting his offspring’s head.

  After most of Central Pennsylvania’s children kicked, puked and peed on me, my shift was done. And so was I. The next shift arrived; we traded places and I limped toward Chi-Chi’s department store.

  Shopping while wearing Sparkle was a no brainer, even if I did smell like slightly used diapers. The store clerks were instructed to add a thirty percent discount toward Sparkle purchases, even on top of sales and coupons. I clutched the precious fifty percent employee coupon I’d received with my last paycheck, and wandered in, holding my breath and hoping my purchases would amount to free – or maybe even cash back?

  After a quick sprint of selective looting and pillaging from Kids Wear to Housewares, I stood in line with my arms aching and full. Package handles and hangers sliced into my fingers like cheese. I was happy.

  I made it to the register and dumped my stash on the counter. “Do you have any coupons?” the clerk asked.

  “Yes!” I produced my crumpled half-off coupon from behind the mountain of merchandise. She took it, then looked at me sympathetically. “Oh, I didn’t see your Santa Sp
arkle from behind your pile,” she said. “You’re wearing a Chi-Chi button somewhere, right?”

  I panicked and fumbled around my vest front at the fifty or so store buttons pinned to it. It stuck me in the finger and I began to bleed. “Here!” I shoved the button at her with my un-pricked hand, while sucking my thumb.

  “Thank you, and here – you wouldn’t want to bleed on your purchases,” she said nicely, handing me a paper towel.

  Well, I guess she has to be nice. She’s probably a Lancaster native. It still makes me uneasy, especially around the holidays. I mean, who’s nice to you at Christmas? Especially when you’re bleeding.

  She rang everything up. The total came to a little over four hundred dollars. I felt my credit card wilt inside my wallet.

  “Now, let’s add your mall employee coupon, along with your Sparkle discount!” she added brightly.

  My heart began to beat again and I exhaled.

  “That will be $138.80.”

  “That’s great!”

  “But wait, there was a fifty percent coupon in the paper.”

  I sighed. “Sorry, I don’t get the paper. I don’t have that coupon.”

  “No worries, we have one here.” She held up a pristinely cut-out coupon, complete with bar code. “Lots of people forget them. The store wants you to come back, see? Now, it probably won’t take because of your other discounts. But let’s try.”

  She scanned the coupon and we heard a beep. She smiled at me. “Your total is $69.40.”

  Yippee!

  She handed me several miles of receipts along with my bags.

  “Oh! Wait! Do you have any boxes?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Not here, but if you go upstairs to customer service they do. And, if you’re willing to wait in line, just show them your receipt and they’ll wrap everything for free.”’

  Free? Wow. You can’t beat that. I wondered if they’d wrap frozen soup. Maybe if I gave them some? With the money I’d saved, I could splurge and make beef bourguignon for all of Chi-Chi’s staff – it’s to die for.

  I took my stuff and made my way toward the escalator. From there, I schlepped toward the back of the store, and joined the end of a line I sensed was waiting for their free gift wrapping, too. I took my place behind a determined Grandma and her BFF.

  “You bet! Why should we buy wrap when they’ll wrap for free?”

  “You don’t have to tell me twice. Besides, how’s anyone supposed to wrap with no tape? I can’t find tape anywhere.”

  I winced, remembering my mission for Aunt Muriel. And Trixie. And Bruce. And probably K. Yeeshkabiddle.

  We shuffled our way toward the counter. I was just about four persons in, when a clerk came to the front and shut down the works.

  “Hey, what gives?” the grandma in front of me shouted.

  “We’ve been waiting in line for an hour!” her buddy added.

  A short, pudgy sales manager sporting a mayonnaise-spotted tie spun around. He cringed and bore it. “Ladies and gentlemen, our apologies. But our gift wrapping services are closed for the day.”

  “You’re supposed to stay open as long as Chi-Chi’s stays open!”

  He nodded sadly. “Yes, I know. But we’ve run out of tape.”

  A resounding groan ensued.

  “Now, if you don’t mind coming back with your merchandise tomorrow, and of course your receipts; we’re expecting a shipment from our Connecticut store in the morning.”

  “Got any boxes?” a man in back of me shouted.

  “Boxes, we can do!” He leapt behind the counter to dole some out.

  About an hour later, I was waddling back through the mall, grasping my bags and clasping folded gift boxes under my armpits. They were free, right? I figured the best thing to do was load up the van, then return to my tape mission. Which was a shame, since I was literally walking past Carol’s Cards ‘n Wraps. But I figured carrying all my purchases into the tiny store would cause a lot of breakage I couldn’t afford.

  As soon as I reached the entrance of the store, I realized the detour might be well-timed. A line extended all the way to the mall entrance.

  “What’s the line for?” I asked out of curiosity.

  “Tape,” a man replied glumly.

  I looked at him. He shrugged. “My wife said I had to get tape. Everyone’s out. I just happened to see an office supply truck pull into the mall, so I’m hoping. I guess a lot of other people had the same idea.”

  “Wow. I better get in line right after I put my gifts in my van.”

  “Lady, if I were you, I wouldn’t wait. I’ve been to every grocery store, drug store, box store and gift store in the county. If I can’t get tape here, I’m telling my wife to fold everything up in grocery bags and tell the kids Santa’s gone green.”

  I hurried out to the Doo-doo, threw my stash inside and hurried back. The line now extended out into the parking lot, stretching toward Hellum and back.

  After I’d grown visibly older, I’d made my way up to where I could at least glimpse the counter. I saw the sales clerk ring up another sale, and handed a bag with several containers of tape to a relieved patron.

  He turned to leave when the man behind him grabbed the bag.

  “You can’t do that! That’s stealing!”

  “Here! Here’s your money!”

  “Gentlemen, please, if you can’t resolve this peaceably I’ll be forced to call Security. Next,” the clerk went on about his business.

  The two men came wrestling out of the store, grabbing at each other and clutching the bag of tape. This escalated into shoving, some punches and the arrival of Security. The rest of us stood in line watching calmly. ‘Tis the season, right?

  “What was that all about?” I wondered aloud.

  A disheartened customer walking past me answered. “They ran out of tape. That guy bought the last few rolls.”

  The rest of us threw our collective arms up in the air and disbanded.

  I wandered along the mall, mulling about tape alternatives. I ruled out glue. I headed toward Dollar Daze, considering staples and safety-pins. That was when I ran into James and his Stressed Shoppers station.

  James is my godmother’s massage therapist. Formerly a Wall Street type, he traded in his ticker tape for New Age tapes at the suggestion of his former lingerie model girlfriend. That was when she was his girlfriend and just before she moved in with her girlfriend. It proved to be a little startling, especially to James. But it worked out in the end and everyone, especially James’ clientele, are a lot less stressed.

  “How’s business?” I asked.

  “Excellent! There is never a shortage of aching backs, feet or shoulders around the holidays!”

  James also hires me occasionally, to cater for some of his clients. It’s been exorcising my catering disorder, and gives me cash on the side. It’s a pretty good setup actually, even if it isn’t steady. He offers his clientele menu options via me for anniversaries, parties and the like.

  And I mostly like. That is, I mostly like James. But I keep getting tingly feet around Chef Jacques – Jack – at Squirrel Run Acres. It’s complicated. Especially since these are working relationships. I’m betting that once I have an actual date with an actual guy, I’ll get over it. Them. Whatever.

  I nodded and left. The line to Stressed Shopper’s was almost as long as the one I’d been standing on for tape. Clearly, James’ bottom line would have a happy holiday.

  I stepped into Dollar Daze and headed over to the aisle with the gift wrapping stuff. Boxes, bows, paper, and tissue paper abounded. Everything except tape. I looked down and saw a clerk on her knees, unpacking a carton of puppy wee-wee pads.

  “Excuse me, but do you have any tape?”

  She sat up and shook her head emphatically. “Boy, if I had a nickel for every time someone’s asked me that today…”

  “Gotcha. Ideas?”

  “We got a whole bunch of duct tape, and some masking tape,” she said, pointing toward the rear of
the store. It wouldn’t be elegant. But it was better than glue.

  About twenty bucks later, I walked back with a couple dozen rolls of duct tape. I was lucky though, because Dollar Daze branched out past the usual silver variety and carried red and green colored ones. That was Christmassy, right?

  I weaved back across town toward home. Bing Crosby sang out “There’s No Place Like Home for the Holidays” just as we scaled Mt. Driveway, which was now covered by a fine film of ice. We slid back a bit as I pressed the garage opener. I backed up, got some momentum, then skittered inside.

  After bringing in all the bags and boxes, and pulling Vinnie’s head out from all the bags and boxes, I plugged in our fake Christmas tree. I’d bought the pre-lit tree last year when I was gainfully employed. This year, only half the lights worked. But they were all on one side of the tree. So I faced the dark half into the corner. Unfortunately, Vinnie loves to play spin the tree. In effect, it’s the world’s largest cat toy.

  I called Auntie, hoping she hadn’t had another nervous breakdown about the tape.

  “Hi. I got your tape. Sort of. ”

  “Oh, thank you anyway! Luckily, I remembered Vito’s on the bazaar committee, and he was able to bring over several roles! Phew!”

  “Oh. That’s great.” I wondered what K., Trixie and Bruce would make of colored duct tape, but I figured they’d get creative.

  “Is Ma there yet?”

  “She had a last minute meeting. She rescheduled for tomorrow.”

  This was typical. While I exhibit various forms of techno-phobia, Ma is the VP for SUZ – a top notch IT company back in Jersey. Ma’s test-driven or owns more gadgets than Brookstone. It figured she’d be wrapping up loose ends just before she took time off to be with Ethel and her soon-to-be grandkids.

  I poured a mug o’Merlot and sat down on the sofa and turned on the news. A plump gal with short, platinum-blonde spiked hair, tipped jet black, grinned wildly at the camera. She looked like a deranged hedgehog. “Now, of course, as everyone’s finding out, Central Pennsylvania’s experiencing a tape shortage,” she began. “Here’s some helpful tips to help you with some gift wrapping alternatives.” I raised my eyebrows and glanced warily at the rolls of duct tape. Should I hide them? More practically, should I sell them?