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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/788661-The-Spirit-of-the-HighFlyer
Rated: ASR · Short Story · Holiday · #788661
Christmas story written for a contest.
“I’ll put your complimentary candy cane in the bag, and happy holidays.” With a flick of her wrist, the receipt was in the flimsy bag along with the miniature candy cane World of Toys was giving out. Taking a deep breath, Natalie shoved her wavy hair out of her face and greeted the next customer.

“I need the new HighFlyer airplane kit.” The woman was slender and attractive aside from the hassled look in her eye. Probably has three obnoxious kids at home, Natalie thought to herself. The customer got bonus points for not bringing the demons with her.

“Actually, ma’am, we have an information desk right by the entrance,” Natalie began the well-rehearsed speech in an exceptionally perky voice. Not that it helped, of course – the last customer she’d given this speech to had interrupted and snapped, “Well, you don’t seem to be doing anything else, do you?” But at the very least, she’d tried. If Mark, her manager, overheard, even he would have to admit she had tried.

“Huh. Right.” The woman craned her neck, spotting the desk across the store. “Okay, but I just waited fifteen minutes in line here.”

Think perky, Natalie instructed herself, and felt her lips stretch into a toothy smile. “I really can’t leave the counter. The line is very long . . .”

That’s why Mark had brought in the information desk. Nobody had the time to get out from behind the register to hunt down a particular toy, especially since the store was usually a disaster during the day. Besides, walking into the mess was depressing. All Natalie could think about was the fact that she’d spend the last hour of her day picking up after the brats.

There were just two weeks before Christmas. The store stretched from wall to wall, a maze of florescent color, tiny toys just waiting to be strewn on the floor, and noisemakers. God, the noisemakers – they were sent from Hell simply to create Christmas havoc for Natalie, she was sure of it. She normally liked the store, the familiarity of it. But during the holidays, the once-friendly customers turned evil and unreasonable (“What do you mean you don’t have that one? You have to have that one! Nobody else does!”), the managers became stressed and pushy, and the store became a complete nightmare. Instead of a child’s paradise, Natalie felt like she was being punished for never making her bed as a kid.

She focused on the woman, who now looked
more annoyed than hassled. “I’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes for some assistance, and now I get up here, and you’re not going to help me?”

Natalie groaned inwardly. “Ma’am, I just need you to step to the information desk. There’s no line there at the moment.”

The woman didn’t even glance. “That’s not the point. It’s the principle. What sort of customer service is that anyway? I waited patiently, didn’t I? I didn’t push or shove, so you can start serving me any time now.”

Natalie was willing to bet that at any other time in the year, the woman would have laughed at her inability to read a freaking sign and walked away without a thought, but because it was Christmas, this woman was going to flip out. She may as well call Mark now.

“Ma’am, honestly, there is no line now –“

“That is not the point!” The woman dropped the numerous bags she’d been clutching. “I waited my turn like a reasonable adult, and I refuse to accept this disrespect. I tried to find it myself, so you probably have extras in the back room hidden for your favored customers. I just need one damned HighFlyer airplane kit, and if you could just grab one, stuff it in a bag, and hand it to me, I will be on my merry little way.”

“Fine.” Natalie released a breath very slowly. “Let me just check inventory.” She clicked the name of the toy into a computer. One. Okay, that wasn’t good, but she could definitely look.

To the next customer anyway, where a small boy with feathery blond hair clutched the all-too-familiar packaging in his arms.

Ohh, crap.

Feeling rather frantic now, Natalie keyed in different versions of the HighFlyer’s name, but to no avail. Defeated, she turned back to the ever-merry woman with a dimple-framed smile. “I am sorry, ma’am, but we’re actually all out of the HighFlyers right now.”

“It’s two weeks before Christmas, and you don’t have any?” The woman’s voice was shrill. “I have a seven-year-old son who’s going to wake up Christmas morning and be pissed if he doesn’t have one, and you’re telling me you don’t have one single airplane set? What, is this place run by idiots? Why didn’t you people stock up?”

“Well, we can’t always predict what will and won’t be popular,” Natalie replied. “Um, we do have a model train set that is made by the same company. Would you like me to show you that?”

“Does it have an airplane in it?” The words were like ice.

“Ma’am, I’m terribly sorry, but we just –“

“Like this one?” The little boy, maybe five years old, held up the HighFlyer box, his round face the picture of innocence and holiday spirit.

The woman’s eyes narrowed.

“Sweetie, that’s your Christmas present. This lady wants her own.” With an apologetic smile, the boy’s mother rubbed a hand over his forehead. “Sorry, he’s a bit nosy.”

“You have one, you see? Where are the
others? Maybe I’m not on your favorite customer list, but –“

“There is no list –“

“Is your boy going to be sad if he doesn’t get an airplane?” The blond boy tilted his head up at them thoughtfully. “What’s his name?”

“Jeffrey, and yes, he’s going to be sad.” The woman glared at Natalie. “That was the only thing he really wanted this year.”

“I’m sorry –“ Natalie started, but her words disappeared as the little boy spoke again.

“He can have mine.”

“Sweetie, you don’t have to –“

“It’s Christmas.” He turned his gaze to the frazzled woman. “I want Jeffrey to have mine.” He held the box up. “Tell him merry Christmas, won’t you?”

She looked startled. “I – I will.”

Natalie was startled as well. Who knew the Christmas spirit lived?
© Copyright 2003 SweetPea (jennasmooth at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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