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 in side 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
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 in side 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
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