23 December 2009

A Holiday Story - of sorts

There once lived a girl named, Killian, who loved to go to office supply stores. Some unenlightened peeps called this an obsession; but for her, it was merely a safe place in which to dream and wander without fear of ridicule or running into anyone she didn’t care for. You see, only good people go to office supply stores. No Jerk faces Allowed – is an unposted sign at every store with “office” or an office supply in its title.

One cold and blustery evening, she was perusing the aisles of the local nationally recognized brand of office supply stores, when she heard a commotion. A commotion? she thought, in an office supply store? What is the world coming to? Still, her curiosity got the best of her and she tip-toed to the end of her aisle and stared around the corner at the cause of the aforementioned commotion.

There was a very angry customer. His ethnicity is not relevant, except for the fact that his family ‘back home’ is probably going to have my job and yours this time next year. The customer was raising his voice – which made him even more difficult to understand. I am sure his name was “Bob” and that he and I have exchanged words before on the telephone. Anyway, I digress. “Bob” was pissed and the middle-aged female associate was yelling above him. Another manager was present, though remarkably silent. I think we were both hoping for a brawl.

No such luck – the fat lady stormed off, mumbling loudly to herself. Then Super Manager took over and calmed “Bob” down. Believing the show to be over, Killian returned to her original quest – finding the perfect pen. She narrowed her search down to three choices – the new uniball Fusion with the clear ink that turns to colored when it leaves the pen; the Parker Urban, which was elegant and modern, AND on clearance; and finally, the green cased professional desktop pen that looked to be durable as hell, and was also on clearance.

She took her three packages to the cash register, only to encounter still-angry sales lady, talking on her little associate headset, complaining about Bob while simultaneously seeking reassurance that she won’t get in trouble for her actions. She turned to our young heroine and asked for her “marketing card” which she didn’t have. As an alternative she asked for her phone number to type into the cash register. Before Killian could say 817, the associate typed 402, causing her issue when the entire number was recited.

Then, laughing, Ms. Associate commented that lots of out of town people were in the store that night and wanted to know where Killian was from. Hating when “the help” gets overly familiar, she curtly explained that she had moved to this fine city from the Lone Star state and had elected not to change her phone number. Not taking the hint, the associate adds, yeah it’s hard to remember a new phone number - so much easier to keep the old one. -- Whatever –

Walking out into the icy cold rain, Killian spoke aloud to no one in particular – fecking eejit – if it weren’t Christmas I’d have your ass fired for your stupidity and unprofessionalism.

Still she couldn’t remain irritated, because she had new pens to try out and letters to write.

The End

Eidetic Vision

Main Entry: ei·det·ic Pronunciation: I-'det-ik Function: adjective : marked by or involving extraordinarily accurate and vivid recall especially of visual images - an eidetic memory Merriam-Webster's Dictionary, © 2002 Merriam-Webster, Inc.