Top Ten Clues You’re Clueless (2 page)

Just then, I hear the first
chi-ching chi-ching chi-ching
of the Salvation Army bell ringer from the front of the building. My ears recoil
at the sound. I’ve been hearing it for nearly two months now, and it’s become like
a headache in audible format. What kind of overenthusiastic volunteer is here ringing
the bell before the store is open?

I glance across the parking lot at Tyson, who makes an exaggerated point at the front
of the building and mimes ringing a bell before shaking his head. I laugh, sending
a plume of frozen breath up in the heavy air. He’s close. Close enough that it’s not
weird if I wait for him anymore. Especially since we’re practically having a conversation,
right?

He slows as he reaches me, his sneakers slapping the ground with a strange, clangy
echo in the cold.

“Hey, Chloe! Merry Christmas!” He’s breathing hard.

“Merry Christmas
Eve
.” Why did I do that? I think my mother’s obsession with the holiday has finally affected
me.

Tyson just laughs, though. “Come on. We don’t want to be late. Agnes might tell on
us.”

I pretend to shake in fear. “You’re right, we better hurry.”

Tyson yanks on the employee entrance door and stands to the side. “After you.”

So, so courteous. I should add that to the list.

Chapter 2

MEMO—MEMO—MEMO—MEMO—MEMO—MEMO—MEMO

TO: ALL EMPLOYEES SCHEDULED TO WORK DECEMBER 24

As you know, Christmas Eve is one of the biggest shopping days of the year. We anticipate
this year will be particularly busy due to in-store promotions.

Employees are expected to adhere to and exceed the usual code of conduct.

1. Be at work on time. Tardiness will not be tolerated!

2. Arrive well groomed with clean clothing. REMINDER: Your red GOODFOODS holiday T-shirts
are required during the month of December.

3. Greet all customers with a smile. Wish them a HAPPY HOLIDAYS when your transactions
are complete.

4. There is no such thing as “downtime.” If you are not busy at your assigned task,
FIND SOMETHING TO DO! There are always carts to be collected, shelves to be fronted,
and general cleaning to be done. If you need help finding a task, ASK!

5. District Manager Gene Solomon will be at the store to collect the money from our
Holiday Donation Box. Please assist him in any way he requires.

6. Local media will be here for the presentation of the check to Full Hearts Full
Plates. Greet them enthusiastically and smile for the camera. This is a big day for
the store!

7. There will be Christmas cookies and eggnog available in the employee Break Room.
Please limit yourself to one cookie and one small cup of eggnog.

Happy Holidays!

Your Management Team

Just inside the door, I pause as the temperature change makes condensation collect
on my glasses. Tyson leans toward me and says, “Man, I hate it when they fog,” with
a grin. I have to look over the tops of my own steamed-up lenses to see that his have
gone opaque, too.

“Right?” I agree. I don’t usually mind wearing glasses—not to mention my innate fear
of touching my eyes that prevents me from making the switch to contacts—but coming
in from the cold and having a moment of temporary blindness always makes me wonder
if it’s really worth resigning myself to a lifetime of this.

Tyson does a silly pantomime of grappling through the dark, which I can barely see
through my own fog, but I laugh anyway. After a moment the haze clears and I can take
in the view.

The Break Room is crowded with more GoodFoods employees than I’ve ever seen in the
store before. A lot of people are clutching cups of coffee like life preservers. A
few spare a moment to nod, or mumble hellos as Tyson and I move through the room toward
the bank of small lockers.

A couple of times, he puts one hand on my back to steer me through the crowd. Even
through my thick winter coat, I swear I can feel heat from his hand. Or maybe that
heat is coming from inside me. Either way, I like the feeling of it, even when it
starts to spread toward my cheeks in a secret-telling blush.

Our lockers aren’t right next to each other, but they’re close enough that it’s hard
for us both to use them at the same time. Of course, Tyson gestures for me to go first,
but I shake my head.

“No, you first. Please.” I flatten one hand in an “after you” gesture.

He looks ready to double up on chivalry, but I smile and nod encouragingly and he
gives in. This is exactly what I was hoping for, because when he turns his back, I
yank my can of Glucerna out of my coat pocket and toss it in the big gray garbage
can nearby.

THINGS I WOULD RATHER DRINK THAN GLUCERNA

1. Coffee with no cream or Splenda.

2. Well water.

3. Pickle juice.

4. Clamato juice.

5. The water left over after boiling noodles.

When Tyson is done, he steps aside and makes a slight bow toward me. I cram my coat
into the little cube, wondering for the millionth time why they couldn’t give us larger
lockers. These aren’t even as big as the kind you can rent for a quarter at the mall.
I manage to get the door shut with my coat and my brown-bag lunch inside, and secure
it with my combination lock.

“Ready to see what the day has in store for us?” Tyson asks, nodding toward the assignment
board mounted on the far wall.

“You betcha.” I cringe inwardly as I start moving toward the other side of the room.
Couldn’t go with a simple yes, huh?
I ask myself.

The giant whiteboard with all the job assignments takes up most of the wall, but it’s
so covered with info, you have to be close to see it well. I squeeze between two of
the lunch tables to get a good view, and scan for my name. There it is, next to register
number six. Tyson’s listed under the baggers for the day. The baggers rotate among
the registers and some of the other front work, like cart collecting and carrying
out packages. There’s no reason to think he’ll be my bagger, but I cross my fingers
down at my side anyway.

Then I check who’s assigned to the registers on lanes five and seven.

Agnes is on seven. Ugh.

Agnes, as far as anyone can tell, has been working at GoodFoods since before the building
was constructed. One of the other guys who works here, Gabe, says they must have built
it around her. She seems to be about ninety years old, but somehow she has enough
energy to do more than anyone else and make the rest of us feel guilty about not performing
at the same level. It’s like the worst superpower ever.

Case in point, she is currently wiping down every surface in here with antibacterial
wipes. More than likely, she worked until closing last night and disinfected the whole
room before she left, too. You could probably do surgery in here.

So who’s on lane five? Zaina. My thumbnail finds its way between my teeth before I
can stifle the habit. Zaina’s about my age, I think, though she hasn’t talked to me
enough to confirm it. It’s not just me; she doesn’t talk to anyone very much.

THE TINY BIT OF INFORMATION I’VE BEEN ABLE TO GATHER ABOUT ZAINA

1. She’s in high school.

2. She wasn’t born in the US, but I don’t know where she’s from and I haven’t figured
out how to ask, even though I’m dying to know.

3. She is the most beautiful human being I’ve ever seen in real life. This is not
an exaggeration. She’s so beautiful that I’ve seen people forget what they’re supposed
to do when they get up to her register.

4. She’s very quiet.

5. Kris, my favorite of the shift managers, calls her Z, so it’s possible this is
her nickname.

At least she’s better than Agnes.

It’s funny how circumstances can dictate your level of excitement about the people
around you. Like, at school, the only people you want to see are your closest friends.
If you have a class with no friends in it, you might as well be sentenced to prison.
But if you were at some kind of outside event, and there was even one person from
your school there and everyone else was an adult, you’d be instant BFFs. For a little
while.

Anyway, my point is that Zaina and I aren’t exactly tight, but compared to Agnes,
she might as well be my long-lost sister.

“Looks like all the Younglings are on today,” Tyson says near my ear, sending goose
bumps racing along my spine. I didn’t realize he was still so close.

“Yeah?” Younglings is what Kris calls all the high-school kids who work at the store.
There aren’t many of us—six, to be exact—and it’s rare for us to all be on at the
same time. I take another look at the assignment board:

Tyson Scott—bagger, front jobs

Zaina Malak—cashier, lane 5

Micah Yoder—swing stocker

Gabe Rossi—swing cashier

Sammi Baker—swing bagger

And of course there’s me on lane six.

In the upper left corner, I also note that Kris is our shift manager for the day.
Thank God. If what everyone has been saying is true, today is going to be crazy. Kris
is the only sane and laid-back person from management.

As if my thoughts made him appear, Kris’s voice booms across the Break Room.

“Younglings!” He looks entirely too alert for this awful hour of the morning. I have
an instinct to shield my eyes from his cheerful glow.

“Morning, Kris,” Tyson says.

“Happy holidays,” I add.

“Right. Ho ho ho and all that.” Kris gives us a big, cheesy smile. “So, my young ones,
what is happening?” He turns his head as he talks to include Micah, Sammi, and Gabe,
who arrived in his wake.

“It’s too damn early for your cheerfulness, Kris.” Sammi levels him with a glare over
the lid of her coffee cup.

“Your predictable snarkiness is adorable, Sammi.” Kris makes as if to pinch her cheek,
and Sammi pulls away with a nasty look.

Kris laughs. “I know it’s early, but come on, it’s Christmas Eve! You can’t be crabby
on Christmas Eve.”

“Sammi can be crabby anywhere, anytime,” Gabe says. “It’s her gift.”

She gives Gabe a look, but it’s more “ha-ha, you think you’re so funny” than “die,
mortal scum.” Gabe’s usually the only one who earns the former.

“Should I go out and clear the walks?” Micah fiddles with the zipper on his jacket.

Gabe groans. “Seriously? You’re asking for extra work?”

“It
is
a job,” Sammi reminds him.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you have to volunteer for shoveling.”

“I don’t mind!” Micah smiles.

And I totally believe him, because he’s Micah. Straw-blond hair, blue eyes, always
smiling. He looks like one of those statues of children with big heads hugging puppies
or kneeling for prayers. He should have an actual halo floating over his head.

“I love this kid.” Kris thumps Micah on the shoulder, then claps his hands twice,
hard. The sound clangs in my ears. “All right, people.” His voice is loud enough to
silence the mutterings of the rest of the people in the room. “We have a hell of a
busy day ahead of us. Let’s just try to get through this as quickly and easily as
we can, mmmkay?”

I hear a small huff near the punch-in clock and catch a brief look of annoyance from
Agnes. Her disapproval for Kris beams from her pores.

“You gonna give us our tills, or what?” Gabe asks Kris, nodding toward the Count Out
room, where all the money trays are locked up overnight.

“Ha. You wish. Go grab a shovel and get to work on the walks with Micah. You too,
Tyson.”

Sammi cackles as she hoists her coffee cup to her lips once more. “Burn.”

“Aw, man.” Gabe scowls. “I hate shoveling.”

“I don’t mind,” Micah pipes up again.

“Of course you don’t.” Gabe sighs.

“Micah, if I asked you to go up on the roof to check for ice damming, would you do
it?” Kris asks.

Micah’s eyes go wide. “Do you want me to?”

“No, I was just wondering.”

“Well, sure, if you needed me to.”

Sammi shakes her head. “Unbelievable. I’m leaving before I get involuntarily turned
into an Eagle Scout.”

Kris nods to me. “Come on, Red. Let’s get you and Z your drawers.”

Zaina is still exactly where I last saw her, waiting. I look at the lockers where
Tyson is shrugging back into his coat to go out on shoveling duty. He doesn’t notice
me looking, though, so there are no sudden declarations of love on his part.

I know. Weird, right?

Just then the overhead speakers click loudly and the ubiquitous Christmas music starts.
The first selection of the day? “Here Comes Santa Claus.”

Guess it’s officially time for work.

Chapter 3

MY FIVE LEAST-FAVORITE CHRISTMAS CAROLS THAT I USED TO THINK WERE OKAY BEFORE WORKING
IN A STORE THAT PLAYED THEM NONSTOP FOR TWO STRAIGHT MONTHS

1. “Feliz Navidad”

2. “The Christmas Shoes”

3. “My Grown-Up Christmas List”

4. “Old Saint Nick”

5. “Last Christmas”

The trouble with “Feliz Navidad” is that everyone hates it, but you can’t stop yourself
from singing it. Every single time it comes through the sound system, I cringe, and
then half a verse later, I’m humming along.

So that’s what I’m doing while I key in the code for my customer’s giant bag of limes.
It’s hard to imagine what a small blond woman could do with that many limes. I’ve
worked at GoodFoods for almost nine months, and I still haven’t lost my fascination
with the things people buy. I make lists of the weirdest combos I encounter every
time I work.

This woman is definitely going on the list. She looks about thirty years old, no wedding
ring on her finger, no kids in her cart. It’s Christmas Eve, and she’s bothered to
come to the store for a bag of limes—nearly twenty, I’d guess—a box of Bisquick, a
small jar of cinnamon, and hand soap.

“. . .
prospero año y felicidad
. . . ,” I sing softly as I steeple my fingers over the receipt printer. I hand it
off to the blonde and wish her a happy holiday. She doesn’t respond, which only adds
to her mysteriousness. Most people can’t override that reflex to reply.

I check my watch, automatically doing the calculation in my head for how long it’s
been since I’ve eaten, when I’ll need to eat again, and what level my insulin pump
is running at. I’m in the safe zone, by my quick math, which is good, because I keep
my insulin pump clipped to my bra while I’m at work, so it’s not exactly accessible
if I need to make any adjustments. My first couple shifts, I kept it on my waistband,
like usual, but I bumped into the register a few times and accidentally gave myself
an extra dose of insulin. It’s easier to keep it hidden and out of reach. Plus, this
way no one asks me about it.

I’m not ashamed of being diabetic or anything; it’s just nice to have some people
in my life who don’t stare at me while I eat. Or don’t eat. Or if I get a little sweaty
when it’s hot out. Or if I look a little pale under fluorescent lighting.

Not that my mother has tried my patience on this or anything.

“Hello! Did you find everything you were looking for today?” I ask my next customer,
a man who is clearly on a mission to the store from his wife. As a rule, men don’t
buy heavy whipping cream and whole cloves.

“Put it in paper” is all he says.

So much for the holiday spirit. I turn to call down to the end of the register. “He’d
like paper, please.”

Tyson—he did get assigned to my lane!—nods and reaches for the stack of paper bags.

The guy doesn’t speak another word to me or Tyson, even though Tyson is superfriendly.
Some people are such jerks.

My next customer has a big order, so I know I’ll have a few minutes of mindless scanning.

“What are you doing for Christmas?” I ask Tyson.

“Family stuff.” He shrugs. “My grandma and aunties have been cooking for days already.”

“Yeah?” I can’t help smiling. There’s something adorable about the way he calls them
his aunties. He was born in the South, and sometimes there’s a sweet twang to his
words. “My mom’s been in Christmas overdrive this year, too. It’s my brother’s first
year at college, and she wants it to be all special and stuff, especially since he
couldn’t come home for Thanksgiving because he went to see his girlfriend’s family.
Still, I’m not sure it’s actually a legitimate reason to go Christmas crazy, since
it’s not like he’s been gone all that long, and it’s not like he said he wasn’t going
to come home or something—” I’m babbling. I can hear it myself. Never a good sign.

I swear, I must be missing some crucial part in my brain that tells my mouth to stop
moving.

Tyson is nodding, though, and he looks like I might even be saying something interesting.
Is that possible?

“Excuse me,” a voice says rather sharply, and I startle out of my motormouth trance.
It’s my customer, and from the look on her face, it’s not the first time she tried
to get my attention.

“Yes?” My whole head goes hot with embarrassment.

TOP TEN THINGS THAT SUCK ABOUT BEING A REDHEAD

10. I blush the color of a tomato in an instant.

9. I have never gotten a suntan a day in my life.

8. I have had plenty of sunburns. Wicked nasty, peeling, blistering sunburns.

7. There is no shade of makeup that matches “pasty bluish white and covered in freckles.”

6. Same goes for pantyhose, bandages, fake-tanning spray, and all other so-called
flesh-toned items.

5. Everyone asks if this is my natural color.

4. Perverts ask if the carpet matches the drapes.

3. The carpet matches the drapes.

2. People call me Red or Little Orphan Annie, like they’re the first people who ever
thought of that.

1. People assume I’m Irish, and therefore that I love Saint Patrick’s Day.

“I said there’s a broken egg in this carton and I need a different one.”

“Oh. Right.” I nod, wishing I could spontaneously unblush. “Um . . .”

“I’ll get it,” Tyson says cheerfully. He squeezes past her cart and holds out his
hand for me to give him the faulty carton.

“Thank you.” Normally, I’d have to overhead page for a stocker and we’d all stand
here staring at one another while we waited for someone to bring a fresh carton. But
I never have to do that when Tyson is my bagger. He always runs for me.

He truly is the nicest boy in the universe.

I must be actually smiling—not just in my head—because my customer gives me a wary
look. Like maybe she thinks I’m nuts. I resist the urge to sing along with “Jingle
Bells.”

Tyson comes back just about the time I start to feel nervous laughter bubble up in
my chest. I’ve already finished swiping everything else from the customer’s cart,
and bagged what was still in reach.

“Here you go, ma’am.” He presents her with a fresh carton of eggs, already opened
for her inspection. He can totally get away with calling women “ma’am.” Even young
ones. I think it’s because of that slight Southern accent.

The customer’s expression softens. “Thank you,” she says. I snap the lid to scan the
code and finally finish this transaction.

“Guess who’s here,” Tyson says after the customer has pushed her loaded cart away.

“Who?”

“Coupon Lady.”

Coupon Lady is one of those extreme couponers who carries a binder full of clippings,
only buys things on sale, and usually ends up walking away from the store with hundreds
of dollars’ worth of groceries for, like, $3.79. It’s impressive, but getting her
at your register is about the worst thing that can happen to a cashier. It can literally
mean hours with her staring at your screen to make sure every cent is accounted for.
I got her during my second week on the job and almost broke down in tears before it
was over.

“On Christmas Eve?” Not even crazy Coupon Lady could be this crazy, could she?

“Crap, how far is she through the store?” Sammi, who is bagging for Zaina, demands.
I didn’t realize she was paying attention to us.

“She was in Dairy,” Tyson says.

“Who?” Zaina speaks up for the first time in ages.

“Coupon Lady,” I answer, scanning my next customer’s cereal without looking. Only
the double beep from the register alerts me that something is wrong. I refocus and
have to take an extra item off the total. My customer sighs.

“Why is she here today?” Zaina whispers.

“She’ll go for the shortest line. Try to look busier,” Sammi instructs Zaina.

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“I don’t know. Just do it!”

Tyson laughs. “What do you want her to do, run in place?”

“Anything to make our line longer.” Sammi puts a few items into the reusable bag open
in front of her. “Free cookies to the next twenty customers in lane five!” she suddenly
shouts.

A few people look over with interest.

“Free cookies?” someone asks.

“Sure! Why not?”

“You don’t even have any cookies,” Tyson says.

“I will find some cookies if it means I can avoid bagging groceries for Coupon Lady.
I’ll take ’em from the Break Room.”

“You’re going to steal our Christmas cookies?” he asks.

“Whatever it takes, man.”

“Who’s stealing Christmas cookies?” Kris cuts into our conversation, arriving suddenly
from behind Tyson.

“Sammi’s trying to avoid Coupon Lady,” Tyson says.

“Oh.” Kris leans back as understanding dawns. He focuses on Sammi. “By stealing cookies?”
Before she can answer, he shakes his head. “Never mind. Nobody’s taking the cookies.
I need somebody to go for carts.”

Sammi’s hand shoots in the air. “I volunteer as tribute!”

I laugh. Loud. Loud enough to startle a few customers and make me slap my hand over
my mouth.

Kris cocks an eyebrow at me, but responds to Sammi. “You know it started snowing out
there?”

“Don’t care.”

“More like sleeting.”

“Don’t care.” Sammi unties her apron and thrusts it at Kris. “I’ll be back.”

My hands, which are still blindly passing groceries over the scanner, bump into the
plastic divider at the end of the order. I look up into the annoyed face of a customer.

“Hi there! Did you find everything you were looking for today?”

“Yeah.” She sticks out her hand, a credit card tweezed between two fingers.

Red-faced, I hit the total button, already trying to jam the card through the reader.

“Chloe.” Kris calls from the end of the lane. “Break time.”

“Now?” This is earlier than I expected, but at least I won’t get Coupon Lady.

“Yeah. Now.” He keys the mic on his walkie-talkie. “Gabe, I need you on lane six.
ASAP.” There’s a crackly response from Gabe, and Kris points at me. “When he gets
here, take your ten minutes, okay?” He’s gone before I can even respond.

“I’ve never seen Kris this stressed out,” I say.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him work this hard,” Tyson says with a grin.

While I wait for Gabe, I start on the next customer. It’s one of our regulars, though
when I greet her she doesn’t seem to recognize me. Very self-esteem building, this
job.

Gabe squeezes past the cart at Zaina’s register and invades my tiny square of personal
space. “Greetings,” he announces. “Now get out.”

“Real nice, Gabe.” I frown at him, flicking my eyes toward my customer. This regular
is not exactly renowned for her forgiving nature.

Gabe turns on the charm like a switch. “Mrs. Hudson, I didn’t see you there!” he says.
“Happy holidays!”

Mrs. Hudson smiles for the first time since I laid eyes on her. “Gabe!” she says.
“I didn’t know you were on today.”

Gabe sighs and shakes his head. “Sadly, I’m just the backup this morning, but as luck
would have it, I’m here to relieve Chloe right this very instant.”

“That is lucky,” she says. Mrs. Hudson has to be in her mid-to-late forties. I’ve
never seen her in anything but high-end workout clothes, and her purchases are as
predictable as her yoga pants: fresh fruit, Vitamin Water, this organic brand of cereal
that looks from the picture like it might actually be made from wood chips and seeds,
and fat-free yogurt.

Even on Christmas Eve. Ho ho ho!

Overhead, the PA fades out “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” and transitions into “Holly
Jolly Christmas.” I cringe. This one might have to go on my least-favorites list.

“Go ’head, Chloe,” Gabe says, nudging me with his shoulder.

“Let me just—” I start to protest. We’re supposed to always finish with the current
customer and log out of the register when we go on break.

“I’ll log you out. Just go.”

I give him a look.

“Seriously, I got this. Take your break. I’ve got a bunch of other people to relieve
after you. Go.”

Holding my hands up in resignation, I squeeze past the cart to my right, trying my
hardest not to dislodge the little boy standing on the end with his arms hanging over
the basket. The cart bumps into the sidewall, though, and he sticks his tongue out
at me. It’s hard not to do the same back at him, but instead, I smile. Little does
he know it’s my “go jump in a lake” smile.

Still I don’t leave. I’m watching Gabe to make sure he logs me out when he finishes
with Mrs. Hudson.

Kris walks by with his walkie-talkie in hand. “Chloe, you
can
leave the floor when you’re on break. That’s kind of the point.” He winks at me.
“Tyson, I need you to go out and do carts.”

“But Sammi just went.”

“Apparently, it’s bad out there. Can you please go help her?”

“What about—?” Tyson points at the long line of people still waiting for Gabe to check
them out.

“Gabe’s going to have to check and bag,” Kris says, already moving on to his next
thing. I feel bad for him. This is definitely not his kind of day.

Tyson waits until Kris is out of earshot, then looks at me. “You and I both know that
Gabe cannot check and bag.”

This is true.

THINGS GABE ROSSI IS GOOD AT

1. Being charming.

2. Flirting with the middle-aged yoga moms.

3. Playing basketball—according to him.

4. Getting the credit-card scanner to work even when no one else can seem to make
it read.

THINGS GABE ROSSI IS NOT GOOD AT

1. Getting to work on time.

2. Bagging groceries.

3. Working the register and bagging groceries at the same time.