Grace Kuikman  Help Wanted 

 

“Here’s one for you. ‘No experience necessary.’”

Anita pushed her iPad across the table where her sister Olivia was aimlessly stirring her lukewarm coffee and fretting over her finances.

“Let me see that! Santa’s Helper? I don’t know . . .”

“What’s not to know? You need a job. You’re friendly. You have no experience. And you need to pay me your rent this month so I can buy Christmas presents for your niece and nephew. Call. Now.”

Olivia punched the numbers into her phone. The call connected right away and a chipper voice came on the line. “Hello. Santa’s Workshop. This is Orna Ment speaking. How can I help you?”

“Hello. Yes. I’m calling about the job . . .”

“Certainly. I see by your area code that you’re in the city. North pole or South pole?”

“Excuse me? Pole?”

“Sorry – little Chicago workshop humor. North side or South side?”

“Oh. Ha-ha. South pole,” Olivia said.

“Excellent! Santa has an interview appointment open at seven tomorrow morning at the Shop Haven Mall. Can you make it?”

“Wow, that’s awfully early for a job interview.”

“Well, Olivia, Santa is very busy at this time of year,” Orna Ment admonished.

“Oh, I understand that. I didn’t mean to sound --. Wait a minute – did you just call me Olivia?”

“Of course I did. That’s your name.”

“Yes, but how do you know that?”

“Honey, this is Santa’s Workshop. We know who everyone is. And we know what they want. Right now, you want a job, so we’ll see you tomorrow morning. Wear red clothes and black boots, if you have them.”

The line went dead. Olivia frowned.

“What gives?” Anita asked.

“I have an interview at seven tomorrow morning.”

“Seven, huh? You’d better start getting ready now, sister. You’re the slowest morning person I know.”

After tucking her kids into bed hearing for zillionth time what they wanted from Santa, Anita joined Olivia in front of the closet.

“I don’t have much that’s red,” Olivia whined, taking out one item at a time. “Cocktail dress? No. Footy pajamas? No. Mini skirt and matching skin-tight glitter sweater? Uh, no.” Olivia threw her hands up in despair. “I have nothing to wear to this job interview!”

“There must be something in there,” Anita said, nudging her sister out of the way as visions of the presents her children were counting on being under the Christmas tree danced in her head. She thrust her arms deep into the bowels of the closet and pulled out a hangar. “Here. This is red.”

The jolly red, oversized sweater sported a matted white fake fur collar and cuffs, and a swathe of black felt and a tarnished brass buckle haphazardly stitched on to look like a belt. “Perfect!” Anita rejoiced.  

“Oh my god,” Olivia said. “That’s what I wore to the ugly sweater party last year. It’s so hideous I won first prize!”

“Don’t be silly,’ Anita chirped. “It’ll look cute on you. And with that name tag, you’ll be all set to step right into the job!” Anita tapped the chintzy green plastic rectangle that read “Santa’s Helper.”

Olivia groaned. “I’m going to bed.”

At 5:34 a.m. the relentlessly cheerful percussion of a marimba began emanating from Olivia’s cell phone. She pushed back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the couch, barking her shin on the coffee table.

“Awake 10 seconds; can this morning get any worse?” she thought. Then she remembered the sweater. The pillow and blanket were still warm; no one would blame her for “oversleeping.”  But then she thought about her niece and nephew, and how disappointed they would be if she didn’t come through with the rent money and save Christmas.

Olivia limped into the bathroom to get ready for the big interview. It was still dark when she pulled the back door closed behind her and started walking toward the bus stop. She was surprised at the number of people already on their way to jobs and school. She hoped, one, that she would get the job, and two, that the start time would be something civilized – like ten.

It wasn’t until Olivia jumped off the bus and into the freezing cold at the Shop Haven Mall that she realized she’d forgotten to ask which store Santa would be interviewing at. She scanned the sorry sight: eight of the dozen storefronts displayed “for rent” signs. The dingy windows at the discount grocery, off-brand shoe retailer and dollar store had been decorated with hastily painted holly and misshapen elves. A crowd of bargain hunters was already lined up in front of Mega-Mart, pressing toward the door to get into position for the 7 a.m. start of the big Christmas sale.

Olivia checked her phone – 6:59. Santa was nowhere in sight. “Ho-ho-hoax?” she thought. Had she not been so eager for a job, the shady ad would never have fooled her. She looked toward the street and saw the bus speed by. It would be at least 25 minutes before the next one came along, so Olivia decided to sit – or stand – tight. Maybe Santa was just running late – as Orna Ment had pointed out, it was his busy season.  When she noticed that the doors had opened and the shoppers were pushing their way inside the Mega-Mart, Olivia walked over. “At least I can stand inside and stay warm.”

Unfortunately, Olivia underestimated the scene at Mega-Mart. It was not a peaceful oasis for a job hunter on the lookout for a potential employer to show up. It was a madhouse. Everywhere she looked, people were shoving people out of the way, fighting over merchandise, scrambling over one another to get into enormous bins where the deep, deep discounted items were already seriously picked over and running low. As she turned to walk back into the parking lot, Olivia got a glimpse of an especially irate shopper attacking the Hello, Welcome to Mega-Mart Man with a wobbly shopping cart.

“Hey! Stop that!” Without giving it a second thought, Olivia sprang toward the out-of-control shopper and wrestled the shopping cart from her grip. “What do you think you’re doing?

“This is the last cart. The LAST CART and it’s got a BROKEN WHEEL. How can I shop with a cart like this? I have to buy all the toys for my kids. ALL OF THEM! I can’t do that without a CART! DO YOU HEAR ME?”

“Yes, ma’m, I for sure can hear you. All of Illinois can hear you. What can I do for you that will make you calm down and stop yelling?”

“YOU CAN GET ME A SHOPPING CART THAT WORKS!”

Olivia looked at the Hello Man cowering at the far end of the cart corral, rubbing his shins. “I got nothin’,” he said.

“Okay, m’am. You wait here and DO NOT hurt that little old man again. I’ll find you a cart.” Olivia darted into the children’s clothing section – a place that was so crowded, people were always abandoning their carts.  Olivia spotted an empty wedged between the overloaded racks of PJs and undies. She wheeled it quickly to front of the store where, without so much as a thank you, the hostile shopper yanked it out of her hands and made a beeline for the toy aisle.

Olivia turned her attention to the Hello Man, who was still badly shaken. “They told me when I took this job that there was nothing to it,” he said. “I’m too old to put up with this kind of crap.” He yanked off his Mega-Mart vest and smiley face name tag and dropped them in the card with the broken wheel. “I’m heading over to Jim’s Tap. I need me a bracer.”

“A little early for that, isn’t it? Oh no! What time is it?” Olivia pulled her phone out of her pocket – 7:22. She flew out the door and searched the parking lot just in time to spot a green and red semi with the words “Santa Express” stenciled on the side pull out of the parking lot and smoothly merge into traffic. The city bus passed by five seconds later.

It was 8:45 when Olivia walked into the kitchen where Anita was drinking the last of the coffee before heading to work. “You’re back awfully quick,” she said. “How did it go?”

“It didn’t. I got caught up in a fight in the Mega-Mart and missed Santa completely – I saw him pulling away, taking our merry Christmas with him.  Did you know that he drives an eighteen-wheeler instead of eight tiny reindeer?”

“That sucks. Well, here’s my iPad. Keep looking at the job ads. I gotta run.”

Olivia took off her coat, then glanced down at her ugly sweater. “Santa’s Helper. Right.”  Before she could pull off the itchy garment, her phone began to jingle.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Olivia! This is Orna Ment. Great news! You got the job! Santa said you were wonderful! Noticed a problem, took control, found a solution. He said you’re just the person he’s been looking for. You can start today!”

“Uh, okay. Where do I go?”

“We’ll pick you up when we drop off your Christmas bonus.”

“Christmas bonus?”

“Yes. I have down here on Santa’s list that your niece and nephew have put in some very special requests this year. Their packages are on the truck. It should be pulling up right about . . .  now.”

Olivia looked out the window and spotted Santa negotiating the green and red semi around a tight turn and onto her street. The air brakes screeched as he stopped in front of the house. With an energy and jollity that she should have expected, Santa jumped out of the semi, fetched two large packages from the back and met Olivia at the door.

“Put those under the tree and let’s get rolling,” he said. “There’s a lot to get done before Christmas!”

Olivia shot a quick text to Anita -- “Got the job! -- then grabbed her coat.

Santa smiled as he and his new helper climbed up into the idling truck. “By the way, Olivia,” he chuckled. “Love that sweater!” DSS

 

 Grace Kuikman, of Chicago, IL., is editor and communications person for a not-for-profit organization and also edits The Villager, a monthly publication,  She has also edited literary magazines and is founder and facilitator of the Longwood Writers Guild.

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