All my customers had the same old chat. It was uncanny. All these people, these hundreds of people who didn’t even know each other, and they all said the same little things to me every day. The most common by far was the one about bills. I’d give somebody their letters, and they’d tell me
Baron Von Luneberg, flight commander, iron cross recipient and celebrated war hero of the auspicious Luftwaffe finished loading the reconnaissance plane with looted nazi gold bullion. The war still raged towards Berlin, allied occupying forces were now pushing with impunity toward the command centres of the failed Third Reich. Luneberg, a descendent of Germanic aristocracy
On the 29th Day of Christmas Stephen Ground gave to me… The night they brought Billy home, Matt couldn’t sleep. Not unusual – Christmas at work was stressful, and he drank too much coffee – but when Martha woke to feed Billy at two, four, and six, Matt was watching Home Alone on repeat in
On the 28th Day of Christmas Sherri Turner gave to me… It all seemed so familiar: the bushy tree, the presents wrapped in red and gold, the twinkling fairy lights. Holly laughed. Of course it did. Kevin always picked the fattest tree, he knew she loved red and gold and they’d had those lights for
On the 26th Day of Christmas Jayne Martin gave to me… Christmas Eve and the Target parking lot is packed. I screech to a halt in a handicapped space because screw it, a mental breakdown should count. His kids were supposed to be with his ex for Christmas until “Mom” high-tailed it to Panama at
Yes, Virginia, there was a Santa Claus. But he died for our sins. “Thank you Amazon Japan,” said Edward to his iPad. He’d purchased a foot stool—bland, functional, cheap—without visiting a store. Thank you was just words. Edward felt no gratitude. Stores were the biggest rip-off, especially department stores. But Edward tolerated their prepared-food kiosks,
On the 25th Day of Christmas Roger McKnight gave to me… “I’m only 22, but longing for home,” Vet Tech Cranny Barlow said uncertainly to a middle-aged customer across the counter. Both glanced out at a beginning snowstorm sweeping Minnesota’s stubble cornfields. “Me and Carlo here. We’re both good to go.” Denise Mannery had emerged
On the 24th Day of Christmas Erik Bergstrom gave to me… They were walking down their quiet city street, their arms interlaced, two days before Christmas. It had yet to snow. They were both seventy-two years old this year; Hazel a retired teacher, Ernie a part-time woodworker. They’d come through another year and were happy
When I was seven my father threw out my mother’s vintage dining table. It was a beautiful, untrustworthy beast that sucked all the air out of the room and swallowed up any tendril of light. Both marveling and fearing it, I’d run my hands down the curvature of its chestnut-colored legs; weeks later my hands
On the 22nd Day of Christmas Annie Bien gave to me… From Merriam Webster: I. Immaculate: adjective a) having no stain or blemish : pure, b) having or containing no flaw or error c) a: spotlessly clean b: having no colored spots or marks —used especially in botany and zoology # DK: Observational Note: An
