We have two snow shovels, but they’re still at the other house, and Tom won’t let me buy a new one. So, he was out trying to clean the ice and snow off our sidewalks last night with a really old metal rake and the backside of a push broom. I’m not kidding.
Meanwhile, I come outside and slip on invisible driveway ice and fall hard, banging the heck out of my side and scraping my knee.
This was after having an MRI for my back (a strangely syncopated experience like a fusion of Native American drums and the theme song from 2001: A Space Odyssey) AND having blood drawn, which is no small challenge for me and my crappy veins.
Not my best day.
Then, we decide to return the barstools to Kmart.
You know. The ones I said were starting to grow on me? They didn’t grow on Tom. Not one tiny little bit.
Evelyn, at the service desk, is going to help. I estimate that Evelyn is pushing 70 (or closer to 55 and a really heavy smoker). Short-cropped, apricot-colored hair. Five earrings in her left ear. Three on the right. Really thick, really long, bright pink, fake nails. Brownish yellow on the underside. Bad arthritis in her hands. White turtleneck (blouse, not skin) with 3 or 4 stains on the front, which can drive a customer crazy if they have to wait in line long enough.
You know how I told you about the hours and hours I’ve spent looking for barstools online? It took longer than that to return them. I’ll just say this…it wasn’t hard to confuse Evelyn.
I know something’s up when I walk in and one of Evelyn’s co-workers immediately suggests that she get some help from the store manager with this transaction, since they don’t do returns on barstools from Kmart.com that often. Evelyn doesn’t want any help. She wants to do it by herself.
Evelyn + Kmart.com return = No clue.
Forty-five minutes later she’s still frowning at the cash register. A couple of employees are circling in the background. Furtive sideways glances. Nobody’s making eye contact. I’m whispering apologies to the poor woman behind me who just popped in to return a DVD. Tom’s in the van out front in the No Parking section waiting to unload. Through the door, I see him get out of the car at least twice to put money in the Salvation Army bucket…like it’s a parking meter.
I keep thinking, Settle down, Cherie. This could be you in a few years, if you don’t get a grip.
At last, Evelyn looks up and says, “Oh. I can’t give you a refund until the merchandise is in the store.”
Yes! “Well, we need some help bringing them in. Can you get us some help?”
She pages the first guy. “Troy? Can you come and bring some barstools in? Are you busy? What are you doing? Or do you want me to page Mike instead?”
Mike tells her what he’s doing.
“Oh. Ok. Can you bring in a return for a customer?”
Fifteen-year-old Mike comes sauntering up about 5 minutes later. “You need some help?” he smiles.
We go out to the car. He sees that the barstool boxes fill the back of the van.
“Oh, I’m going to need a flatbed for this.”
Another 5 minutes.
In those10 minutes, Evelyn has managed to almost complete the return for DVD lady. There are now 4 people in line behind her.
We come rolling in with our load. Evelyn drops what she’s doing mid-transaction and shuffles back to me. Answers the phone 3 more times. “This is Evelyn at Clive Kmart. What can I help you discover?”
Two more people get in line.
She scans the bar code on one of the boxes; looks surprised that something happened on her computer. Punches a few buttons. I swipe my card. And, in an event no less marvelous than the Christmas miracle, the printer spits out a cash register tape.
BUT…Evelyn can’t find her stapler to staple the receipts together. I point it out to her at the other register. Shuffle. Shuffle. She tries to staple. No luck. Tries again. Still no luck. Opens the stapler. It’s out of staples. She freezes for a minute. Closes it up and tries to staple again. Nope.
Takes a minute to think over the situation. Then starts going up and down behind the counter looking in drawers. Finally locates them in the front drawer, the second time she looks. It takes a minute to remember how to open the stapler again, but she manages to reload…after one tense minute when it looks like they’re not going to fit.
I’m looking around nervously, waiting for someone (in particular that person she walked away from when we came back in with the flat bed) to open fire with an assault weapon.
Stony silence. Averted eyes. Not good.
Evelyn hands me my receipts. The amount she returned to my card is about $15 more than I originally paid. My Normal Me immediately points out mistakes like that. Always. Very bad karma to keep money that’s not yours.
I look at the line behind me.
I look at Evelyn.
One more time at my receipt.
I’m sorry, Jesus. I’m sorry, God.
Sor-ry Kmart.
“Thank you.” I say.
She looks up for the first time and gives me a crooked little smile.
cherie's remix 
Comments on: "Merry Christmas, Evelyn" (4)
I just wanna know. Did Evelyn do one of those phflegm filled coughs and sound like she had gravel in her throat?
I won’t tell anyone you kept the money.
you fell?! yowza, you didn’t tell me THAT. maybe for Christmas I’ll get you some of those ice-pick thingys that runners put on the bottoms of their shoes for grip. (and throw in a shovel for good measure…)
Mags – Poor Evelyn. She probably could have coughed while she was working, if she could have done 2 things at once.
Sigh. I’m thinking about making an anonymous $15 donation to a worthy cause…like Barstools for the Homeless. You can imagine my angst standing there in line…weighing the $$ mistake against all those people who had been standing in line forever. Pretty sure I’ll be getting a call from Kmart one of these days. I just pray it isn’t from Evelyn.
Kate – Fell like a ton o’ brick. It wasn’t pretty. And yes, please, to the shovel since Tom came home w/out mine yesterday…the one I bought for myself because his is so old and crappy. He “couldn’t find it.” Whatever. He’s probably got it stashed in Tommee’s Playhouse.
One thing about it, it shouldn’t be too hard to have a better day today. At least the barstools are returned and it is over.
Until next time.