The Retail Worker

Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to read the same scene over and over again, but it’ll be different every single time. Why? Well, each time, the genre of literature will change. Worried it’s not going to work out? Me, too. But we’ll give it the ole try anyway!

A few things will stay consistent. First of all, our protagonist. What’s a good name? Ryan? Sure, let’s go with that.

Ryan… Let’s give him blond hair. No, no, brown. Dusty brown. And freckles. But he’ll be short. Oh, and he’s trying to grow out a beard over the holidays. We’ll say it’s not working well.

There you go! Now we have someone to cheer for and all agree that we’ll support! Not supportive of Ryan? Get out.

Now, for something to do. Let’s say Ryan works in retail. Because who else is going to let him grow a scruffy beard besides a job where they just need warm bodies to hear complaints and ignore them.

We just need a few more things before we get started… Ah, yes. There are seven more things that shall remain constant. A couple weeks ago, I asked for some suggestions of things to put into a story. So I want you to keep your eyes peeled, because (as far as I possibly could) there are these seven things in each and every version of the scene.

Let’s see if I can get them all in one sentence first of all… Once, there was a metal bucket of honey with no lid, which held an engraved egg, which, when opened, contained a rotatory phone that, while unconnected, would contact a store where you could get a cane (for walking), answered by a man who sat on a couch while in the store, but worked as a window washer using only the finest squeegee, and always carried a hand grenade in his back pocket.

Okay, that was a bad one, I’m sorry. Maybe I’ll try again later. Here’s an easier list.

Metal bucket of honey with no lid; engraved egg; an old rotary phone that’s no longer connected; cane (for walking); hand grenade; couch; squeegee.

Got ‘em? Sweet. Think we’re ready to roll?

Okay. Deep breath. Let’s start with a typical Christmas trope: Hallmark!!

The Retail Worker – Hallmark Romance!

Ryan blinked back into focus as the woman kept talking. He had zoned out about three sentences before, but she didn’t seem to notice or care. “And when my husband opened it, the lid was gone. Do you understand? The lid was gone! It’s unacceptable. Unacceptable, I tell you.”

“Thank you for your feedback,” Ryan said, moving the now-empty bucket to the side. “We are sorry that you’re unsatisfied with MegaCorp’s…” he checked the label, “… Honey Bucket for Your Honey. Please wait while a full refund is applied to your MegaCorp’s account.”

The woman made a snide remark, but Ryan had tuned her out again. He copied the information into the computer, printing out a receipt with tired, practiced hands and sliding it to her. “The refund is now in your account,” he said, forcing a smile. Some customers were great. This one was not.

With a huff, she grabbed her receipt and stalked out. “Last in my line,” Ryan said, stretching. It had been a long shift, and he was looking for a break.

“Great,” his coworker, Dan, said. “Can you take the restock carts back to their departments and bring new ones back?”

Ryan blew out a long breath, but didn’t fight. He grabbed the first cart, frowning at the contents. “Who buys this many squeegees just to return them?” he asked. Dan, in the middle of a transaction, didn’t respond.

He backed the cart out of customer service, reaching forward to grab one of the long handled squeegees from falling out of the cart. He was so focused on what he was doing that he didn’t see the person he ran into until she was on the ground, blinking up at him furiously.

“The nerve,” she said, pushing herself up and knocking his hastily offered hand aside. “Can’t you look where you’re going?”

“I’m so sorry,” Ryan said, dropping to a crouch and helping her gather the contents of her basket, a collection of carefully engraved eggs. He was glad they weren’t fragile. He handed the last one to her as he stood up, finally getting a good look at her.

“It’s okay,” she said, putting the egg in the basket and lifting a cane from where it hung behind the handles. “Probably not the best time of year for any of us, huh?” When Ryan gave her a half-hearted grin, she added, “My name’s Cecile. But my friends call me Coco. What’s your name?”

“Uh,” Ryan faltered. “I’m Ryan. I just work here.”

“Any chance you can help me find something?” Coco asked, motioning to the store. “It’s a pretty big store. And you did run into me, so you kind of owe me.”

“I mean,” Ryan said, “It’s also my job. I just gotta run these over to the Home Department.” He cocked his head. “Do you want to walk over there with me? Then I can help you find whatever you need?”

“Yeah,” Coco said, allowing a small smile to cross her lips. “I think I would.”

As they started walking, Ryan noticed that she leaned hard into her cane. “I didn’t hit you hard enough that you need that, did I?”

Coco laughed, shaking her head. “No, I have a skeletal disorder. My ligaments are weak, so the doctor’s gave me a cane to keep me up.” She made a dismissive gesture. “But let’s talk about something about else. Tell me about yourself.”

Before this time, Ryan had not been much of a talker, but now, he found himself unable to stop. He talked about his family, about getting the job at MegaCorp, about how much he had hated the Black Friday sale and how the Christmas retail season was even worse. He talked the entire walk to the Home Department, then as they walked up and down the aisles, looking for something that Coco would not identify.

“Maybe this is what I need,” she said, smiling as she lifted up a toy grenade, pretending to pull the pin and toss it at Ryan. He laughed as he caught it, and Coco made an explosion noise.

“Oh, no,” Ryan said, “I’m dying!” He raised his eyebrows. “Is that what you’re looking for?”

“No,” Coco said, with a slight smile, “It’s not.” She picked up her basket and continued walking down the aisle.

As they continued, Ryan began to find out more about her. She was in college, in treatment and in search of something that she wouldn’t say. She held up a hand as they walked past the furniture. “I need a break,” she said, sinking into a couch. “Come sit a minute. Then we can keep looking.”

“What are we looking for?” Ryan asked, taking a seat across the aisle, perching on the edge.

Coco laughed. “If I can be honest,” she said, “I’m not sure what I’m looking for. I was hoping that I would remember by the time we got to drop your excessive amount of squeegees, but when I couldn’t, I just started wandering.” She smiled shyly. “But I don’t think I want to remember. Because remembering will mean I need to go. And I like hanging out with you.”

Ryan smiled, standing and sticking out his hand. “I think I know what you need. Come with me.” A confused look on her face, Coco took his hand and pulled herself up. She left her basket behind.

He led her back through the store, to the office. From the staff freezer, he produced two ice cream sandwiches. One, he handed to Coco, and the other, he took for himself. “We only have a couple of minutes before they find us,” he said, opening the packaging. “So you better hurry.”

Between laughs and grins, they finished the ice cream. As they went to leave, Ryan lifted the old rotary phone used for table décor. He put the receiver to his ear and put his finger on the dial. “Hello, hello?” he asked.

Coco, in the doorway, smiled. “Yes?” she asked, putting her hand up to her ear.

“If I call you later,” Ryan said, “What number should I call?”

Coco’s smile widened.

End Scene

And not a moment too soon, I might add. I had to start with a romance, you understand. Get the worst of it out of the way.

Did you like Coco? I didn’t mind her. I’ve had worse love interests. Writing wise, I mean. She seemed pretty flat. So did Ryan, for that matter. Oh, well. At least he wasn’t wearing flannel.

Oh, you want him to wear flannel? Fine. I’ll have him wear flannel in the next one.

What is the next one, you ask? Hmm.

Let’s go with adventure.

Retail Worker – Adventure  

Ryan blinked as the woman kept talking. He had zoned out… What a strange daydream. If only Coco was real.

“Where’s the honey?” he asked suddenly. The woman stopped short, and Ryan smiled confidently as she stumbled over her words. “The honey has been clearly consumed,” Ryan said, “and therefore, we are unable to accept your return. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

“I want to speak to your manager,” the woman demanded, lifting a threatening finger.

Ryan sighed, pulling open the company policy on his computer and turning it toward her. “As you can see, one of the exemptions on our returns is if it is over 50% consumed. This is at least 90% eaten. Thank you for your business.”

“See if you ever get it again,” the woman said, turning and storming out.

“That’s the last of my line,” Ryan said, stretching his arms above his head. He dropped them as the woman barged in again, stalking up to the desk with a bitter look on her face. Ryan prepared for the worst, but she only snatched the nearly-empty bucket of honey and shook and angry fist. Then she was gone again, repeating words that Ryan thought were not appropriate for the Christmas season.

“Dude,” Dan said from the other register. “You get all the crazies.”

Ryan shrugged, fiddling with the button on his flannel. “I’m done for a bit, do you want me to take some of the restocks back to their departments.”

“If you don’t mind,” Dan said, looking past his customer. “I think I can handle anyone who comes in.”

Ryan gave him a thumbs up, grabbing a cart of long-handled squeegees. He guided it out of Customer Service, being careful to watch where he was going. As he turned it around to push it to the Home Department, he heard the shouts of deep, angry voices.

“We know you have it! Give it over and no one gets hurt!”

The voices belonged to a group of men, dressed in dark clothes, with masks pulled over their faces, crowding around another man with a cart full of the oddest things Ryan could imagine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, backing into a narrow aisle.

“We know you have the Esmeronde Egg, Professor,” one of the man said. His hand was reaching for something at his side, but Ryan couldn’t see what it was. “Give it to us peacefully, and there won’t be any issues.”

There was a click and Ryan saw the glint of metal in the man’s hands. As the professor backed further into the aisle, Ryan grabbed one of the squeegees, charging forward. Acting on instinct alone, he spun the squeegee, using its head like the crook of a shepherd’s staff. With a quick pull, the first man found himself whipped around, only to receive a squeegee to his face.

There were four other men, which Ryan turned to now. “Come on,” he said, “Let me show you how MegaCorp deals with shoplifters.” Then, in complete accordance with company policy, he went berserk. One man went down, knocked out by the end of the squeegee. A second blocked his strike with a medical cane he pulled from the nearby Health Department, but his defense didn’t last long as Ryan bulled into him, knocking him back through a shelf of medical supplies. “Stay there,” Ryan said, lifting a hand and blocking a punch from the side without looking, “You’re going to need a bandaid soon.” Then he spun and took out the man who had thrown the punch.

Only one man was left standing, but he pulled back, uncertain about this raging giant with a squeegee. Ryan rested the end of the squeegee on the floor, adjusting his flannel. “Scared?” he asked.

“Kid!” the professor said behind him. “This way!”

Ryan turned and ran after him. The thugs were getting up, shaking off the hits and clearing their heads. The pair turned down another aisle, sliding into the Home Department. The professor pushed Ryan down, behind a tall-backed couch. “Stay down,” he said, ducking behind another himself. He lifted his jacket, revealing the top of a beautifully engraved egg. “Hopefully they’ll dig through that pile of junk while I think of a plan,” he said. “I’m Professor Cornelius Cobblepot. Found this egg in a dig last week, and I’ve been on the run ever since.”

“We’re know you’re here, Professor!” the angry voice of the man said. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

Ryan flexed his muscles, preparing to leap out and tackled the man. Professor Cobblepot lifted a finger to his lips, warning him to stay silent. “They’ll go past,” he mouthed.

“Dill go fast?” Ryan mouthed back, confused.

“Professor!” the man shouted. “I wanted to give you a fair chance. But it doesn’t matter.” There was a foreboding click and a small, green object rolled between the two of them. “The Esmeronde Egg will survive a grenade, Professor. You won’t.”

Ryan sprang forward, grabbing the grenade and launching it back in the direction of the men in one swing. He tackled the professor, covering the tweed-clad academic with his massive flannelled form. The grenade went off, throwing dust and debris into the air. Through the ringing in his ears, Ryan could hear the shouts of the men as they stumbled away.

“Come on, Professor,” Ryan said, reaching down and lifting the other man up. “We need to get you out of here.” He let Professor Cobblepot lean on him as they made their way to the back office, where Ryan knew there was a backdoor. As they stumbled through the doorframe, Cobblepot saw the phone on the table.

“I need to make a call,” he said. “Get someone to pick me up.”

He fell against the table, lifting the receiver and dialing a number. He pulled the receiver away from his ear. “There’s no service.”

Before Ryan could answer, the dark form of one of the men emerged from the back. He dropped the shorn cord that he was holding, lifting a knife in the other hand. “You’ve been disconnected, sir,” he said.

Ryan grabbed the phone from the professor, pulling the base off the table at the same time. He gave a silent prayer that the cord would hold, then swing it forward like a mace and chain. The heavy base flew into the man’s face, knocking him backwards. Ryan sensed motion behind him and turned, ducking just in time to avoid the punch of another man. He threw a punch, knocking the man back through the door, then turned and pulled on the cord, lifting the heavy base into his hands. He spun back again, knocking out the man in the doorway, then springing forward and bludgeoning the first man on the ground.

He stood in the middle of the office, breathing heavily. “I hope you have an answering machine,” he said, setting the phone back on the table, “Because I’m trying to leave you a message.”

He turned to the professor, who was huddling in a corner. “Come on, Professor Cobblepot. We have an egg to keep safe.”

End Scene

What, you want more? After that? Well, there’s no accounting for good taste, I suppose.

If you’re still here after reading two of those, I guess you can probably handle a third. What genre shall we enter now?

You’re refusing to tell me? Then it shall remain a mystery!

Hey, that’s actually not a bad idea. Let’s try a mystery version of this. Hold on, I think we’re falling back in time…

Working in Retail – A Wesley Ryanbran Mystery

Smoke curled up from the end of Wesley Ryanbran’s long pipe. “And you were present when this theft occured?” he asked.

The woman sitting on the other side of the desk folded her hands. “I daresay I do not understand why I have been brought under suspicion,” she said. “It is my husband’s gift that has been stolen! Why would I do such a thing?”

“Ma’am,” Ryanbran said, leaning forward, “It is best if you do not act like a suspect. Tell us what you know, and we will release you, as I’m sure is your due.”

“But you have no right to hold me!” the woman protested, clutching her chest. “Haven’t I told you all that I know?”

Ryanbran sighed, looking over at his compatriot, Detective Arthur Danielson. “Anything you need to add?”

“We would just ask for you to confirm whether you were, or were not, in the store when the theft occurred,” Detective Danielson said.

“Then,” she said, “Yes, I was. I set it down for one minute, and the next, it was gone.”

“Thank you,” Detective Danielson said, writing something down in his notebook.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Ryanbran asked, but the woman huffily ignored him. “You may go,” he said, motioning to the door. The woman, still flustered and angry, walked to the door, where Detective Danielson met her and opened the door for her.

“Have a wonderful day, Ma’am,” he said, tipping his head and closing the door. He took her seat as he came back to the table. “So, Ryanbran. What do you think?”

“Mr. Mellifera’s cane was not stolen by his…” Ryanbran paused as he considered the proper word, “by his charming wife,” he finished. “Quite the piece of craftmanship, however. I can understand why someone might want it.”

Detective Danielson sighed, leaning back in the seat. “So we have no leads.” He reached for the massive phone on the wall. “Shall I ring us lunch?”

“Don’t bother,” Ryanbran said. “There’s no connection.”

Danielson, who had already lifted the phone, looked at him in confusion. “How did you know?”

“Simple,” Ryanbran said. “There are no wires leading to or from the phone, Danielson. Without these requisite items, it is patently impossible to send or receive one’s voice. He took another puff of his pipe, standing to his feet. “Lunch, however, sounds like an excellent idea. Find some sandwiches. And, if you can, attempt to defeat my sweet tooth. I’ll take another look around.”

He left the back office, entering again the massive warehouse. The front of the building held the actual store, but here was where the supply was held. He looked closer at one of the crates, raising his eyebrows in slight surprise. Apparently, the warehouse also held items for the nearby military depot.

Ryanbran made his way to the storefront, where he was met by a sales clerk, a tall, lanky fellow who was named Cornelius. “Any luck, Mr. Detective, sir?” he asked, hooking his apron with his thumbs.

“Not yet, Cornelius,” he said, giving him a small smile. “But we’ll catch the thief soon enough.”

“How exciting!” Cornelius said, smiling broadly, then wandered off to return to his work.

Ryanbran turned slowly, looking around the store. “Why the cane?” he asked himself. There was plenty of finely crafted items on the shelf. A jewelry set, including a diamond studded necklace in the shape of a large egg.  What was it about the cane, he wondered? He turned away from the display, watching the light sparkle across the floor.

A thought crept into his mind, and he walked toward the windows. He chuckled when he spotted it, pieces beginning to fall into place. Detective Danielson was walking past, and he put out a hand. “Did you get those sandwiches?” he asked.

“Yes,” Danielson said. He paused. “Is there something more you need?”

“Yes, actually,” Ryanbran said. “I need you to gather a few people.”

A half-hour later, they were gathered in a makeshift room, the invited guests sitting on worn couches pulled from the back recesses of the warehouse while Ryanbran stood in front of them, a table spread with various items in front of him.

“Welcome, my friends,” Ryanbran said, lighting his pipe. He released a puff of smoke, smiling at those in attendance. “I see you’re all anxious to begin, so I won’t postpone any longer.”

He lifted a hand, motioning to the well-dressed couple on the first couch. “Mr. and Mrs. Mellifera. I again give my condolences on your lost cane. But, if I am correct, you are not as saddened by the loss as perhaps you should be.”

He turned to others, nodding at them. “Thank you to everyone else for being present.” With a flourish, he motioned to the items in front of him. “I started with a question. Why steal a cane, but not a piece of jewelry such as this?” he asked, lifting the diamond egg. “Perhaps something like this was too far in the store. Perhaps it was too much of a risk. Or maybe, just maybe, there’s a hidden value to our missing cane.”

Ryanbran’s attention focused on the clerk, who was pleasantly confused about his attendance in the circle. “Cornelius, tell me what happened today?”

“Well, while I was helping Mrs. Mellifera with her order, we were looking away for a minute, and when we looked back, the cane was gone.”

“What else?” Ryanbran asked.

“Nothing unusual for a Tuesday in the shop,” Cornelius said.

“Yes, indeed,” Ryanbran said. “Tuesday in the shop, the day when the window cleaner comes. Mr. Caucou, would you care to share what you saw?”

“I was washing the front windows,” the window washer said, “Just like I told you. I had just cleaned them, and saw right through it, clear as day. There was short man with messy brown hair and a scruffy beard who’s came in and grabbed that cane, sure as I’m alive. Then he ran out the back before I could say nothing.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ryanbran said. “I’d like to make a small demonstration, if I may.” He lifted a replacement window, motioning to a bucket of water and squeegee that he had purloined from some stash in the back. “When you wash a window,” he said, dipping the squeegee into the water, “You wash first, then wipe dry. Like so.” With quick, practiced strokes, he cleaned his side of the window. “A clear window, indeed. However, with a solution like Mr. Caucou uses, an interested effect appears.”

He dipped the squeegee in a second bucket, hidden under the table. He did the same thing, but this time, turned it to face toward his audience. “Danielson,” he called, and his partner turned on a bright lamp. “As you can see,” Ryanbran said, “The solution creates a film, which increases glare until it dries off fully. Given the time of the morning, the position of the sun and the time of the theft, Mr. Caucou, there is no way you could have seen through those front windows. So, tell us what you have really seen.”

The window washer stood up, raising his fist. “I saw what I saw. What are you saying, detective?”

Ryanbran stepped past the table, reaching into his pocket. “I’m saying, Mr. Caucou, that I believe you are our thief.”

“Why, I oughta,” the man said, pulling back fist to deck Ryanbran. The detective stopped him as he pulled a grenade out of his pocket. With quiet earnestness, he pulled the pin while holding down the lever.

“Punch me, we all go up,” Ryanbran said. “Now, tell us what was in the cane, Caucou.”

“Are you crazy, Ryanbran?” Mr. Mellifera shouted, rising to his feet as well. “Get out, my dear, and I’ll take care of this madman.”

“Try to run,” Ryanbran said, “And I throw this after you. Would you care to answer the question, Mr. Mellifera?”

“Safe codes!” Mr. Caucou shouted. “The combination to the safes in the Mellifera’s house and to their bank. They were going to collect the insurance, then we were going to make our escape. Now throw that grenade away!”

“Of course,” Ryanbran said. “Catch.” He threw the grenade into the air, and everyone dove out of the way, except for him and the final man in their gathering, who had remained silent throughout.

The grenade landed, but rested quietly. The man stood up, putting out his hand. “Thanks for your help, Ryanbran,” he said.

“Anything for you, General,” Ryanbran said. “You’ll take them into custody?”

“Gladly,” the general said, whistling for his men to descend from where they waited outside of the room. As they handcuffed the window washer and the Melliferas, Ryanbran nodded to him.

“They don’t keep the explosives in the grenades while they’re shipping them,” he said. “Too dangerous, you know.”

“Remember me,” Caucou warned. “I’ll find you again. You’ll regret the day you got in my way, Ryanbran!”

“I’ll see you someday,” Ryanbran said calmly. “And when I do, I won’t have a fake grenade, I can promise you that.”

As the villains were escorted out, Ryanbran turned to Danielson. “Now, about that lunch?”

“Sandwiches,” Danielson said. “I also got a bucket of honeyed chocolate squares. Is that sweet enough for you?”

Ryanbran laughed. “Cocoa and honey, eh? Yes, I think I could put those away for good.” Then he laughed again at some, hidden joke.

End Scene

Don’t understand the joke? It’s okay, it’s not really that good. Apis mellifera is the latin name for the honey bee, so Mr. and Mrs. Mellifera are… bees. And Caucou sounds kind of like Cocoa, so chocolate… and… honey…. Like I said, it’s not a very good joke. But Ryanbran thought it was funny!

You’ll need to wait for more (if I should even try any other genres), because I’ve already gone wayyy too long. But I hope you enjoyed it as much as Wesley Ryanbran liked those honeyed chocolate squares! Which probably means it was too much and now you’re hyperactive. Oh, well, not my problem.

Until next time!