The Customer and Francine

"Excuse me but I've been waiting for ten minutes here." That wasn't true. The fourty-something year old woman in front of Francine had barely been in the frilly little children's toystore Francine worked in for a minute and a half before she'd started whining for attention. She was still wearing her sunglasses. How long could she possibly have been waiting without taking off her sunglasses?
"What can I do to help you today, ma'am?"
"Well, I'm looking for a gift for a four year old girl."
"All right. And what sort of things is she interested in?" Francine predicted the next line as the woman said it. It's what they all said.
"I don't know. She's four."
"Ok, ma'am. We have lots of things four year old girls would be interested in. They're all back there in the frilly pink section, behind the toddler chew toys, to the left of the wooden hand crafted all organic make them yourself cars. Let me know if you need any more help."
Unbelievable. These people played with and talked to and interacted with their children all day, and still expected Francine to have some better insight into what they wanted for their birthdays and bar mitzvhas and christmas. It was pathetic.
She settled back into her book and turned up the music coming from the overhead speakers. In fact, she turned it up just high enough so that she didn't hear the muffled yelp come from the tutu and tiara section. She didn't smell the peculiar odor of fresh cut grass and burnt toast, and she definitely didn't see nasally sunglasses mom disappear into a basket of plush dolls that really should have been too shallow to hold her. One suede pump didn't make it all the way in and was found a few nights later by the janitor, who threw it away grumbling about how yuppies could lose anything.
From back in the toy section where sunglasses mother disappeared walked a new figure who stopped at the counter and waited politely for Francine to notice. When she glanced up a man in a broad-rimmed hat was looking down at her. He has a day's worth of whiskers, stains on his shirt and bright green eyes. When Francine put down her book he smiled at her and revealed a mouth full of yellowing crooked teeth.
"Excuse me," he said, clearing his throat and adjusting his voice as he went. It started out scratchy and gravelly, but ended up deep and smooth. "I was hoping you could help me find something for a young girl I know."
Francine sighed. Even the borderline-homeless portion of the store’s customers (an admittedly very small portion) had the same old questions. “How old is she?”

“She’s just a baby, really. Four or five hundred. More or less.” The man had the most deadpan face she’d ever seen, but she decided to smile along with the joke anyway.

“Ah, they grow up so fast. Is she at a walking, talking age, or would she be more interested in our teething section?” Francine gestured over to the pile of squeaking, rattling toys of all shapes and sizes, from tiny round rings you could freeze to big chewy giraffes that squealed alarmingly when bitten. “These are very popular,” she said picking up the giraffe and giving it a squeeze. “Only thirty dollars.”

“No,’ the man said, gazing past Francine and taking off his hat. His hair was an oily graying brown and had a silvery shine in certain places when it caught the light. It was long enough to be pulled back in a loose pony tail that left some hanging over his ears. “No. Nothing to chew. She’d rip that apart.”

“Well, we have a great costume section for the older kids,” Francine suggested. “Maybe she’d want some fairy wings? A princess dress? A crown?”

“No,” the man said again. “She has all that already. No, she would need something, something special. You see, it’s a rather important event. I would hate to give her something … inappropriate.”

“I think I need a better idea of how old a kid I’m shopping for here,” Francine snapped, losing a bit of patience. The man’s vague halting way of talking was beginning to irritate her. How serious could this be? They were talking about children’s toys, not BMWs.

“She’s young. She doesn’t speak yet. She can walk. And she is very hard to please.” The man looked at her in the eye and smiled sadly. “I apologize, I’m in a bit of a panic, really. This must be the tenth store I’ve tried today.”

“Would she like a doll?”

“No.”

“A rattle?”

“No.”

“A ball?”

“No.”

“Are you sure you’re in the right store? Maybe you should get her a dog or something instead.”

The man looked stricken. “An animal? I’d never considered … but no … that’s not quite it either …”

“Is there anything in particular you know she enjoys? Or is she as much a stranger to you as she is to me?”

“She likes music. Very much.”

“Here,” Francine said, pulling a tiny music box out from behind the counter.

The man opened the box. Inside a tiny figure dressed in green spun on a stand and an eerie tinkling tune played. After a moment the man smiled. “Yes, exactly,” he said. “Thank you.” He then pushed his hair behind his ears and bowed to her, tipping his hat. Francine gasped. His ears were very long, very very long, and came to a long, perfect point.

“If the princess enjoys the gift you will be receiving a token of my graditude.” With that the man turned and walked out of the store.

“Hey!” Francine called hopelessly after him. “Hey, that was $59.99! Jeez, shoplifters get bolder every day.” For the rest of the day she couldn’t shake the distant smell of fresh cut grass and burnt toast.