The Return

Janet Ellison was mad. She flung her hair, brown, unkempt, and mangy, away from her face in a single swish and peered into the face of the young man in front of her. "What do you mean I can't return it? I just bought it yesterday, and I have the receipt right here." She waved a piece of thin, rectangular paper in his face. "It says I should get my money back, see?" She frowned at the offending individual whose weary sighs fueled her righteous indignation. She stood on her toes and glared up into his watery eyes. "I want to see the manager, I want to see him now!"

The young man closed his eyes and shook his shaggy head. "Ma'am, I am the manager."

"Then I want to see your boss. I'm not leaving here till I get some action." With that, Janet Ellison folded her arms in front of her and began to tap her foot on the linoleum floor, tap tap tap.

"I'll see what I can do." He slipped behind an open doorway while the tapping continued. Janets mouth was thinned by compressed lips and two spots of red had appeared on her cheeks, angry crimson twins.

"You can't get no help these days." She heard a voice behind her and turned slightly, annoyed. She saw a shrunken little old man standing behind her, a little to the left. His shoulders were permanently stooped and his grizzled face was spattered with rank-smelling tobacco juice. She scowled at him to discourage further conversation, but the old geezer didn't take the hint. "I miss them days when your money counted for something." He cleared his throat, a gravelly sound marked by a cough that rattled into a thin, emaciated chest. Janet hoped he wasn't about to keel over. She didn't feel like reviving an old fart full of tobacco and who knew what else. His breath stunk and his teeth were almost black. She shivered involuntarily and took a step further up.

"I know what you mean." The woman behind the old man spoke quietly, "I miss those boys who used to rush to check your oil and fill your tank at gas stations." Janet noticed that the woman was old, too, but much more well-kept. Her hair was sprayed carefully into an elegant bun, no gray/blonde strand out of place. The lavender suit she wore looked expensive, too expensive for her to be standing in a bargain basement retail store. She was wearing a diamond broach that twinkled when she moved. She didn't belong.

The young man returned. "Ma'am, if you want to talk to my boss you'll have to wait. She's gone to her lunch and won't be back for a half hour." He braced himself for another tirade, but Janet smiled tightly, picked up the toy, and moved aside.

"That's fine. I'll wait."

The man blinked and stammered, "next," to the other customers. The old geezer moved ponderously up to the counter, and his shaking hands pulled an object out of a wrinkled store bag. The attendent performed the transaction smoothly and swiftly and moved on to the elegant woman. She was kind to the young attendent, and they bantered about the weather, rather cold for the end of April, and they talked about the local ball team and what a season they were having. Janet yawned and hoped it wouldn't be too much longer. She was tired and had a million things to do.

Every once in a while the young man would glance over at her nervously, brushing thick hair out of his face with a slender hand. Janet smirked and felt like saying "boo" to the boy just to see him react. She was enjoying the feeling of power. Her fingers began to drum on the counter and she could feel her face heat up, again. Hadn't the boy said a half hour? Janet remembered that old woman's broach, the shiny one that glinted when the light struck it just right. Why did some people have so much when others had so little? It really didn't seem fair. All she wanted was to return a stupid ten dollar toy so her little girl could have something that worked. A little girl who had no daddy, no grandma to speak of, only a little toy from her mama who hadn't been there on her birthday.

Finally a plump, middle-aged woman emerged from the doorway and walked straight up to Janet. She smiled slightly and said, "I hear you have a problem with a return."

Janet straightened and looked at the small woman. "Yes, I want to return this toy I bought my daughter. She unwrapped it and tried to play with it but it doesn't work."

"I see." The woman, whose tag read 'Donna Pescoe,' took the item and turned it over. "Do you have the packaging?"

"No, my daughter tore through it when she opened it. It was for her birthday."

"Hmm, I see." Donna Pescoe pursed her lips and appeared to be deep in thought. "The problem is, we don't take returns without the packaging. That's why Darryl refused your refund. I'm afraid I can't help you."

Janet could feel white-hot anger suffuse her skin and bleed into her face. She clenched her fists. "But you don't get it. My daughter's just turned three. This is the only thing she got. How am I supposed to tell her some saleslady won't let her get a working toy? Lady, I'm asking for a damn ten dollar toy!" Janet leaned over the counter, clenched fists working their way across the smooth surface, touching Donna's vest. Alarmed, Donna pressed the silent call button underneath the counter and summoned two security guards to escort Janet as she fumed and stormed her way out, snorting to herself as she got into her thirteen year old Datsun. She drove away, tires screeching.

When she got back to the house Mike, her brother, was slouched in a chair munching cheetos and listening to head banging music. Janet walked over to the stereo and switched the 'off' button, to which Mike said "hey," but without much enthusiasm.

"Where's Mama," Janet asked the question wearily. Getting so angry at the store had worn her out.

"Took Whitney to the park for a little bit. Said something about peanuts."

"I got to get ready for work. Mike, promise me you won't let Mama get drunk tonight. She's gotta watch Whitney because the babysitter called and said she's sick."

He shrugged limp shoulders. "I got a gig with Frankie and them other guys. But I'll mention something to her."

Janet knew that was the best she was going to get. She changed into her waitressing uniform, complete with the crop shirt and shorts with her butt hanging out, and she made it to the restaurant just in time to serve thirty of the rowdiest bowlers she'd ever seen. She was used to getting her rear pinched, but she was black and blue by the time her shift was over. She and the other waitresses complained to each other. She knew she should get away from this place, away from the rowdy men and the memories. She'd met Whitney's daddy at the restaurant. He'd been a butt pincher, too.

Driving home, Janet started to think about all the promises she'd made to herself years ago, before her dad died and things turned worse with Mama. Once she'd thought about college, about pharmacy school, making drugs people need to keep them alive. She'd even thought about being a pediatrician. Now she'd just settle for a GED. The ride took her right by the store, the stupid store that wouldn't see fit to make a little girl happy. She was bone tired, but she started to pile through her mind when the last time was that something, anything, had gone her way. She couldn't even remember, that's how long. It was like the store was the last straw, the last in a long line of disappointments.

She slowed her car, listening absently to the clank of the engine, and she stopped on the gravel by the side of the road, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. She stared at the store and then over at the little toy, still on the passenger seat, the little toy she'd spent hard-earned money to buy Whitney. Maybe she could try just one more time...

Heart thundering inside her chest and clutching a thin black jacket to her over-exposed body, Janet trudged into the store, nervously squinting at the bright lights, trying to shrink herself up so no one would recognize her. She sidled up to the return counter with the toy and an almost shredded receipt.

"Whatchagot, lady, we're fixing to close." With shaking fingers, Janet shoved the toy across the counter and explained her problem, leaving out the earlier trip, of course. The woman, who looked almost as wrung out as Janet felt, stared at the receipt, the toy, and Janet, taking in the attire, the posture. "I'm not supposed to take this without the packaging."

"I know, but my little girl..." Janet's words faded away and she knew she'd made another futile trip. She started to grab the broken toy, but then something unusual happened. The woman, 'Gina Martin,' her tag said, reached for it, too.

"Don't tell anyone I did this," she spoke softly as she quickly filled out a return slip, handed it to Janet, and directed her to the toy aisle.

Janet stood, frozen, with the slip in her hand. When she looked up at Gina there were tears, unshed, shining inside her eyes. "Thank you so much. You have no idea," and here she had to clear her throat, "you have no idea what this means to me." She whirled away and scuttled down the toy aisle.

Gina gazed after Janet, a perplexed frown creasing her face. Then she bent her head and continued her tasks muttering, "geez lady, it's just a toy. Get a grip." But later, when the manager yelled at her to get her keester in gear, she was still smiling.