Lost
Wages
A Las Vegas Christmas Tale
James Alexander
Copyright © 2010 by James Alexander
Smashwords Edition
All Rights Reserved
ISBN#1442111941
EAN13#9781442111943
This is a work of fiction. Names, Characters, places and events are creations from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. They are not to be taken as real. Any similarity to actual events, locales, organizations or persons alive or dead is coincidental.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Cover photo and author photo by Debra Alexander. Used with permission.
www.worldofjamesalexander.com
To my wife Debbie with love.
INTRODUCTION
Las Vegas. There’s no other name that conjures up countless images ranging from overstated elegance to the filthiest pleasure and all points between. As much as Sin City has been a decadent weekend post-rehab getaway for the A-list stars, it is also a prime vacation destination for family friendly entertainment. It is a sex-charged fantasy central for twenty-somethings who drain their student loans on the drug du-jour or perhaps alcohol if they happen to have enough money for the nightclub prices. Vegas is also a home to the largest convention industry in the world - a place where legit business is executed by day while by night wining and dining erodes into hopping between strip clubs and hiring girls direct to your room for whatever they will do based upon a negotiated dollar amount.
The casinos, the shows, the wedding chapels… the quickie divorces.
Sin City truly is a fitting moniker for this place. Nothing is ever done half-assed as extravagant new themed hotels sprout from the demolished remains of vintage casinos, imploded without a second thought because their earnings don’t keep up with the Joneses… or the Wynns or the Venetians. Progress in this way would be similar to killing one’s parents to inherit the family business and bulldozing it to the ground before the first pile of dirt is thrown upon the casket.
But it’s not all like that…
Just travel any direction out of the frenzied traffic jams of the famed resort corridor - the infamous Las Vegas Strip - and you will be surprised to find that this city is not much unlike any western town. After all, for a new corporate hotel casino to be a success, there needs to be a ready and willing force of worker bees tending to the minute details of constructing and operating the tourist-driven mega-machine. And these people have to live somewhere. There are shopping malls, gas stations, and grocery stores…with slot machines.
Many people come to Vegas looking for that neat and tidy slice from the apple pie so often referred to as the American dream. What better location than where cash moves the fastest from the consumer’s pocket into the first hands reaching out to grab it? Back in the day, you could make a handsome living as the guy carrying luggage or paying out a jackpot or seating guests in the showroom of any casino. These jobs are still there, although the new corporate types moving into the business are squeezing so much of the easy cash out of their guests that the employees mostly now just live day to day hoping some King George beats the house just enough to give back to the little guys taking care of them.
So as one traverses across the city, hotels larger than small towns give way to the strip malls which give way to the grocery stores and finally you end up in the residential neighborhoods of Las Vegas. Older once-proud homes of the executives in the gaming industry are now typically the low-income housing for those who weren’t polished enough or didn’t know someone to get the good jobs. These homes are usually falling apart from the inside out. As you move into the newer neighborhoods a distinct change is seen. No more do you see the lead-based paint cracking and falling into the playgrounds of children. No more cars on blocks in the street. No more plaid 70s-era living room furniture rotting away on the front porch. You are moving into the neighborhoods where the final authority on tidiness is secured by the community homeowner’s associations or HOAs as they are sometimes called.
While it’s good to get into a neighborhood with such authority working to maintain that ambiguous concept of property value, many homeowners find that by volunteering to give up their own constitutional rights like due process they end up worse off. Not to say it’s all bad, though. Sometimes fascism can work to the benefit of all, right?
So our tour of Vegas brings us to these clean upper-middle class neighborhoods where our story begins.
1
Thanksgiving weekend in Las Vegas is a particularly busy time. There’s the unique scene of local families lining up next to the tourists at the buffets to partake of an obligatory turkey dinner. Never mind that the institutional feeding in this manner can never replicate the home cooked traditional meal of the day, but most people have to work and there’s just no time to cook. Besides, it makes it easier to visit the Sports Book where there’s a little extra hustle and bustle for the last minute wagering on those Turkey-day football games.
Some families do choose to stay home for a more traditional meal followed by a search through the newspaper ads for the best early Christmas shopping gimmicks on Black Friday. This is the day that traditionally signals the beginning of the holiday shopping season.
Many frustrated fathers begin the daunting task of unpacking the Christmas decorations and detangling the mess of lights which were so quickly wadded together and jammed into the boxes packed away 11 months earlier. It’s the beginning of the one month of the year when everyone with the means and the imagination can create their own tribute to the upcoming holidays. In a way driving through the neighborhoods provides a show that imitates the stimulation of the lights you see driving down the Las Vegas Strip.
This is exactly the situation that we find Jeff Griggs facing. The devoted husband and father of two is barely forty, yet showing a bit of a salt and pepper grey resulting from the daily stresses of life’s challenges. Challenges like the current dilemma sitting before him - a tangled twist of Christmas lights intertwined with silver garlands and a leafy wreath.
“This is a disaster. Can’t we just buy new stuff this year?” Oddly enough the question sounded rhetorical yet it was deliberately delivered within earshot of his wife Joan, an attractive woman with curly hair and maternal poise examining the newspaper ads opened up before her. She rolled her eyes while taking a sip from her “Farmer’s Fudge Factory” coffee mug.
“We’ve got to stay focused this year. If we get distracted looking for lights we will miss the Friday morning sales. It’s not in our budget anyway.”
“I’m sure that half of these lights are burned out… and we really need to do something big to win the contest this year.”
The contest that Jeff referred to is the annual event during the year when the homeowner’s association chooses the best Christmas - or more politically correctly stated - Holiday Decorations and awards a handsome grand prize. It is the public relations scheme of the HOA to appear to give back to the community following a year chock full of notices and fines. The prize varies depending on how much of this ill-gotten money needs to be spent to make sure that this mysterious organization remains non-profit, avoiding a significant tax penalty. Any money that doesn’t find its way into the pockets of board members is given away in the contest. Awards have been into the thousands of dollars.
“We’ve never won that contest and I don’t think we ever will. That jackass Ron across the street is buddies with the board members and they go nuts for his display every time he adds a new lighted stock car number on one of Santa’s reindeers. I thought the Nazis at the association were supposed to prevent all that.”
Joan was pretty blunt in her assessment, but it rang true. Their neighbor, Ron, was very friendly with Diego Ramstein, the president of the association. This was the case despite some obvious differences. For instance, Ron is a redneck and Diego is a Brazilian with German heritage. In spite of this, she believed deep down that they shared similar values in their iron-fisted control of neighborhood tidiness and that they both probably hated Jews and black people. Although the Griggs family didn’t happen to be either black or Jewish, she also believed that Ron and Diego hated them too.
“If we could just budget a couple hundred more dollars to the lights I just think this will be our year. And with the prize money we can pay for Christmas!”
Jeff’s logic seemed infallible, at least to him. The minutia of detail was never his strength but he certainly was goal oriented. He was a good hearted man driven by visions of cashing that check and easing the burden that the holiday inexplicably always seemed to place on his credit cards. He really wanted to win.
2
Matt Griggs is a typical teenager in his love of music and video games and his disdain of establishment. Today, establishment happens to consist of his parents asking him to assist in hanging Christmas lights. Indifference to the neighborhood contest is clearly evident in his expressions. He’d certainly rather be indoors chatting online with his girlfriend or strumming a new original tune on his guitar or pretty much doing anything other than this. At this moment he is steadying a ladder upon which his dad is perched precariously.
“How much longer is this gonna take?”
“As long as it takes.”
He’s clearly not thrilled to be spending his holiday weekend doing this. It used to be exciting when he was eight - but every year there are more lights and more decorations and more work. And there’s always disappointment when the Griggs inevitably lose. Matt certainly has no time for this, not while he’s having problems with his girlfriend. The truth is that Matt Griggs maintains a constant state of having problems with her, finding that it’s a convenient way of escaping from many family social obligations and the occasional chore. Unfortunately for him, this did not help today.
The decorations are progressing quite nicely against the beautifully constructed two story stucco home which has housed the Griggs family for the last six years. They arrived here before the market began to sizzle with California investors driving up prices to record highs. The market is now in a slump, but Jeff and his family are planning to stay awhile.
The front yard is a tasteful mix of rock and artificial grass with a few shrubs and a medium sized mesquite tree. It would be a gorgeous picture were it not for the bicycle, scooter, skateboard, football, basketball and remote control SUV cluttering one side. A few half empty overturned bins with Christmas decorations were strewn about the other.
Running out of the house wearing a bicycle helmet and kneepads is a young man of twelve years. He is bolting for the skateboard and yells to the pair at the ladder, “I’ll be around the neighborhood!”
“Marcus Griggs, you wait one second!” The booming voice of his father caused him to halt immediately as if time itself had been frozen.
It is eerie to see the young man actually standing still, as he seemed to always be in motion. He was once used by his brother in class as an example of Newton’s laws that an object remains in motion until acted upon by an outside force. Right now that force was the verbal salvo fired by his dad.
“You’re not leaving this house without taking your friends with you!”
Marcus looked puzzled. “What friends?”
Matt Griggs cracks his first smile of the day and looks up at his father. “Yeah, what friends?” he sarcastically repeats. The implication that his brother is friendless was too good to leave hanging out there, but it was actually quite tame compared to the typical barbs that he aimed at his younger brother.
Marcus glared at his brother and turned to his father, “My friends aren’t here that’s why I’m going out there!” in a tone that was very condescending, emphasized by his slow one syllable at a time approach. It was nearly as disrespectful as his brother.
None of the three Griggs men realize that walking up the street with a clipboard is a mysterious fiftyish neatly groomed blonde haired blue eyed gentleman scrutinizing everything he sees and writing furiously.
Jeff yelled down to Marcus totally unaware his audience grew by one. “Then whose bike and scooter are lying in the grass?” By this time the unusual man is standing in front of the Griggs house.
“They’re mine, dad, don’t you remember getting me those for Christmas last year?”
“Ahem!” The loud falsified throat clearing startled all three of them. They turned to see Diego Ramstein, president and self-appointed inspector of the Oleander Hills Homeowner’s Association.
Diego Ramstein would be a fantastic poker player. He gives nothing away. Many homeowners have engaged him in cordial chatter with no hint of him spotting infractions for which they receive a violation letter two days later. He isn’t particularly friendly, but he is professional. Born in Brazil, his parents actually hailed from Germany, moving there in mid 1945 to escape war trials. Due to his unusual heritage, he doesn’t really carry a fully latin sounding accent, but more of a strange mix between Brazilian and German. He definitely looks German. He acts German too.
“I suppose that you will have those toys put away by nightfall.” It was unusual for Ramstein to suggest anything. He’d rather send the infraction notice. Jeff wondered to himself if he was beginning to see a hint of friendliness. That was probably too strong a word. Humanity seemed more descriptive of the quality that was surfacing from this typically by-the-book administrator.
“Diego Ramstein, I should have known you’d be snooping around here. Don’t worry about those toys. Marcus will be putting them away. Now.”
As Marcus begrudgingly begins to put away his toys, Jeff climbs down the ladder.
Ramstein remained, analyzing the half finished work on the Christmas lights and remarked “You have a very unusual design this year.” It was matter-of-fact, but the foreign accent certainly made it easy for an American native to feel it included a hint of sarcasm. Jeff Griggs certainly felt that way.
“I’m gonna be totally finished by tonight, so you don’t need to worry about typing up one of those homeowner infraction notices. You can put the cost of the stamp that you won’t have to use to send the letter containing the Christmas decorating contest prize money.”
“Mr. Griggs I am not trying to insult you, I was just noticing your creative design.”
“You Germans are all alike and I don’t trust you. I don’t like BMW, strudel, riesling or that skunky smelling stuff you call beer.”
“Please do not make this personal. Besides, my parents were German, but I am from Brazil and we have very good beer.”
“Regardless, every year it seems that the prize money goes to the worst design. Unless you create some lighted tribute to the Eanhardts you can’t win. That’s just not what Christmas is about! I’d hate to think of my chances if I displayed a Star of David.”
“You are out of line, Mr. Griggs. I will go now, but I will not soon forget your ignorant words… and while I’m thinking about it…” he points at Marcus wheeling his bike into the garage. “…please no more toys strewn about.”
After Diego Ramstein walked away, Jeff went back inside the house, slamming the door as he entered. He was steamed. Maybe some of the things he said were out of line, but he’d had it with that guy.
Joan Griggs was still examining the Christmas ads in the newspaper, although she was well aware of the commotion outside. Was her husband about to snap? The pressures of the holiday season didn’t typically hit quite so early. As she thought about it, she was oblivious to the television which was tuned to a classic Christmas feature with an animated character named the Burgermeister who was screaming at a group of children yelling “No More Toys!”
Since moving into this community, the Griggs had received no less than thirteen violation letters, paid four hundred dollars in fines and had not yet come close to winning the holiday decoration contest. All of this took place while they observed certain neighbors getting preferred treatment. Only in America do families sacrifice their rights in this manner just to experience the ownership of a brand new home in a beautiful community.
“Do you think you got to him this time? Do you think he’ll ease up on us after you insulted his heritage and totally accused him of not only being anti-Semitic but showing favoritism in the contest?”
“I got carried away. He was obviously pushing my buttons and he got to me. It’s probably some Nazi mind trick that’s been carried with his family into the new world.”
“I think you’re gonna have to let go of whatever issues you’ve got with him and try to get along. With the market in the shape that it’s in, there’s no way we can sell and move away from this neighborhood like before.”
Jeff remembered their previous community. It was quite an ordeal butting heads with the woman who was president of the Bolder Shores homeowner’s association.
“That woman obviously had no common sense and showed it every step of the way. It was probably her education.”
“You’re making no sense at all. Just because she went to State College and you went to the U. An athletic rivalry is no reason to write off a person’s credibility. You just can’t let that one go.”
“I do have to admit that that was ancient history, but she really was an idiot. She was a State College dingbat.”
“Let it go.”
“Well this Teutonic twerp isn’t going to ruin my day either.”
“Let it go.”
As her voice trailed off, Jeff got much calmer. He was reminded yet again why he married her. It was for all the right reasons. She definitely kept him centered. For the first time today he put his mind away from Christmas lights and associations and fines and letters.
“You’re right. I need to get it together. It’s the Christmas season for Christ’s sake.”
3
The Las Vegas airport is one of the busiest in the world. On any given day there’s thousands of people from all over the earth bumping elbows while trying to retrieve luggage, hailing taxis, or waiting in insane lines at the security checkpoints. The departure drop-off street is a mass of vehicles in a seemingly endless traffic jam. Most people being dropped off have smiles on their faces, content that they experienced unique entertainment which stimulated all of their senses. This while gladly forking over varying sums of money to the hotels and casinos, and to the strippers and hookers. They are eager to return.
Occasionally there are some people dropped off that aren’t quite so happy. A number of them are in bad shape from hangovers while some are trying to explain to their spouses how they could spend the children’s college fund in just one weekend. It’s not always pretty but one thing remains constant: The first face that all passengers see after being dropped off is the friendly airport skycap.
Skycaps at one time were the classic example of the great American dream. These luggage porters would work as hard or as little as they wished with typically equivalent reward, based upon tips they received from kind strangers. In the early days these jobs were typically filled by black men, but just as America progressed through the sixties and into the seventies these positions were filled in a more diverse way. The profession became a peculiar twist on affirmative action resulting in a true representation of the melting pot of society. As the job itself adapted to a changing industry, benefits for the hard workers on the curb started to disappear gradually. Wild stories of big tipping high rollers fueled resentment by airline agents who erroneously felt that they worked harder and made less money. This resulted in many airlines assessing two dollar per bag fees for curbside check-in. After all, if those guys were becoming millionaires, why couldn’t a mismanaged air carrier steal cash from their pockets to compensate for higher fuel costs? Good skycaps were a dying breed.
Fortunately, a few of these honorable laborers made a good financial life for themselves before it started to fall apart. Some bought land and houses when they were affordable 25 years ago turning profits years later when the city expanded rapidly. Unfortunately, there were many who used the fast cash for drugs and women or simply gambled it all away. It just proved that in this profession as much as any other, one had to be smart with money.
Jeff Griggs was too late to be either of these skycaps. He got into the business as a last resort when having no luck in his field of study, Planetary Science. The heyday had long since passed for the really good money. Granted, a living still could be made, but it wasn’t like it used to be. Despite this, the job had been very good to him. It certainly was not a vehicle to make him wealthy like his predecessors, but between this and his wife’s job at the fudge factory they were able to pay the bills and had a few extra dollars to live. Sure, they got hit hard on 9/11 but who didn’t?
As he came into work, Jeff had no idea it would not be a typical day. He went to his work station and met his longtime coworker, Nate Abbott. Nate had a strong personality that seemed like it belonged more on Wall Street than Las Vegas. Fueled by coffee and energy drinks, his approach to the job is as polished as a successful salesman. The two men had worked at most of the airlines in the airport and had seen the changes along the way. Paper tickets and handwritten luggage tags have all but disappeared as computerized check-in systems became the standard.
“Good Morning, Nate.”
“Morning, Jeff. How are the Christmas lights coming along?” Nate knew that the annual Christmas light contest was a big event in his coworker’s holiday season.
“Not too bad. I’ve got more to add but I don’t know if it’s worth it since I probably won’t win. I yelled at the guy who judges the contest.”
“That stinks.”
“Yeah.”
The two have worked together so long that they frequently carry on their conversations while taking care of their customers in an effortless manner. To the passenger, the conversations were so smooth that they never knew they were being ignored for half of the transaction and gladly forked over a few bucks for the service.
“Checking two bags, sir? So Jeff what do you think about your chances then?”
“I’ve got one bag checked to Sioux City for you. Enjoy the flight.” He takes the two dollar tip and stuffs it into his pocket. “Thank you, ma’am. I don’t think I’ll have a chance in hell, especially with my neighbor Ron and his redneck reindeers. He always wins. Good morning, sir. May I see your I.D.?”
“Hey don’t give up on the dream. Two bags checked to Cedar Rapids, Iowa.” Nate paused as the man walked away and then shot out a sarcastic “Thanks! Merry Christmas!”
“He stiff you?”
“Yeah, piece of shit. Good morning! May I see your I.D. please?”
Most of their days go at this pace, such that it’s not like work as much as it’s two old friends just hanging out and talking about family, sports - whatever. As far as they were concerned this could go on forever, but both men knew that the way the airline business changed with little notice something could upend their lives at any time. Today was one of those times.
Walking up to the pair was a big man wearing a conservative blue tie accenting a tidy starched white shirt. The arms were rolled up near the elbows. The man nodded cautiously.
“Gentlemen, how are you this morning?”
“Hi Moe,” Jeff’s reply was not enthusiastic. He didn’t dislike his boss. On the contrary, they got along very well. It was supervision in general that he disliked.
Moe Malloy was the local manager of Consolidated Skycaps, Ltd. As the boss he was responsible for maintaining the day to day operations of the company in addition to wining and dining the managers of his airline clients. As a person who grew up through the airline industry changes, he truly knew what his role was in trying to keep the company in business. It would take two hands to count the number of air carriers he had been employed with - seven to be exact. Four of those went out of business, two laid him off during mergers and one fired him due to an unfortunate incident with a flight attendant he was dating. To say he was hardened and numb to difficult situations would be an understatement. This quality would help him today.
First order would be small talk. “How are they treating you guys today?”
“A little tough today, Moe, these cowboys are pretty ignorant.” Nate was quick to reply. The continual barrage of Midwesterners was starting to get on his nerves.
Every year in early December the Rodeo championship takes place in Las Vegas. It’s one of the only tourism events that take place between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Cowboys and country music shows tie up the city for just over a week, and while there would be nothing else going on without them, it is a tough crowd to work for. Lots of work but lots of stiffs as well.
“That’s too bad.” Moe’s disinterest in the skycap’s plight couldn’t be any more evident in the monotone response. He was moving on to the second order of business - brutal honesty. “So the airline has decided to go with another vendor. We have 30 days left here. Sorry to break the news so bluntly, but hey, at least you’ll be good here through Christmas.”
Moe turned and left. It was just his style, like the Enola Gay, to drop a bomb such as that and fly away quickly so not to see the horrific destruction. Left in his wake were two old friends standing motionless with their jaws dropped open in front of a line of customers wearing cowboy hats.
It was an uncomfortable pause, but the two jumped back into their work on a mission.
“Ma’am that bag is overweight. The airline wants to charge you fifty bucks but twenty will get it done right here.”
“Sir, that extra item can’t be checked in for any less than thirty. Of course the airline wants seventy-five.”
“Buddy, I’m trying to help you out. I can bump someone from the exit row to get you there, but I could get in a lot of trouble. I think fifty would be fair… and no that doesn’t include for the luggage.”
“Excuse me, you didn’t pay the luggage fee, ma’am. That’s gonna be twenty or you’ll probably not see your bag in Des Moines.” Jeff grabbed the money. “Thank you!”
4
At the end of the day, Jeff and Nate counted their cash to split. The two of them always pooled their tips, having known each other to be consistent and trustworthy over the years. It was a mechanism to protect each other from having a bad day, and allowed them both to share in the success of a great day. As they counted, there was no holding back a deranged giddiness and they were ignorant of the presence of Moe Malloy as he walked up behind them.
“Looks like you had a good day, boys. I hope it can last you through the holidays.”
“Excuse me?” Jeff responded with a feigned incredulity.
“You heard me. You’re done here. I’m suspending both of you for thirty days which means when you come back in January I’ll find you a place at one of the discount airlines.”
“This is the holiday season, you can’t suspend us!”
“When the complaints from today started rolling in after your shenanigans started, the airline wanted me to toss you out of here immediately. You’re lucky I’m pissed off at them as well for pulling the contract. I let you go for it for the rest of the day, but they don’t want you back. See you both January 3rd.”
Moe turned and walked away at a rapid pace, in the same fashion he left earlier. If the bomb that he dropped on them earlier was Hiroshima, this was definitely Nagasaki. The two men realized that surrender was the only option and it was clear they’d have to start again with a clean slate after the suspension was fulfilled.
Jeff looked at his longtime friend and coworker and if the expression itself was not enough to pose the query, he stated quietly “Wanna go drink?”
5
Anthony Robbins is wiping down the surface of his bar as Jeff and Nate enter. He is around the same age as the two shell-shocked skycaps, but sporting a much different look. As the owner-operator of Fudgepackers bar and grill, he’s not constrained to any dress code or rules regarding facial hair and shows it off with a scraggly beard and a simple black tee shirt and jeans.
Fudgepackers is a typical local’s bar in southeastern Las Vegas. It is located in a mini-industrial area next to the Farmer’s Fudge Factory. To Anthony, the name of the bar suggests it is intended to cater to the chocolate workers next door, but he is ignorant to the fact that many homosexual men mistakenly determine the establishment to be a gay bar by its moniker. No one explains this to him, but he has noticed a large clientele of gay men. But business is business and as long as they are paying customers and stay well-behaved it’s okay.
“How’s it going there, Cat Stevens?” Nate was always picking on Anthony’s free-spirited approach to grooming.
“Hi guys. Two beers?”
“You’re singing my tune, Cat.”
Jeff and Nate collapsed onto their seats at the bar looking totally exhausted and showing off an obvious burden from carrying the weight of the world.
“You guys have a tough day at the salt mine? You look terrible, if I didn’t tell you before.” Anthony’s well honed barkeep manner allowed him a bit of sarcasm and brutal honesty neatly packaged with genuine concern. This plus the fact that he made a killer martini made him a great bartender. “Didn’t make your hundred today?”
“That’s a personal question. And if you must know, the money was just fine.” Jeff exhaled after he said it and his eyes sank giving a greater indication of depression.
“Yeah, real good,” Nate looked just as devastated.
“So what’s up? You guys look like doctors who have to tell some old lady that her old man died on the table only with cheaper watches and bad haircuts.”
“We’ve got to explain to our wives how we’ll be out of work for the next month during the time of year we need money the most.” With that Jeff chugged the rest of his beer and slammed the mug to the bar. “Another please.”
“Man, what happened?”
“Our boss told us we had thirty days notice on our airline contract and we decided to make as much money as possible checking extra bags and overweight stuff. They let us get away with it for the day, but told us not to come back until January with a new airline. Technically they could have fired us but took pity on our plight.”
“I hope you guys made a little extra for the trouble.” Anthony started to take a sip from his water bottle.
“Fourteen hundred and thirty six dollars.”
Anthony’s reflex of surprise caused him to spray water from his mouth in laughter.
“Good job! At least that’ll buy you some time. Maybe take the month off and enjoy yourselves.”
“That barely will cover one week’s wages and tips. I don’t have enough saved up to give me the liberty of just taking off, let alone allowing for the extra expense of Christmas. At least I have enough time for one more beer before Joan gets off work.” Jeff’s wife worked next door at the fudge factory and it was a tradition at least once a week to meet at the bar for a cocktail after work.
Anthony poured another beer for Jeff and did his best to lighten the mood. “So how are the Christmas lights coming along?”
6
Joan Griggs was nearing the end of her shift at the Farmer’s Fudge Factory. The factory itself is a nifty operation churning out no less than thirty varieties of fudge daily to be delivered across the country and throughout the world. Surprisingly a public tour of the facility coupled with a permanent desert wildlife exhibit housed on the grounds have turned this into a sightseeing destination for many visitors to Las Vegas. It’s not unusual to see a few tour buses parked in the expansive lot outside the facility. A cultish photo-op for many of the visitors is posing beneath the sign for Fudgepackers Bar next door.
The general manager of the fudge factory is Preston Farmer, twenty-eight year old son of Frederick Farmer, the self-made billionaire founder of Farmer’s Foods, Inc. Overall, Preston has been a bit of a disappointment in his family having dropped out of business school. Family being family, he has been set up with this position which in spite of its national distribution is actually a small part of the Farmer’s Foods empire. He is a slick, well-dressed young man with a great tan and no common sense or tact. Most of his decisions are made by picking the brains of his executive assistant, Joan Griggs. When she is not available he uses a Magic Eight Ball.
The executive assistant job is a good one for Joan. In spite of the pay being a little less than fair, Preston Farmer’s fast lifestyle means there’s little after hours work aside from the occasional late night phone call when he needs her to book him a car service so he doesn’t have to drive home drunk. The job is also rewarding because she actually had a hand in some innovative moves, particularly getting the company to push for worldwide internet sales. For her hand in this success she usually counts on two yearly bonus checks - one during the summer and one before Christmas. Although she has not yet received her Christmas bonus, she has practically spent that money already.
“I need to see you in here, Joan.” Preston’s voice was loud and obnoxious. His derogatory tone has never fazed Joan Griggs. She puts up with it because most executive assistants she knows have to be available at any given time for the most ridiculous reasons and it affects their home lives horribly. At least Preston Farmer tries to avoid work. Obediently, she gets up and casually walks into the office.
“Yes sir.”
“Have a seat.” This caught her attention. Over the past few years working here, Joan learned many nuances of Preston Farmer’s personality. One item in particular is that when he asks you to sit, it usually is not good.
“So you understand that our sales are down.” This was only partly true. National distribution was reduced in part due to a trendy diet that minimized both sugar and fat, two of the key components in fudge. Overall internet sales and marketing to other countries had increased dramatically and somewhat offset domestic losses. In the back of her head, Joan always remembered that it was her idea to pursue that, although Preston Farmer took sole credit when his superiors came through with the accolades. The move saved this branch of the company.
“Yes?” She answered in a question knowing there was more coming and hopefully hinting for him to not beat around the bush. She was quite busy.
“And you understand that labor costs have increased dramatically.” Again that’s only because the company was busted by the government for hiring illegal labor. Joan relived a moment in her mind where she pictured Preston driving his Mercedes sedan to the front of a Home Improvement warehouse store and yelling out to three men standing there.
“Any of you guys make fudge?”
“Si”
“Get in the car!” The three men run to get in the car and slam the doors as Preston peels out.
Joan’s daydream is interrupted by Preston’s voice.
“So the Christmas bonus is not going to be quite as much.” Joan looked like a deer in headlights about to be struck.
“What?”
“It’s not as much as you’ve usually gotten when times were better, but you’ve been very loyal so I had to give you something.” He hands her an envelope, which she quickly opens not thinking that it may not be appropriate to do so in front of her boss.
“Two hundred dollars? Last year was a thousand!”
“You do a great job and you certainly deserve more but I told you about our circumstances. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get going. I’m going to pick up my new car tonight and you know how those dealers tie up all of your time.” Preston was trading his Mercedes for a new model. He had no idea how insulting it was to remind this to Joan after giving her a joke of a Christmas bonus.
Years of experience with employers like this were the only thing keeping her from saying anything she would regret. Hiring in most positions like this doesn’t usually happen until after New Year’s and with Christmas fast approaching, she was going to need every penny. It was good that it was nearly quitting time, because Joan really needed a drink.
7
“Now that third string of lights pretty much maximizes your outlet.” Well into his third beer, Jeff Griggs had decided that his friends in the bar needed to be educated in the nuances of outdoor Christmas displays. They seemed bored and unable to compete in a slightly inebriated trancelike stupor.
The door to the bar swung open suddenly allowing a rush of cold air to enter the dimly lit establishment. It slammed into the wall alerting everyone to the presence of an angry woman standing in the doorway. She paused perceptibly before walking briskly to the bar and taking her seat. She passed a booth with two men sitting a little closer together than most men tend to be comfortable with. As she passed she heard a lisping whisper from one to the other remarking how sassy she was. Joan’s entrance clearly let everyone around her know that she was pissed off.
Anthony Robbins was the first to attempt to speak. After all, as the barkeep it was his unwritten duty to try to smooth things over and maintain control of the bar.
“What can I…” Joan cut him off.
“Gin martini extra dry, straight up and there better be three damn olives this time!” Everyone had her total attention at this point creating a rather uncomfortable silence. Nate Abbott, Jeff’s longtime coworker decided to take a stab at easing the tension.
“Martini huh? You…”
“Make that a double!” She barked out the order at the shocked bartender who reacted by dropping the shaker which clanged loudly as it bounced on the bar.
“Yes ma’am.”
Not a word was spoken throughout the bar as Anthony crafted one of his classic martinis. He shook, poured and garnished the elegant cocktail before setting it in front of Joan who stared admirably for the briefest pause before lifting the glass and sipping. The bar slowly eased back to life as her tension seemed to be eased. It’s at this point where her husband Jeff finally speaks, knowing that all was clear.
“Tough day, huh.”
Joan takes a deep breath and exhales her response in a half-sigh.
“Yeah.” She lifted the martini to her lips again for another sip. There was something sexy that Jeff enjoyed in watching the simple action. He knew her well enough to not speak until the first martini was safely prepared and being consumed. When she had bad days at work, he would follow a ritual of preparing a pitcher of the beverage just prior to her arrival at home. She knew that it spoke loudly of his desire to ease her stress and her burden. Not that either of them had an abusive relationship with their beverages. Like most Americans, a couple of drinks to ease the stress of the daily grind were a welcome part of their routine.
“Do you want to talk about it?” It was almost redundant to ask this because Joan Griggs certainly had no trouble communicating her feelings and Jeff always had a sympathetic ear.
“It seems like we’re gonna have to rely on winning the Christmas decorating contest this year. I just got my bonus check.” She handed it to her husband who looked at it with a shocked expression. None of her bonuses had ever been less than $500, and some were over $1000. Two hundred bucks was not much more than a free turkey and almost as insulting.
“I guess we’ll just have to make do on less.” Jeff was clearly not saying this so much to comfort her but to suppress his own fears. After all, he was going to be out of work for thirty days and didn’t know how to break the news to her. He never was as direct as Joan in communicating, especially when it came to bad news.
Nate Abbott recognized this and used this moment as his escape route.
“Sounds like you guys have to chat, I’ll see you later.”
“Yeah, take care.” Nate hurried away.
“All he kept telling me about was how the company isn’t doing well because sales are down, even though my idea to sell worldwide on the internet has pretty much saved his butt. And the fines due to hiring undocumented workers were all his fault. So while I get a negligible bonus, he’s out right now buying a new Mercedes. I was having a pretty good day until all this went down.”
“Sorry to hear about all this.”
“I need to start looking for something else. How can I stay around for this? How can I stick around for next to no money and be treated this way?”
“You know nobody’s going to be hiring at least until after New Year’s, except maybe retail.”
“That’s just it. Can I make it that long without saying something I’ll regret?”
“I’m sure you can.”
“Well, I’m sorry about all this drama. How was your day?”
“Um…” Jeff had to decide right now whether to break the news about his job to his wife. While more bad news would be devastating, not telling her could be worse. Maybe it would be better if he could get hired into some other job before letting her know.
But he couldn’t lie to her either.
“It was nothing like yours.” Joan moved the conversation forward not dwelling on the lack of specific details in her husband’s day.
“I do know what would make me feel better. We should go out and get some of the Christmas shopping done. Maybe we can pick up some more items for the contest. We really have to win this year.”
Jeff thought to himself that she was right. They desperately needed to win this year.
8
The Watanabe Company took great pains to develop their state-of-the-art game system for release before Christmas. It offered a crystal clear high-definition graphic and surround sound experience, having no peer in the marketplace. Production of no less than twenty games for simultaneous release with the ZAP as it was called allowed for many demographics to find interest in the system. All major sports were covered as well as sci-fi, war, and children’s games. Even re-releases of vintage games for reminiscent parents brought interested buyers. The basic console retailed for $400, but an upgraded experience ran about $700 and allowed online competition as well as extra features available through the internet. Reports of consumers selling their deposit rights to the first released systems for extravagant sums had been reported in the national media fueling further interest in the toy.
This was just the gift that Matt Griggs wished for as Christmas neared. He knew that his parents would have little ability to score one, given their crazy work schedules. After all, one would certainly need to be at the right store at the right time which usually meant that moment when the shopkeeper unlocked the doors. He never thought for a minute that this would be a likely gift from a practical standpoint. Then again, his parents always seemed to go overboard for Christmas. Being in his teen years, it was almost hard for him to admit to himself that he really wished Santa Claus would bring it.
As Matt was thumbing through a magazine devoted to this game system, salivating at the crisp images of amazing new games, the phone rang. Looking at the caller ID, he saw that it was his parents’ cell phone number and set the phone down without answering. After another ring, the Griggs’ answering machine kicked in with its greeting.
“You’ve reached the Griggs home. Apparently no one could get off their butts to answer so please do leave us a message and we will decide if it’s worth it to return the call.”
The voice on the message was Matt’s father and following the beep the same voice spoke casually. “Matt if you don’t pick up I’m going to book your whole weekend to help me hang more Christmas Li…”
“Hi Dad, I was in the bathroom.” Matt’s lie was found to be amusing by his dad.
“Sure. Your mom and I will be running late doing some shopping. Can you read me your Christmas list?”
“ZAP.” was all Matt needed to say. The new gaming system was the one and only present he wanted.
“You know that might be tough, maybe impossible.”
“ZAP.” Matt knew to expect new pajamas, clothes, underwear, guitar strings, etc. Why bother asking for those when there was only one gift that could truly dazzle him and keep the spirit of the holiday alive in his heart?
“All right, thanks. Is your brother home?”
Matt looked out his window to see his brother practicing an extreme jump on his bike. “He’s taking a nap.”
“Okay that’s fine. Just don’t let him go outside. He’d probably get hurt doing some crazy stunt.”
“Okay.”
Matt hung up the phone and began strumming on his guitar, dreaming of his new ZAP system.
9
Jeff and Joan continued to walk through their favorite department store. They had already loaded the shopping cart with packages of socks, underwear and pajamas - the staples of Christmas shopping. These were the items that typically provided the quickest means to knocking a dent in the holiday shopping with the least debate.
“Okay, what next?” asked Jeff hurrying things along. His mind was on getting his resume in order and calling on old friends. He knew if he could get some temporary work it would soften the blow when he inevitably tells his wife about the situation at the airport which caused him to be suspended.
“Let’s take a look at the electronics department. Maybe they’ll have that ZAP gaming console Matt’s been begging for. He’s been driving me nuts talking about it and even spelled it backwards in the dust on my rear window of the van. Every time I look in the mirror I read it. I guess that I should be impressed with the ingenuity of the subliminal approach.”
They pointed the shopping cart through the crowded store, weaving through aisles full of kids pestering their parents to purchase items because they just can’t wait for Christmas. Business was very brisk for the store, especially near the electronics department. This year seemed to bring so many new gadgets and improvements. Jeff loved them and couldn’t wait for the day he’d be shopping for himself to upgrade his television and computer. Joan liked the new toys as well but couldn’t get past the irony that there was so much available in communications, like wireless phones and computers but as a society everyone seems to actually communicate less and less.
The demo display for the new ZAP gaming console had a fairly large crowd around it. The Griggs stopped as well to look in amazement at its beautiful graphics.
“Matt would just be so thrilled to have this.” Joan spoke in awe of the realistic display.
“You think he would lose some of that teenage sarcasm for awhile?”
“That is probably not gonna happen.”
Walking up to the Griggs from behind was one of the employees from the store’s electronics department.
“Hi Mr. and Mrs. Griggs!” The enthusiastic voice belonged to a lanky lad of twenty sporting an unclean shave and a hint of mustache that just won’t seem to fill in.
“Hi Jimmy, how are you?” replied Joan.
“Not bad at all. Can I help you find anything?”
“Yeah we need one of those.” Jeff pointed at the crowd surrounding the ZAP system.
“You and everybody else.” Jimmy paused.
Jimmy Peterson was the son of the Griggs’ neighbors Joe and Annie Peterson. Although he had moved out of the house at eighteen, he would visit Matt Griggs periodically to play video games or listen to music. He had been a good babysitter for them and was extremely responsible. This job was helping him put himself through college.
“I tell you what.” he leaned in whispering. “I’ve got twelve of those in back that go on sale tomorrow when we open at nine o’clock.”
“Really? We both work tomorrow. Could you put one on layaway for us?” Joan was always willing to work any angle whether or not success was likely. She did find that in life one may not always get everything asked for, but almost never when not.
“Sorry, Mrs. Griggs, but we’ve got very strict rules to keep everything fair. I wasn’t even supposed to tell you about the systems.”
“I understand, I guess we’ll just have to be luckier and stumble across one.”
“I don’t know if that will happen. These things fly off the shelves immediately.”
Jeff Griggs was eerily silent. He knew that he would be available to purchase this system due to his temporary suspension from the job at the airport. He also remembered that he had fourteen hundred dollars burning a hole in his pocket. If somehow he could find another job fast, this cash would be like free money to spend and if he bought two systems he could sell one online and pay for the other. You could practically see dollar signs forming in his eyes.
“Could we buy more than one?” The seemingly unrelated question caught both Joan and Jimmy by surprise.
“I suppose so. We’re just trying to keep them moving.”
Jeff’s wife gave him a puzzled glare, but Jeff just tried to play it off.
“Just curious.”
10
Back at home, Joan and Jeff were unloading plastic bags full of Christmas gifts from their car into their garage. A fairly messy space, the main hiding place for Christmas presents would actually be the couple’s bedroom. After all, their son Marcus loved to explore the numerous boxes searching for old forgotten toys. There had been a few close calls where some gifts were nearly discovered by the curious boy. The garage was now a temporary staging area until items could be safely transported upstairs to the master bedroom, which after Thanksgiving was strictly off limits to the children.
“You know, after the insult of a two hundred dollar bonus, I ought to call out sick tomorrow and go get that gaming system.” Joan was still furious about the events of the day. She certainly was unexcited about the prospect of going into work and having her boss show off his new Mercedes, particularly in the wake of getting the lowest bonus she’d ever known at this job.
“Maybe, but you’re out of sick time and we do need the money.” Jeff knew more than Joan how badly they would need that paycheck but he was still not ready to explain why.
“True, but I’m not sure we’ll have another chance to get that gift for Matt. Between the inside information and the difficulty in getting one it just seems like the right thing to do.”
“It’s possible I may be able to work something out to be there. Perhaps they’ll be able to manage awhile without me and I can swing by there.”
“People will be lining up early to buy this, even if they don’t know that the store has these systems.” Joan knew that even if they could be off from work, it may still not work out successfully.
“Leave it to me. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Okay.” Joan’s response did not hide any skepticism. “It does seem like the best opportunity to make his Christmas dream come true.”
11
The following morning, Joan was working hard to get the kids ready for school. Breakfast had been prepared, school lunches had been made and their book bags were ready. The only thing missing were the two children who only worked hard at avoiding getting up.
“Get down here right now!” She yelled upward to no response.
“I don’t think they’re going to respond to that.” Jeff spoke unsolicited. He grabbed the coffee pot and began pouring into a travel mug. He seemed very well dressed for just a visit to the department store. Joan gave him a very sour look.
“Is that the new skycap uniform? I thought you were just going to take a little time from work and go after you went on our special errand.”
“I had to trade my day away to get this to work, so I’ll be taking care of a few special errands while I’m out.” Jeff’s withholding of information was turning into full blown lies and it was making him nervous. He suddenly remembered a few unsuccessful attempts playing poker on the strip and was reminded of a serious problem. He couldn’t bluff without chuckling.
“What’s going on?” Joan asked point blank. She was really bothered now.
“You shouldn’t ask so many questions so close to Christmas. I wouldn’t want to spoil any surprises.”
“If you dressed up to go get me a gift, it tells me one thing - you’re probably needing financing for it. We certainly don’t need any more debt, no matter what you’ve got in mind.”
By this time the children heard the parents’ elevated voices and got themselves dressed for school and wandered downstairs.
“I’m not going for any loan, but I just ask that you please trust me. I’ve got to get going if I’m going to…” he looked at the boys at the breakfast table intently viewing the discussion. “…if I’m going to get on my way.”
Joan sighed as he gave her a peck on the cheek and hurried out the door forgetting his coffee.
12
A line had already formed at the department store as Jeff Griggs arrived. He counted quickly to himself and was happy to see only nine people. A feeling of dread filled him up as he realized that if some of these people bought more than one gaming console, there may be none left for him. Taking his place in line, Jeff waited patiently for the opening of the store.While he was waiting, he began using his cell phone to start calling some friends around the city trying to find a job.
“Hi Ike. How are things over at Caesars? Any chance you’ll be hiring some bellmen?”
“Miguel, do you have any openings at the Flamingo? Yeah I’m laid off for awhile.”
“David, any chance the Venetian will have some jobs in bell or valet opening up? How about limo drivers?”
“Hi Ray, how are things at the Bellissimo? Any chance of some December openings? Yeah I’m looking around. Sure! I can be there by eleven. I’ll meet you at the front desk.”
It was finally an encouraging sign that someone would entertain the idea of talking about a job at this time of year. Then again, the Bellissimo was a top notch property that stayed busy even during the slow periods. Usually in December once the rodeo championships were finished, things slowed down considerably, however this property had cornered the market on the large corporate Christmas parties. Of course these social engagements meant lots of drinking, and that meant lots of people unable to drive home. Hotel occupancies stayed high.
Jeff’s old friend Ray Duncan used to drive limousines for the Bellissimo and the two got to know each other professionally. Since that time, Ray moved into an assistant managerial position where he had some influence on hiring.
Looking at his watch, Jeff realized the time was nearing 9:00 and the line increased significantly behind him. He was still nervous that he may not be able to buy a machine, but he was more nervous that he wouldn’t find a job.
“I hope we’ll have a chance. I heard they got a shipment and got down here quick.” The heavyset man ahead of Jeff in line spoke now that he noticed he was done with the phone calls.
“Yeah I hope so.”
“Listen, I heard you talking on the phone. You looking for work, man?”
“I sure am. Tough time of year to do that.”