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ONE
’TIS THE SEASON
“Someone needs to run you over with an eighteen-wheeler, you useless bitch.”
“And a merry Christmas to y—“ is all I manage in return, before the call disconnects.
“Quick! It’s twenty-three seconds past eight!”
I jerk my head to the side just in time to see Dana rip her headset off and toss it on her desk with all the triumph of a victorious Olympian. “Fuck, the Horrible Hordes of Holiday Hell are getting ragier by the day.”
“I can’t wait for my Christmas Eve shift. If you think this is bad, imagine the joy of telling parent after parent that their kid’s present won’t show up in time justhoursbefore they’re supposed to be opening them.”
I quickly click the button to log off and wince at the flashing box on my screen indicating that there were still fifteen people waiting to yell at a customer service representative. Someone’s going to be dealing with some angry emails in the morning.
“I swear, after working here, I understand why suicide rates boom in December.” Dana gives me a dramatic eyeroll. “No wonder they have to pay us extra this month. Anyway, let’sgo.Michael texted that he’ll have wine and a hot bath ready, and if I get home fast, I might stay awake long enough to give him a thank-you bang this time. Poor guy’s not gotten laid since the third.”
I wave a hand in dismissal. “Go. Take care of your guy’s blue balls. I’ve gotta fill out an incident report first.”
Dana grimaces. “Shit, another one?”
“Well, that depends—does suggesting that I need to get run over with a eighteen-wheeler count as a death threat?” I arch my eyebrows in mock interest. I’m pretty sure my latest angry customer isn’t going to rock up to McCain Enterprises in a truck, intent on hunting down the unfortunate customer rep who had to tell him his daughter won’t be getting a dollhouse after all. If for no other reason than parking that thing Downtown Mattenburg ten days before Christmas would be a nightmare.
However, McCain Enterprises"takes all threats to their valued employees very seriously,"and if I don’t fill out a report and the jerk lodges a formal complaint—andboy,did he sound like the type who’s going to lodge a formal complaint—my manager will listen to his call and promptly give me a written warning for not filing a report. Something-something insurance liability.
“Ouch. Where would he even park that thing?” Dana gives me a comforting smile. “Well, guess I’ll see you tomorrow for another round of Holiday Hell.”
“Can’t wait. Have a good night.”
She grins. “It’ll be better than yours.”
It absolutely will. My job as a customer service rep for McCain Enterprises' online toy store has improved significantly since Dana started in August, but I’m painfully aware that once we go home for the night, she has a full life with a husband who adores her.
I don’t even have a cat.
My other colleagues empty out about as fast as Dana, giving me sympathetic waves as they pass my desk.
I wouldn’t mind having to fill out these stupid things, if each one didn't take half a goddamn hour to complete.
When I’m finally done,the entire floor is Ghost City.
I turn off my computer and grab my bag in ten seconds flat, then rush for the door. I don’t live in Mattenburg proper, but in a larger suburb some thirty minutes out by train. Connections are great until around a quarter to nine—then they drop to once every ninety minutes.No thank you to stumbling home in the freezing cold at freaking midnight!
I’m almost halfway down the hall to the main elevators when the overhead lights flicker, then die.
“Shit,” I mutter, stumbling to a halt when I’m plunged into unexpected darkness. My night vision is terrible at the best of times, and the corridor is windowless.
I fumble for the wall, determined not to miss my train, but the second my fingertips skim over its surface, the lights flick back on. Happy days!
I rush to the last few yards and press the elevator button.
Nothing happens.
I frown and press the button again. The usual blue light doesn’t flash at my touch, and the display above showing which floor the elevator is on is also dead. No mechanical sounds emit from the elevator shaft, either.
“Shit.”I can take the stairs, but we’re on the tenth floor. If I do that, I’m absolutely missing my train.
Or…
