Tolleson, Keith

English

Collin College: DigitalCommons@Collin

ForcesVolume 2004 Article 325-1-2004The Thin Red Department Store LineKeith TollesonFollow this and additional works at: https://digitalcommons.collin.edu/forcesThis Short Story is brought to you for free and open access by DigitalCommons@Collin. It has been accepted for inclusion in Forces by an authorizededitor of DigitalCommons@Collin. For more information, please contact mtomlin@collin.edu.Recommended CitationTolleson, Keith (2004) "The Thin Red Department Store Line," Forces: Vol. 2004 , Article 32.Available at: https://digitalcommons.collin.edu/forces/vol2004/iss1/32THE THIN RED DEPARTMENT STORE LINEby Keith Tolleson"No one con findthose robotdinosaur things.This is our one shot,and if you cando this, you'll be themost amazing manI don't remember exactly when Igave up on preserving my dignity, but I doknow that what I'm doing now is theclearest indicator that I have none left.There's no good reason for a 46 year-oldman to be standing outside of a departmentstore at 4:50 a.m. the morning afterThanksgiving, or at least no good reasonthat I can think of. My wife, on the otherhand, had me convinced last night that, bystanding in front of a mall in sub-freezingtemperatures with 1 50 middle-agedwomen, I could become a hero; "No onecan find those robot dinosaur thingies. Thisis our one shot, and if you can do this,you'll be the most amazing man ever."F or a brief moment ! did feel kindalike I was serving a noble cause.Maybe it was a bit heroic. After all,my kid would be the only one on the streetwith an E-Rex, and I would be the envy ofall the frustrated parents whose kids keptasking them why Santa brought Jonathan anE-Rex but not them. Maybe it would teachthat jackass next door to work a little harderon giving his kids what they actually wantfor Christmas instead of spending so muchtime trying to turn house decorating into adamn contest every year. That's what a herowould do. Then I thought about what myfather would say if I'd dared to call myselfa hero in front of him. He'd say, "Boy, untiyou've had a bullet lodged six-inches fromyour balls and still managed to take outeight Krauts, you don't know jack shit aboutwhat it takes to be a hero." And then he'dshow me the wound.O ver the years, my father hadmade it a point to let me knowthat I didn't know jack shit abouta lot of things. In fact, just yesterday he toldme I didn't know jack shit about carvingturkey, jack shit about serving the rightamount of gravy that goes with mashedpotatoes, and jack shit about how to timemy channel changing during commercialbreaks so we didn't have to miss any of thefootball game. My wife finds it all veryO C 22amusing. I could probably do without it. But, with my father's wordsin mind, I decided that the acclaim I might get from waiting in linefor an E-Rex was not worth risking frostbite only to get mugged by agroup of soccer moms once I'd gotten the toy. That wasn't heroic,thought, it was just stupid. When I fold this to my wife, however, shewas slightly less than understanding and proceeded to describe plansfor me that involved kitchen utensils and certain parts of my body asan alternative. I set my alarm for 3:00 a.m.S o here I am, almost two hours into my stay on the sidewalkin front of Silver Brook Mall, with about ten minutes to gobefore Walker's Department Store opens for its big Pre-DawnSale, and I'm starting to lose feeling in my toes. I'm 35tn in line,sandwiched between Jean, a wiry blonde woman who's well intoher second pack of cigarettes, and Pat, a woman around my agewhose girth looks to be gaining on her height. The two womenbecame fast friends when, around a quarter t i l l four, they discoveredthat they shared the same obsession for Beanie Babies. "Are you acollector?" Jean asked, smiling to revea a tremendous gap in heryellowing front teeth."No," I said flatly. The woman frowned, and then continuedthe conversation with her new comrade. Clearly my usefulness to herhas now been relegated to my acting as a target for her smokyexhalations. Luckily, my nose has been stuffed up by the cold for agood while, and ! can't smell a thing. Unfortunately I can't say thesame for my hearing. I've had the unique pleasure of listening to thelife histories of both women for the past hour. It seems that, aside fromtheir common interest in Beanie Babies, jean and Pat both have threechildren, all cesarean deliveries, followed by hysterectomies withcomplications. Both also had appendicitis as teenagers, and theirfavorite TV show is Wheel of Fortune. Right now they're debatingwhether or not Pat Sajak wears a hairpiece, and I'm debating whetheror not to get a handgun license.W ith five minutes to go until Walker's officially opens, amanager comes out of the employee entrance to addressthe crowd. A stocky, balding man with a thick, blackmustache and a unibrow, the look on his face is the same look nativesmight have as they watch lava from anerupting volcano rush toward their village.His voice starts shakily, but soon develops asense of command as he proceeds, "Ladiesand Gentlemen if I could have your attention,those of you who are here for the E-Rexdinosaurs please form a line to yourimmediate left once you enter the store.There is only a limited supply, and we wantto keep this as organized as possible. INTHE INTEREST OF FAIRNESS, PLEASE DONOT CUT IN LINE!" He puts extra emphasison that last part because the crowd is startingto buzz and making a slight push toward thedoor. Pat's stomach pushes into my back andI get closer to Jean than I'd like to be,discovering in the process that my sense ofsmell isn't as dulled as I'd originally thought.The store manager crosses himself and ducks through the employeedoor. There's another small push as a woman toward the front mentionsthat someone is coming to unlock the front door. "Let go of my shir t !"another woman yells. This is about to get crazy.The two womenbecame fast friendswhen, around aquarter till four,they discoveredthat they sharedthe same obsessionfor Beanie Babies.23 O CWhen the front door is unlocked, people begin to file insidein a fast, yet surprisingly organized, fashion. Maybe this isn't going toturn into the mayhem I thought it would. Behind me, Pat is gettingrestless, shifting her weight back and forth, and trying her best to seeover me and around me into the store. Suddenly, a woman comesrunning from the back of the line and darts through the front dooramidst a chorus of cries from the other women demanding she bestopped. Two more women from the backthen pass by, headed for the door. This,apparently, is the sign that Pat has beenwaiting for. She sidesteps me and beginsto make her move, but her new best friendJean steps out and shoves her to theground, effectively ending their short-livedcompanionship. Pat rolls onto her backgrabbing her ankle and wailing, but no onetakes notice. The crowd has turned to watchJean who has suddenly made a break for thedoor. Sensing that any effort to police the lineended with jean's vigilantism, a mad rush forthe store ensues, and I find myself caughthelplessly in a wave of hairspray and cheapperfume pushing me through the entrance.Once I'm thrust through the door,I almost slip on something and look downto see a small woman with glasses collecting the spilled contents ofher purse. I pick up her compact, which was under my foot. As I handit back to her, she looks up at me with the expression of a cat that'sbeen thrown into a cold swimming pool, defeated and untrusting./'// figure outwhat to dofor the kid later.It'll be tough,but maybe I canstill convince himthat there is aSanta after all.Regardless, she takes the compact and I rise and look to the back ofthe room where I see the store manager standing on a giant E-Rexdisplay surrounded by three or four other employees and a sea ofgrabbing hands. I catch a glimpse of Jean pushing another womanto the ground. The manager is in a panic. Having abandoned anyeffort to differentiate who was in line first, he and the other employeesare now simply throwing E-Rex dolls into the crowd, hoping merely tosurvive the ordeal at this point. Women are practically climbing on topof one another, money in hand, in what is becoming a borderline riot.I once again see the absurdity of a 46 year-old man enduring all thisnonsense for a toy, and I turn and head for the door. I'll figure outwhat to do for the kid later. It'll be tough, but maybe I can stillconvince him that there is a Santa after all.W alking to the exit, I find more and more rational reasonsto leave this store. Christmas has become too commercia ;the boy would break the dinosaur on the first day; and, ifhe didn't break it on the first day, he'd be bored with it in a week.Besides, I wasn't much older than he is when I stopped believing inSanta Claus. Was I? As I reach the door, I think of my father again.I remember a story he told me a couple of years ago during theChristmas following my mother's death. He talked about the time Iwanted a real cowboy costume, the kind with leather chaps and twosix-shooter holsters, and a white shirt like The Lone Ranger's; "It was allyou talked about for months. We had no choice but to buy you thedamn thing." My parents ordered the costume from a catalogue weeksbefore Christmas, just to make sure it would get to the house on time.Then, two days before Christmas, they received a letter informing themthat the company they'd ordered the costume from had folded, andno shipments would be going out. Rather than have me question theO 24existence of Santa Clause, my mother stayed up until 4:30 Christmasmorning sewing the costume, making sure it was an exact replica ofThe Lone Ranger's. My father ended his story by saying, "Until you doeverything you can to keep your kids' dreams alive, you don't knowjack shit about what it takes to be a parent." I turn and walk to theback of the store.T he manager is still tossing E-Rex toys into the crowd as I makemy way toward the melee. He appears to be on his last batch,and the fighting up front is becoming more and more furious.Mall security has finally arrived, but there's ittle they can do at thispoint. The police will be here soon, I figure, so I'd better work fast.I skirt around the edge of the crowd, trying to make my way behindthe display where I hope to snag a doll from one of the floor-eveemployees. As I reach the linoleum walkway to the side of the display,I see Jean walking in my direction with an E-Rex in hand and a gap-toothed grin on her face. Looks like her brutality has paid off. She getsabout five feet from me when out of nowhere a woman flies into Jeanknocking her over a rack of corduroy pants and onto the floor. It's Pat,who's obviously gotten her revenge. The two women tussle on top ofa pile of corduroy and broken plastic hangers until a pair of securityguards break up the fracas and take them away cursing and spittingat one another.just as I'm about to turn back to the display, out of the cornerof my eye, I see part of an E-Rex box sticking out from underneath thepile of pants. Jean hadn't been able to collect the toy while she wasbeing led off by security, and it is seemingly buried deep enough toescape notice by the other women, who are still focused on thedisplay. I manage to remain undetected as I collect the toy, go throughthe line at the cash register, and head home. There will be nomugging today. My boy will believe in Santa Claus after all. I doknow jack shit about being a parent. And no matter what my fathersays about bullets, or balls, or Krauts; I got an E-Rex, and right now,I'm a hero.25 O

The Thin Red Department Store Line

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The Thin Red Department Store Line

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