The Christmas Promise(5)

A full-time job sounded good to Chaz at that point. There’s a great cure for being broke, his mother used to say. Go to work. He didn’t like to stay in one place too long and was ready for a change. Chaz was always ready for a change. With every move he’d think, Okay, this time I’ll do better. I’ll be better. I’ll change. But he never did. He couldn’t. But this time he really thought he could make it stick, so he packed his bags.





“What kind of guy is Mr. Wilson?” Chaz asked.

Ray took a sip of coffee from one of the cups on the desk and grimaced: obviously not the one he was looking for. “He may not look the part of a department store owner, but he knows what he’s doing. Not a lot of gray area with him. He’s to the point. He won’t stand over you and watch you work. The way I see it, he figures you got a job to do, so do it. If you don’t do it, then there are other people who will.”

“So he stays out of your business?”

Ray swallowed something out of another cup and shook his head in disgust. “Unless you’re doing something that makes him get up in your business.” He put his feet on the floor and leaned toward him. “You married?”

“No,” Chaz said.

“Got a girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Chaz stopped and looked up at him. Ray raised his hands. “Just asking. You’re a good-looking guy. Keep yourself in shape. No love handles. Just seems like you’d be married or have a girlfriend.”

“I do okay,” Chaz said, writing his Social Security number.

“I did okay, too, until I got married. Now I do what she says.” Ray broke out laughing and leaned forward, shoving a picture in Chaz’s face. “These are my kids: Alexandra’s four and Joseph is two.”

“Cute,” Chaz said, glancing up.

“Cute nothing. They’re downright gorgeous. Look again.”

“Yeah. Really cute.”

Ray shook his head and put the picture back among the mess on the desk. “Man, you don’t know anything about etiquette.” Chaz looked up at him. “You’re supposed to flatter somebody when you talk about their kids. Be sure to remember that when Mrs. Grobinski comes into the store with her ugly twins.” He pounded the desk, laughing at himself. He watched as Chaz filled in the blank lines on the form. “I only work thirty hours a week because I go to school for computer programming. You in school?”

“No,” Chaz said. Ray leaned forward and Chaz knew there would be a fresh onslaught of questions. “What do you do all day as a security guard?” he asked, distracting Ray.

Ray leaned back in the chair and folded his hands on top of his chest. “The biggest part of this job is being a courtesy officer,” he said. Mr. Marshall told Chaz he needed a security guard, not a courtesy officer. What sort of wimp job was that? It sounded like it should come with an atomizer and a napkin folded over his arm. “You want to walk through the departments and make sure the employees are all right, ask them if anything’s wrong that you need to know about. Every now and then they’ll signal to you to keep your eye on somebody who might look fishy. It’s your job to walk through the department so that person sees you and the badge and uniform.”

“But you don’t carry a gun?”

“We’re not cops,” Ray said. “We can’t arrest anybody. Remember that if you see somebody stealing something and you call them on it. If they pull a knife or gun, just back up and say, ‘Let me get the door for you.’ Our job is to prevent theft, not get in fisticuffs with thieves.”

Chaz watched as Ray pointed out the video monitors. “One of us is usually back here on the monitors and that person will radio the guy on the floor and tell him about suspicious behavior.”

“What if you catch somebody?” Chaz said.

“You write them up and leave it up to management if they want to call the police and press charges. A huge part of the job, especially now at Christmas, is to carry customers’ bags to their cars.” Chaz looked up at Ray. “I know. You had envisioned guns and glory and you get bags of towels instead.” Chaz went back to the paperwork. “We also help parents find their lost toddlers, help the elderly in and out of their cars, help people find their keys they lost somewhere in the store, and we fix a lot of flat tires.”

“Is that it?”

“We make sure that nobody hurts Santa or destroys his workshop.”

Chaz stopped writing. “We’re security guards for Santa?”

Ray smiled and nodded. “He shows up every morning from nine till noon and each evening from five till eight. Some kids will beat the crap out of the big lollipops and candy canes, and a few of them get pretty rough with the big man.” Ray took a breath. “And! We answer a lot of questions like, ‘What do you think of this dress?’ ‘If you were my husband would you like these pants?’ or ‘Do you think these shoes are cute?’ But no matter what you think, always be courteous. Our job is to treat the customer with respect and be as helpful as we can. This time of year we rack up lots of overtime and can make some decent money.” The money part caught Chaz’s attention. He knew that if he could just make enough to move on to something better, he’d be happy. “Think you can handle it?”