Candy From Strangers

Sunday mornings always start slowly. No one leaps out of bed to shop at the bookstore in the early hours of the day, and the long-time employees, aware of this, start out their days with a comparable amount of lethargy. We wander into the break room at half speed, punch our time cards, and drift around reading newspapers and sipping coffee. We barely speak to each other, and I would have thought that I would have spoken for everyone if I said that we all liked it that way.

This is why this Sunday was so hard to adjust to. It was ten minutes to opening, and Missy danced through the door like a big ray of sunshine. “Good morning? How are we today?” She floated past us – khakis again perfectly pressed, girlie hair in bows – clocked in, and pulled a box of donuts out of her bag. “I didn’t know what everyone liked, so I just got a variety?” My mouth watered at the sight of them. It had been ages since I’d eaten a donut, which seems silly since they’re only $0.59 at the supermarket. The staff descended on the box, grabbing their favorites in a sugar-anticipatory frenzy. I chose one that turned out to be both glazed and cream-filled, more calories than I’d eaten in the last month. My body danced for joy at the incoming fat and sugar. What a treat!

We each scattered to our neutral corners, gnawing away on our pastries like vultures after the kill. Looking at our faces, you would have thought that it was common for employees to steal food out of each other's mouths. I noticed that Desmond bore a striking resemblance to a squirrel gnawing on a nut. It would have been a wonderful moment if Missy hadn’t started singing, “Here Comes the Sun” in such a perky manner that even Paul McCartney would have seemed depressive in comparison. We all stopped eating, mouths full, and stared. I noticed that she didn’t up-talk when she sang. This fact struck me as being very interesting. I wondered if anyone had ever done a study on the behavior of up-talkers.

“Five minutes until opening,” someone called from outside the door. “Who the hell is singing?” The night manager had picked up the Sunday shift. This was his first introduction to Missy. He stood in the doorway and made some lame joke about how he thought that the Beatles themselves were playing in the break room. She giggled. We cringed. It was such a surreal morning. She drove us nuts, yet she brought treats. Was she good or evil? I felt strange, like I was dealing with those strangers with candy that parents and teachers warn you about when you’re a child.

The night manager was assigning duties for the day. “Mike and Desmond, you’re at cash wrap. Stacey and Bryant, you’ll be restocking. Angela and Missy, you’ll be working info desk.”

“You want both of us at the info desk?” I asked. Someone laughed at the tone of my voice, which probably sounded a little more high-pitched and hysterical than I had intended.

He looked up from his clipboard and grinned. “Yes, I do. I think you could learn a lot from each other.” He looked at his watch. “Ok, people. Let’s go. Doors open in one minute.”

Missy was staring at me with a huge grin, delighted by her luck. She absolutely loved the info desk yesterday, she told me, and would absolutely love to work with me and learn the ropes. Absolutely. I, on the other hand, was absolutely terrified by the prospect of being trapped with her all day. She had all of the energy in the world, and I felt eerily like roadkill when I spent too much time with her. She was the deer, bouncing lithely away across the road. I was the possum, dead on the double-yellow line.

I sighed, went to the sink to wash my hands, and wandered out into the store, still drying them on a wad of completely non-absorbent brown paper towels. I stepped into the box and took my seat at the computer. The phone rang almost instantly, and hardly stopped ringing all morning. Missy helped the ones who showed up in person, and I must admit, she did a good job of keeping them informed and entertained. She seemed to be most popular with old women who, I heard at least three times, were just delighted by her “spunk”.

She went to lunch first, and I had a positively delightful hour of relative quiet while she was away. She returned with a bag of Hershey’s Kisses to share. Again, my mouth watered at the sight of treats. I looked at her strangely. Why was she bringing food? No one ever shared food at the store. It made me suspicious. I wondered if I could trust her. I decided that even if I couldn’t, I’d still eat her food. I was popping my second Kiss into my mouth when she said it.

“Oh my god, I forgot to ask? How was it?” She was gazing at me with the utmost sincerity.

“Good,” I said, savoring the velvety feel of milk chocolate on my tongue. “I haven’t had any in a long time.”

She looked at me in shock. “Wow, I don’t know what to say? That’s so personal? I’m surprised you chose to tell me?”

I was confused. “Wait. Personal? What’s personal?”

“You know,” she said. “Telling me about what you’ve had.”

I was baffled. “Aren’t we talking about the chocolate?”

She started to laugh at an ungodly decibel. People all over the store turned to look. “Ha! You thought I meant the chocolate? I meant your date? And I thought you were telling me that YOU HADN’T HAD ANY IN A LONG TIME?” She practically shouted the last part. I cringed, but it was kind of funny, especially the more I thought about it. I started to giggle.

“Well, I can see why you looked at me strangely.” My giggles had now turned to full-fledged laughter. We were both trying to stop laughing, but each one fed off the other. As soon as I tried to stop, she would start laughing again. I couldn’t stop. My sides hurt.

Bryant came by to see what was going on, and I held out a kiss towards him. “Bryant,” I said, snickering. “Have you been getting any… chocolate lately?” We were hysterical again, and Bryant took the kiss from my hand, shaking his head. “You ladies are very strange.”

It was 2:00, and I had to make use of my lunch break to compose myself. I walked to the market, as I often did, and got to try some new chips and guacamole, as well as a sample of a clear soda that tasted like black cherries. On my way out, I caught a glimpse of another woman handing out samples of chocolate chip cookies. This was my lucky day! I hadn’t eaten so much during daylight hours in months. Not a damned bit of it was healthy, but at least it was something!

I returned to the store, and she smiled when she saw me coming. I smiled back, in spite of myself. Ok, she was irritating, but she had a giving heart, and a good sense of humor. We spent the rest of the afternoon talking in between customer questions.

“So,” I began, “you’re a student?”

“Yeah, a junior?”

“Studying what?”

“Biochemistry?”

I was flabbergasted. You don’t get to use that word often, yet there it was. Flabbergasted. How could a pigtailed up-talker be a biochem major? “What made you choose that?” I asked.

“Oh, probably to piss off my parents?” she said. “My father is a CEO and my mother is the editor-in-chief of a magazine? I went the scientific route just to be rebellious? Dad wanted me to be a business major and mom wanted a journalist?”

I was shocked. Who studies biochemistry to be rebellious? Oh, I guess the answer is perky upper-class nerds. She leaned over the desk and stretched, and I realized that she was wearing designer khakis. I didn’t even know Donna Karan made khakis.

“So if you don’t mind me asking, why are you working at the bookstore?”

“Because I love retail?” she said, smiling. “I love meeting all the people?”

I shook my head and chuckled. “That’s amazing,” I said. “Because we all pretty much hate it.”

“So what would you rather be doing?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Maybe going to school. Working somewhere else. Can’t afford to not work, though, so school is almost impossible.”

“What are you working for?” she asked.

“Rent money. Utilities. Food. Medications.”

“So what if you didn’t have to worry about most of that? Would you go to school?”

“If I found a sugar daddy? Sure, I’d go to school.”

“It’s settled, then.” She said, crossing her arms matter-of-factly. You’ll move in with me?”

“Whoa!” I don’t even know you! I just met you yesterday!”

She smiled. “You will soon? Come on, just come over and see the place? I promise you’ll like it?”

We made plans for me to come over the following afternoon, on my day off. She only worked on Saturdays, Sundays and for the occasional last-minute subsitution, so she had plenty of time on her hands when she wasn't in the lab.

I spent that night sitting alone in my apartment. Would it be better or worse to share a place with someone? It was hard to tell. I liked my privacy, but it would be nice to have someone to talk to every so often. The cat was never listening to a word I said. Like now, for instance. There I was, talking to myself, and the cat never even looked up. Damned cat. Show some respect for the hand that feeds you!

I got to her place around 4:00. It was a nice-looking building from the outside, but that’s never a guarantee of what’s inside. I entered the lobby and took the elevator to the third floor. I walked down the hall, looking for 317. I knocked on the door and there she was, wearing glasses and hair pulled back into a bun. It’s wasn’t what I expected at all.

“Come on in?” she offered. Stepping through the door, I was stunned. The windows faced out onto a park and went floor to ceiling and beyond. I stepped in closer past the kitchen. The place was two stories tall, with bedrooms upstairs. I turned and looked at her, unable to say a word. “Come on up,” she began. “Your room would be up here?”

We climbed the spiral staircase and came to the landing, a spacious area large enough to have a reading nook with a huge comfortable chair and some bookcases. She opened a door. The laundry room. It alone was probably larger than my entire apartment. “I have a washer & dryer and several racks for drying sweaters?” She smiled brightly, as though the laundry was the selling point. We stepped back into the reading nook, and she took me to the door to the left. “This is your bedroom?” she said. It was a second master suite, complete with its own bathroom – huge, with a separate whirlpool tub – and the largest walk-in closet I had ever seen.

I turned to look at her. “I’d be more than happy to just live in the closet. Really. It’s more than enough space for me.”

She shook her head and laughed. “Don’t be silly? The whole room is yours?”

I thanked her, but politely declined. “I love the place. Really I do. But I can’t afford it.”

“Why not? I haven’t even told you how much it is?”

“Trust me. I can’t even afford to be visiting here.”

She laughed. “Look, here’s the deal? I want $250 each month to pay for utilities and some food? The rest of it is paid for?”

“What do you mean, 'paid for'? Did someone buy this place for you?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I did?”

“You did WHAT?”

“Oh, you know, I bought it with my savings? Didn’t want to live in the dorms? They were too noisy?”

“But how do you afford the mortgage on a place this size?”

“Umm, I don’t think you understand? I bought it? Outright?”

“Jesus Christ.” I sat down on the reading chair. I do not believe this. Missy the bouncy goofball bought an expensive condo with money from her savings account. “How is that possible?”

“You remember the 90s?” she asked. “Stocks? Yahoo? Cisco? Sun? I invested all the money I got for holidays and babysitting and sold high?”

“Unbelievable. I’m impressed.”

“No big deal? Just lucky?”

“Are you sure you want a roommate?” I asked.

“Absolutely!” No up-talking. There was certainty in her voice.

“I have a cat,” I said, trying to find a reason why this wouldn’t work.

“I love cats!” she said, clapping her hands with glee.

I thought for a moment. “If you're sure.... Ok, then. It’s a deal.”

“Great! Want to move in next Monday?”

As I left her building and headed for the bus stop, I wondered how it was possible that my luck was turning around. I waited to be hit by an 18-wheeler, or struck by lightning, but neither happened. Maybe things were going to be different now. Maybe I had a chance to really change things.