THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS
By Duncan
As many of you know, I sit in my “Man Cave,” or sometimes I call it “The Command Center,” and try to figure out what I want to do with myself each day.
I am retired, or I could give myself a different title, a little jazzier title. Like writer (some would challenge that assertion), photographer, critic, x-mortgage man, x-school bus driver, and x-public speaker.
Trying to title myself requires having an ego. And no, I’m not saying I don’t have an ego. Having said that, I can see the eyes rolling as if to say, “Duncan, you have a huge ego.”
I simply enjoy writing about stuff. Things I do, places I eat, and places I go. Not many people read my “stuff.” My Google account tells me how many people read my posts. I do enjoy the process of telling a story. Thanks for reading.
Most people would call my writing room the third bedroom of the house. Yes, It’s all mine. I have a desk and a desktop computer with computer screens, a couple of printers, a small window on my right to watch the traffic drive by three bookshelves, and a file cabinet.
The day before Christmas, I decided I wanted to have steak for my Christmas meal. I had purchased a large strip steak, but I had a problem. My food thermometer ran out of battery.
I don’t know about you, but I need the thermometer to let me know when the steak is about 125° - 130° in the center of the meat. I like my steak medium rare. So, I got out my trusty micro tool kit took the back off of the thermometer, and pulled the battery. Wouldn’t you know it, it was a watch-type battery. LR44. What are the odds I will find an LR44-size watch battery in a store on Christmas Eve?
The time is about 3:00 PM. So I got in the Mean Yellow and was also thinking about stopping by Popeyes Chicken and bringing home some fried chicken. Popeyes Louisiana Kitchen, Inc., also known as Popeyes and formerly named Popeyes Chicken & Biscuits and Popeyes Famous Fried Chicken & Biscuits, is an American multinational chain of fried chicken restaurants formed in 1972 in New Orleans, Louisiana, and headquartered in Miami. I love their chicken.
I need to get the battery before buying the chicken. If I found something open, I would pop in and buy a LR44 watch battery. I really needed the battery. As I got a few blocks from the house, I noticed heavy traffic. I remembered Target was just around the corner. I decided I was going to walk into Target with all the positive powers within my body and find an LR44 battery with my name on it. You know, buy it and get the hell out of the store.
I found myself on the street that would give me access to Target’s parking lot. The traffic was backed up ten cars deep; I pulled a quick U-Turn and decided to head into the parking lot from the backside. Guess what, the back parking lot was also full. However, I found an empty space and pulled into my safe place.
This may take a while. I noticed Jet Pizza just across the parking lot, and I noticed the parking lot in front of Jet Pizza was empty. I pulled my Samsung S-23 cell phone out of my holster and asked Google for the telephone number of Jet Pizza, Fishers.
“Are you open?”
“Yes, until 5:00 PM”
I decided to go with the Pizza. I didn't want to take the chance that Popeye’s might be closed. I ordered the four corners deep dish, Mushrooms, and Pepperoni.
“That will be ready for pickup in about twenty minutes.”
I left the Mean Yellow and headed for Target's front doors. People were walking into the store with me. About a half dozen of us hit the front doors at the same time. Once inside, the place was what I will call a madhouse.
People were everywhere. I needed the battery department. I looked for a sales associate. Not a single red vest with a name tag in sight. I walked by the self-checkout area, and a young blond lady with a red vest was helping an older gentleman.
The elderly man was hunched over his walker and was trying to hold on to it and his purchase and get his wallet out of his back pocket. I looked around the store for other people to tell me where the batteries were, but I didn’t see one except this woman at the self-checkout lane.
I couldn't believe the problems this old man was having. It was, in a way, laughable. Yet, having had my dad under my care the last five years of his life. “I get it.” The old guy was trying to do some shopping for someone and was on a mission. He would not be denied. I had to applaud the sales associate. She took the time to help the guy.
She then turned and started to leave the area, and I held up my index finger, trying to get her attention. She passed me by but turned at the last second,
“Do you need help?”
“Yes, point me to kitchen equipment.”
“Go all the way to the end of the store, turn left, and it will be on your right.”
Target is a subsidiary of the Dayton-Hudson Corporation, which was owned and controlled by the Dayton family. Target transitioned to a publicly traded company through its initial public offering (IPO) in 1967. Today, institutional investors, including large asset management firms such as The Vanguard Group, Capital Research & Management Co, SSgA Funds Management, Inc., BlackRock, Inc., and Massachusetts Financial Services, hold a substantial portion of Target’s outstanding shares. These institutional investors collectively own approximately 82.85% of the company.
I walked the full length of the store, which could be as long as a football field. I realize that I’m in a store owned by institutional investors. This is no longer your mom-and-pop store. I passed all the cash registers. They were all at least ten people deep. “Why am I doing this?” I said to myself. I have twenty minutes before my Pizza will be ready for pick-up. I’ve got to go with “Plan B.” Buy another food thermometer. Forget the battery for now.
I dodged the traffic to the end of the building and turned left. I did notice a sign hanging from the ceiling: KITCHEN. I walked past the aisles with crock pots, blenders, pots, pans, and the aisle with cutlery; for those studying at Harvard, cutlery means knives. I noticed a red vest; I approached the red-vested person and asked,
“Do you work here?”
She turned and said, “Yes.”
The woman was young and had very short, bright red hair. Her hair was cut in a crew cut or what might be called a burr. She spiked her hair on top with some kind of gel in the middle of her head, giving the illusion of looking like the Eiffel Tower. I tried hard not to put on a French accent, for I knew she would not get the significance. Then, I would have to explain why I started talking with a French accent, and it would become cumbersome. But the Eiffel Tower on top of her head was hard to ignore. I didn’t want to be judgmental about her personal hairstyle choices. I assumed she was here to help people like me, and I didn't want to make a scene. you know, get in and get out!
“I’m looking for a food thermometer.”
She pointed to the wall behind me, and I turned and saw a row of different gadgets. A few rows were blank, sold out of the products that used to hang there. I looked at the pricing and found the thermometers range from under ten dollars to the mid-twenties. I reached for one priced at about twelve dollars.
Then, the young red-vested woman came up behind me with a different thermometer and said it was misplaced in the store.
“We have only one of these right now. Would this be what you are looking for?”
It was a large-faced device with many wires and probes that would go into the oven if I were doing a roast. I thanked her for trying and told her I wanted my thermometer for a steak on the grill. I told her I thought the thermometer (pictured above) would work.
“Oh, I have that thermometer myself and use it all the time.”
“So, will it work the way I want to use it? I’m fixing a large steak on the grill for Christmas.”
“Oh yes, it will work just fine.”
A female shopper approached me and asked if any thermometers were available. I looked at the woman; apparently, she thought I was a store employee. I was wearing my bright red jacket. So, I did my best, Vanna White, with my arms to showcase the wall where the thermometers were hanging. (By the way, Vanna White has made three million dollars a year for the past eighteen years on Wheel of Fortune.) The woman shopping looked at the wall and asked which was the best? The red-haired young employee just looked at me with a sheepish smile. (By the way, Pat Sajak earns around fifteen million a year.)
I then asked if she had a budget and how she planned on using the thermometer.
She stood there looking at me and then at the store employee. I quickly said I was a shopper like her and picked up this thermometer. Would you like to buy mine? She said, “
No, I want a fresh one on the wall. Can you reach it for me?”
I pulled the same product off the wall and showed her that mine and the “fresh one” were in the same packaging. She took the one hanging on the wall.
Believe it or not, another woman shopper in a dark red shirt came up and wanted to look at the thermometers. She wanted me to step aside. I stepped back quickly and gave her room.
“Can you reach ‘that one’ on the top?”
“You mean like the one in my hand?”
“Oh, yes, thank you, and she took mine and walked away.”
I, of course, thought I better get mine and put it in my pocket, or I would not get out of there with a food thermometer. The young store employee just stood there and looked at me.
“You work here, don’t you? You’re part of management, aren't you?”
I assured the young red-headed Eiffel Tower that I was simply a retired kind of guy and was not looking for a job.
“But, do tell me, if you were an economist, and I asked you to tell me if the economy is good, just okay, or bad, based on store traffic, what would you say?”
She thought about it and said, “It’s better than last year.”
“Why do you say that?”
“We have meetings around here, and the shift supervisor has said we are up by about three percent over last year. They seem to be happy with what’s going on this year.”
“Would you buy Target Stock?”
“My husband and I are poor, and we don’t have any money to buy stock. He has a good job, but I’m still in school.”
“What are you studying to be?”
“I want to do something in finance.”
“Really? So, are you watching what goes on around here?”
“I try to watch everything I can.”
I asked her name, wished her a Merry Christmas, and thanked her for the experience.
I left KITCHEN for the cash registers and returned to the store's other end. I got behind one person at checkout. A young black man (Maybe eighteen) was doing a creditable job. He was tired, but he was still maintaining a positive attitude. I was next,
“Is this all you're buying?”
“Yes, thank you, it's for the big steak I bought for Christmas dinner.”
“Wow, that sounds good to me. Do you need a bag?” He smiled.
“Do you want me to have a bag?” I smiled.
“I really don’t care one way or the other. It’s up to you.”
I took my receipt and paused before him for just a second.
“You're doing a great job. Thank you for being here today, and thank you for smiling.”
He smiled even bigger and looked me in the eye. “Merry Christmas.”
