Oct. 12: Shopping at the Dollar Store
It was the transmission that
almost wrecked her Christmas. She could hear it clunking even as far
back as Thanksgiving. She knew she had to do something about it soon or
it would become a real big problem. That’s what Jack, the old guy who
lived in the trailer across from her, told her when she came back from
her job at the truck stop. The car was so noisy that people were coming
out of their trailers to see what the problem was.“Transmission’s goin,”
Jack called to her, dropping a cigarette butt into a Mount Everest of
cigarette butts between his feet. “Best look after that.”
Yeah. Best look after that. Easy to say when it’s just you and your wife and you both get pension cheques that enable you to do nothing but chain smoke all day. Not so easy when you’re a single mother of three and you’re working cutting hair in the crappy salon tacked on to the north side of Al’s Route16 Truck Stop. Not so easy when Al Roker, the fat cat who owns the truck stop, has no sense of charity at all. He wants his rental money on the first of every month, on the dot. Take that out of your wages and then pay your rent and the grocery bill and the water bill and the electricity bill and the telephone bill and then buy your kids the video games and designer jeans they want this month and see how much money you have left to spend on your transmission.
And then it happened. December 20.Driving to work and the car just seizes up. She’s on the highway,blue wooly gloves gripping the steering wheel, cursing as the engine sputters and the car jerks. Behind her, cars honk. Drivers pass her and shoot her dirty looks and outstretched fingers. Yeah, sorry I can’t predict the future. Sorry I didn’t look into my crystal ball and saw that my car would be breaking down today.
Phone call to a towing company. Phone call to the taxi. More money out the window. Money she doesn’t have. Gets to work late. Al bitches at her. Lost customers who wanted a haircut after breakfast. She thinks he’s lying. Al’s always trying to belittle his employees so they’ll feel beholden to him.“It happens again, I’m fining you,” he says. “You signed a contract. Remember?”
Yes, she says. She remembers. Does three haircuts that day. Usually she does at least seven. It’s the weather. No one wants a haircut when it’s colder than an igloo and everyone’s spending their money on Christmas presents. No tips either.
The garage calls her shortly after 2.It’s going to cost $400 to repair her car. She closes her eyes. A hand goes to her chest to quell her horrified heart. That’s all the money she has in her chequing account. She has bills to pay and Christmas presents to buy.
But she needs that car. It’s the car that gets her to work, that gets her boy to his hockey games, that gets the girls to gymnastics, that gets her to the grocery store. She tells the man at the garage to do the work. Okay, he says. “Should be ready by Christmas Eve.”
Christmas Eve arrives. Outside it’s shrieking wind. Snow coming down like the sky is angry. It’s blackout. She gets someone, a busgirl named Joy, to drive her to the garage. Joy’s not happy about it. Says she needs to get home and cook dinner for her family. “You owe me one,” she keeps saying,her lips moving around the cigarette she’s got chomped between her teeth. “You hear me? You owe me one. I want free haircuts for my kids for this.”
Merry Christmas, she thinks.
Garage closes at six and they arrive at5:42. The final bill is for $417. She pays. Mostly by Interact. Digs into her purse for a twenty and uses that to pay the balance. Back in the car. Starts it up. Gas gauge needle is just above the E.
She looks into her purse. Bunch of loose coins and some bills. She’s got eighteen dollars and 12 cents.
And no Christmas presents.
Crying, she drives to the corner gas and climbs out into the freezing biting night. Starts to pump her gas and that’s when she sees the light. It’s coming from the shopping plaza across the street. The green and yellow glare of the dollar store.
Suddenly, she stops pumping gas. She’s got eight dollars in so far. She thinks that’s enough to get her home and then back to work on Boxing Day. Pays for her gas and then drives over to the Dollar Store.
A short Chinese lady in a dark green frock tells her that the store is closing.
“Please. I only have ten dollars and I need to buy Christmas presents. I haven’t been able to buy anything.”
The Chinese lady scowls but lets her into the store. As she walks in, the muzak – an instrumental of Frosty the Snowman – shuts off. So do half the store’s lights.From out in the parking lot she hears two voices, masculine and overpoweringly loud, bragging about how drunk they’re about to get.
Her hands pushes into her purse and pulls out the ten dollars and change.
Everything in the store costs one dollar. Three presents for everyone.
For Kathy, who is five – some Hello Kitty notepads, a Barbie sticker book, a set of three scrunchies –one red, one black, one blue.
For Hannah, who is nine – a glitter set, a small framed picture of a horse, a novel called The Pony Girls and the Great Ranch Mystery. The cover art looks like it’s geared to girls Hannah’s age. She only hopes that it is.
For John, who is fifteen – a Toronto Maple Leafs pencil case, a Toronto Maple Leafs nightlight, and a video game. She has no idea what the game is called. Only that it’s a detective game and this is good because John has started saying that he might like to be a police officer one day.
She pays for her wares and the Chinese lady takes her money. She wishes the Chinese lady a Merry Christmas but she says nothing to her. Just ushers her out the door.
Back in the car.It’s 6:13 and she wonders what to have for supper. Take-out is out of the question. She knows there’s pizza and chicken pies in the freezer and maybe, just maybe, John will show initiative and have supper ready when she gets back. It’s happened before. It doesn’t happen very often but it has happened before.
She clicks on the radio. Bing Crosby is singing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.”
“I’ll try, Bing,” she says. “I’ll try.”
Yeah. Best look after that. Easy to say when it’s just you and your wife and you both get pension cheques that enable you to do nothing but chain smoke all day. Not so easy when you’re a single mother of three and you’re working cutting hair in the crappy salon tacked on to the north side of Al’s Route16 Truck Stop. Not so easy when Al Roker, the fat cat who owns the truck stop, has no sense of charity at all. He wants his rental money on the first of every month, on the dot. Take that out of your wages and then pay your rent and the grocery bill and the water bill and the electricity bill and the telephone bill and then buy your kids the video games and designer jeans they want this month and see how much money you have left to spend on your transmission.
And then it happened. December 20.Driving to work and the car just seizes up. She’s on the highway,blue wooly gloves gripping the steering wheel, cursing as the engine sputters and the car jerks. Behind her, cars honk. Drivers pass her and shoot her dirty looks and outstretched fingers. Yeah, sorry I can’t predict the future. Sorry I didn’t look into my crystal ball and saw that my car would be breaking down today.
Phone call to a towing company. Phone call to the taxi. More money out the window. Money she doesn’t have. Gets to work late. Al bitches at her. Lost customers who wanted a haircut after breakfast. She thinks he’s lying. Al’s always trying to belittle his employees so they’ll feel beholden to him.“It happens again, I’m fining you,” he says. “You signed a contract. Remember?”
Yes, she says. She remembers. Does three haircuts that day. Usually she does at least seven. It’s the weather. No one wants a haircut when it’s colder than an igloo and everyone’s spending their money on Christmas presents. No tips either.
The garage calls her shortly after 2.It’s going to cost $400 to repair her car. She closes her eyes. A hand goes to her chest to quell her horrified heart. That’s all the money she has in her chequing account. She has bills to pay and Christmas presents to buy.
But she needs that car. It’s the car that gets her to work, that gets her boy to his hockey games, that gets the girls to gymnastics, that gets her to the grocery store. She tells the man at the garage to do the work. Okay, he says. “Should be ready by Christmas Eve.”
Christmas Eve arrives. Outside it’s shrieking wind. Snow coming down like the sky is angry. It’s blackout. She gets someone, a busgirl named Joy, to drive her to the garage. Joy’s not happy about it. Says she needs to get home and cook dinner for her family. “You owe me one,” she keeps saying,her lips moving around the cigarette she’s got chomped between her teeth. “You hear me? You owe me one. I want free haircuts for my kids for this.”
Merry Christmas, she thinks.
Garage closes at six and they arrive at5:42. The final bill is for $417. She pays. Mostly by Interact. Digs into her purse for a twenty and uses that to pay the balance. Back in the car. Starts it up. Gas gauge needle is just above the E.
She looks into her purse. Bunch of loose coins and some bills. She’s got eighteen dollars and 12 cents.
And no Christmas presents.
Crying, she drives to the corner gas and climbs out into the freezing biting night. Starts to pump her gas and that’s when she sees the light. It’s coming from the shopping plaza across the street. The green and yellow glare of the dollar store.
Suddenly, she stops pumping gas. She’s got eight dollars in so far. She thinks that’s enough to get her home and then back to work on Boxing Day. Pays for her gas and then drives over to the Dollar Store.
A short Chinese lady in a dark green frock tells her that the store is closing.
“Please. I only have ten dollars and I need to buy Christmas presents. I haven’t been able to buy anything.”
The Chinese lady scowls but lets her into the store. As she walks in, the muzak – an instrumental of Frosty the Snowman – shuts off. So do half the store’s lights.From out in the parking lot she hears two voices, masculine and overpoweringly loud, bragging about how drunk they’re about to get.
Her hands pushes into her purse and pulls out the ten dollars and change.
Everything in the store costs one dollar. Three presents for everyone.
For Kathy, who is five – some Hello Kitty notepads, a Barbie sticker book, a set of three scrunchies –one red, one black, one blue.
For Hannah, who is nine – a glitter set, a small framed picture of a horse, a novel called The Pony Girls and the Great Ranch Mystery. The cover art looks like it’s geared to girls Hannah’s age. She only hopes that it is.
For John, who is fifteen – a Toronto Maple Leafs pencil case, a Toronto Maple Leafs nightlight, and a video game. She has no idea what the game is called. Only that it’s a detective game and this is good because John has started saying that he might like to be a police officer one day.
She pays for her wares and the Chinese lady takes her money. She wishes the Chinese lady a Merry Christmas but she says nothing to her. Just ushers her out the door.
Back in the car.It’s 6:13 and she wonders what to have for supper. Take-out is out of the question. She knows there’s pizza and chicken pies in the freezer and maybe, just maybe, John will show initiative and have supper ready when she gets back. It’s happened before. It doesn’t happen very often but it has happened before.
She clicks on the radio. Bing Crosby is singing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.”
“I’ll try, Bing,” she says. “I’ll try.”
Comments
Post a Comment