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At long last, your Holiday shopping is complete! Every last person is checked off the list, and you have time to spare. Maybe you deserve something a little extra special, too? Or is there someone you suddenly remembered? Are you just imagining that you’re done? What if you actually haven’t gotten everything finished? This time of year is always so stressful—how are you handling shopping at all?
Richard took a deep breath and sank into one of the tables in the food court. The various smells wafted over to him, and his stomach responded eagerly. However, his stomach was going to have to wait for his energy and his feet--which were killing him--to catch up to its urges. He was hungry, certainly. He hadn't eaten in hours. But he was tired, and before he did anything else he needed to make sure he wasn't forgetting anyone or anything on the crumpled, torn, ink-blotted, worn list in his hand.
His eyes scanned it, looking over each name and the notes he had made beside each one as to what he thought--or had been told--they would want for Christmas gifts that year. Everything was checked, crossed, scribbled over, whatever he'd thought appropriate at the time to indicate he'd finished the shopping for that person. So why did he feel like he was forgetting someone? Someones?
Should he buy presents for the rest of the staff at his mother's dance studio? They'd recently hired someone to work reception, now, something his mother used to mostly handle herself. Should he buy her a present? What would he even buy her?
Nah, he probably shouldn't. Maybe a gift card? Or would that be weird. It probably wouldn't be weird, right? He wasn't her boss or anything, right?
Right?
Was he her boss? His mother owned the studio and was certainly her boss, and his mother was grooming him to take it over. That's why he was in college, to get his MBA and take over the studio so his mother could retire. But did that make him the receptionist's boss?
He jiggled his leg anxiously, leaning back in the hard plastic and metal chair and looking up at the ceiling above it. The bright lights stung his eyes, but he still looked at them for at long as he could stand before squeezing his eyes shut and looking back at the list on the table in front of him and the bags on the floor by his side. He knew he was for sure done with his list. He had been very sure this whole time that no one in his family was being left out. But what was the proper course of action for "tangentially known employee of parent who owns business you are going to inherit"? He didn't want to come off as weird, but he didn't want to come off as rude, either.
He supposed a small giftcard to like, a coffeeshop or something would be alright. He was pretty sure he'd seen her drinking coffee. He peeled himself up out of the chair and dragged himself and his purchases on his sore feet to the coffeeshop storefront in the foodcourt. The wait in line was excruciating when all he wanted to do was take a year-long nap, but he did eventually get to the counter.
"One ten-dollar gift card, please." Smile, Richard. The guy behind the counter has to deal with customers and is also tired. Smile. Be pleasant.
"Okay, ten dollar gift card. Slide your credit card on the pinpad there for me, please." Swipe. Click. Beep. "Thank you, here's your receipt. Have a good rest of your day and good luck with your list."
"Thank you, you too, see you later," came the autopilot response. It wasn't until he was several steps away that he realised what he'd said.
....Whatever. Whatever. He had the giftcard. Now he was done. Really, truly done.
