I’m glad Mom isn’t here to see this. I press my hand to my forehead, willing away the stress headache that’s slowly seeping over my skull. I’d begged and argued and made such a good point this morning. It’d been a good idea—at least I thought it was. Staying open an extra hour would mean more people could come into the store. More people equal sales.
Sales equal money.
Money means we won’t lose the store.
I lower my hand and gaze around at the eight hundred square feet of gifts, trinkets, and collectibles that makes up The Magpie. It’s my mom’s life’s work, this little gift shop. Set up right in the middle of The Vintage shopping center by the boardwalk, we are in a prime location. We’re right by the beach, right in the middle of all the foot traffic and shoppers who are here to visit the bigger stores and dine at the upscale restaurants.
All the conditions are perfect, and yet we’re about to go out of business.
I let my gaze drift to a shelf of glass angel figurines, each posed in a different way, some of them decorated with each month’s birthstone, others holding a baby girl or boy, or a dog or cat. They’re gifts that used to be so popular a few years ago. People would collect them for every occasion, buy one for every family member that matched their birthstone or marked an important event in someone’s life. They used to be so popular we couldn’t keep them in stock. I remember the November birthstone angels would sell out every other week and I’d always wonder why so many damn people were born in November.
One time I mentioned it and my mom snorted and said November is nine months after Valentine’s day and that’s why, a realization that made me blush from head to toe. Now I would kill to have an annoyed customer in here, tapping her foot impatiently because we’re out of the angel she wants. They used to be so popular and now they just collect dust on a shelf that no one looks at anymore.
I glance at my watch. It’s 7:33 and I am a total failure. The Magpie is open six days a week, from ten in the morning until six in the evening. With business dropping every month, and the overwhelming stress of losing our store which is our only source of income, I’ve promised my mom I would fix this place. We’re no longer struggling each month. It’s beyond that. We’re drowning.
I came up with this genius idea earlier this morning. Today is Thursday, and just like every other week day, most people work a nine to five job, right? That means the average person is stuck at work until five and then they have to drive home, probably to make dinner for kids, or to take them to soccer practice and stuff. Our store closes at six, which means those potential customers aren’t even going to bother coming in. I decided to stay open an extra hour today. Mom thought it was a dumb idea. She says our regular customers already know our hours so they won’t think to come in later. I say our regular customers suck because they haven’t been coming in at all lately, so why not attract new customers? Six o’clock is the time people go out to dinner at the nearby restaurants. If we’re open, they’ll see us and stop in.
Now I’m cringing as I recall the conversation with Mom this morning. She’d been adamant that it wouldn’t work. I’d promised her it would. She left work at the usual time, a sarcastic expression plastered on her face as she walked out the door. “Have fun being bored for an hour,” she’d said. It’s as if she knew no one would come in, and I’d been so cocky that I’d prove her wrong.
Well no one has come in. Score one for Mom.
I groan as I reach under the counter for my phone and purse. I’d done the best I could. I posted on the store’s Facebook and Twitter page that we’d be open later today. I even propped open the store’s door for half an hour, hoping people would notice it as they walked by. I can’t think of a more blatant invitation to come inside than a door that’s already open for you.
Heat rushes to my cheeks as I realize we probably wasted more money in electricity this past hour than we earned all day. I sling my purse over my shoulder and turn to leave just as the door opens. I freeze in place, my momentary excitement fizzling as I take in the person who just entered.
A college-aged guy with cropped black hair and a tight-fitting T-shirt with the local college football team logo on it. Not to stereotype here, but he is not exactly the typical customer for a place like this. He’s probably lost and looking for directions.
“Hello,” I say with my polite store voice. “Can I help you?
“I hope so,” he says with a laugh. He scratches his neck, glancing around the store. “My family is meeting for dinner next door and, well, I only just now realized we’re meeting because it’s my mom’s birthday.”
“Uh oh,” I say with a smile.
He nods, his eyes widening. “She will kill me if she knows I forgot. I texted them saying I hit some traffic when really, I was sitting in the parking lot just now, trying to figure out what to do. Then I saw your shop.”
“I am happy to save the day,” I say with a grin. Internally, I’m jumping up and down and shouting with excitement over this unexpected customer. “What kind of stuff does your mom like?”
“Smell good stuff. Like air fresheners and stuff. She also likes anything sparkly.”
I nod, stepping out from the counter. “We have wax melters over here,” I say, pointing him toward the porcelain melters that come in different sizes and designs. “You can pick some wax cubes and put them in the tray on top. The light turns on and melts the wax, which makes the whole house smell good.”
He nods, picking up one of the higher end melters, as opposed to the smaller cheaper ones. “She would like this. Right now she uses candles in every room, so it’s kind of the same thing, right?”
“It’s actually better than candles,” I say. “You just turn it on and there’s no fire so it’s not a safety hazard. Plus, you can change out the wax scents anytime you want.” I point to the shelf next to the melters where we have one hundred and thirty different scents. I know this because I hand-picked each of them from our supplier, only choosing the best ones from his selection.
“This is perfect,” he says as his shoulders relax. “Um…do you do gift wrapping by chance?”
“We totally do,” I say. That’s an extra five dollar charge. I’m probably smiling so big I look like a freak, but I can’t help myself. I’m getting a sale! A sale that will totally justify being open an hour later.
He picks out the most expensive melter ($35) and then gets me to help him choose some wax scents. I’m not exactly trying to be a sleazy salesman, but I keep showing him scent after scent, letting him see all my favorites in hopes that he buys more than one.
“I’ll take these,” he says, gesturing to the pile of wax cubes I’ve been handing him to smell.
“Which ones?” I say.
He shrugs. “All of them.”
“Excellent choices,” I say, scooping them up and taking them to the register. It’s ten cubes in all, so another thirty dollars of profit today. Woohoo!
I wrap up the gift and make it look pretty, then I let him borrow a pen so he can sign the card to his mom, which I also sold him from our card section. ($5.00)
“Thank you so much for stopping by,” I say as I hand him his receipt. This time my cheerful smile isn’t just some fake charade I put on in the name of customer service. I’m truly thrilled that he chose to spend a ton of money here.
“No, thank you,” he says. “You saved my ass today.
You saved my ass too, I think. An eighty dollar sale is a big deal to us these days. Most days we don’t even sell close to a hundred dollars total. “If your mom likes it, make sure to tell her about the store,” I say. “In fact…tell everyone you know.”
He laughs and gives me a little salute. “Will do. Have a good night.”
“You too!” I call out as he leaves the store, the bells on the door handle jingling behind him. I can’t remember the last time I had such an easy sale, and for so much money. We’ve always marketed to the trinket-loving crowd, and our customers are mostly middle-aged women and teachers, but maybe we should shift our marketing strategy.
Are you a shitty child to your hard working parents? Buy them gifts at The Magpie! We even gift wrap so you don’t have to do a thing but collect the praise from your overworked parents!
I chuckle to myself as I flip off the lights and lock up the store. The Vintage is a popular strip along the boardwalk in Sterling, Texas. It’s been here since the fifties, and it used to be pretty famous, but then some of the stores got old and run down and people stopped coming. In the eighties, someone revitalized the strip and businesses stared moving in again. There are restaurants and gift shops and unique hobby stores for people who like model trains and comic books and stuff. A couple of the restaurants have even been featured on TV shows about quirky or unique eateries. Lately though, a few stores have had to shut down because of the shitty economy, and this rich guy named Jack Brown bought them up and turned them into businesses.
Not cool businesses like stores or restaurants, but stupid things like real estate offices or dental offices or something lame. It doesn’t make any sense because people come to the boardwalk to hang out and shop, not to go see their dentist. A lot of the older store owners are annoyed by it, but my mom says there’s nothing you can do. Once the little shop goes out of business, anyone can buy it and turn it into anything they want.
My mom opened The Magpie in 2001 with my dad just after I was born. Well, he’s not really my dad. He’s not even my step dad anymore, since they divorced a few years ago. I was the product of a one night stand, and my mom says she has no idea who my real dad is. She’d met and married Ed Reese when I was a year old, and he was the only dad I’ve ever known.
But now I’m glad we’re not related. After the divorce, he stopped coming around. Stopped calling me. Stopped even caring that I exist. Some dad. I don’t know the specifics of what made them decide to divorce, and Mom has never talked about it. Most of my friends are relieved when their parents split up because they’d been fighting for months and it was obvious they wouldn’t resolve things, but that’s not how it worked for me. Mom and Dad never fought, at least not in front of me. Sure, they were kind of boring, spending their evenings watching TV on the couch, but I didn’t even know anything was wrong. One day I came home from working at the store and Mom was sitting on the kitchen table.
“It’s over,” she’d said.
“What?” For a moment, I feared she was going to close the store. Sales had been doing downhill for months and it was a constant worry on my mind.
“Ed’s gone.”
“Oh my God,” I said, fear trickling down my spine. Did the only dad I’d ever known decide to leave? Was this really happening?
Mom shrugged, her eyes never leaving the table in front of her. “It was mutual. We’re getting divorced.”
“Oh,” I’d said, studying her face for any sign that she was heartbroken. This was a life changing thing, and it was one of those capital B Big Deals. There was nothing sad about her though. Just my mom’s normal expression; bored and a little annoyed, her short brown hair frizzy on the sides because she hadn’t bothered brushing it. In the blink of an eye, my step dad was out of my life and I never saw him again. We never talked about it. Mom just went on with life as if he’d never been there at all.
I heave a sigh as I walk home from work. My dad can disappear forever for all I care. Mom and I don’t need him. And I definitely shouldn’t be wasting my life thinking about him and wondering what he’s up to. I have bigger people to worry about.
Like Jack Brown.