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“Always going the extra mile, huh?” I tell her as we exit the stock room.
“Gotta guarantee that Christmas bonus!” she says, laughing.
“It’s still just February,” I laugh back.
When we get back to the front of the store, Anna took some initiative for a change and has picked up from where Helena stopped. She is dusting the shelves and the gear lying on top of them. Danielle is with a client, a spiffy-looking man pointing at something in the window.
Assuming everything is under control, I lay the jerseys I’m holding down on the countertop. Walking over to the front display window to open it, I ask Helena to start hanging the winter clearance signs up.
I see Danielle walk back into the store with the client in tow; she tells him to take a seat on the center bench and wait, but he refuses, saying he’s in a hurry.
She runs into the back, and the man looks impatient.
I keep a wary eye on him while I organize the baseball jerseys, and before long, Danielle is back, but empty-handed.
“We don’t have those cleats in the size you need, sir,” Danielle says in an apologetic tone. The man is not happy. “But we have other colors and models!”
She smiles awkwardly and crosses her arms defensively. I keep on doing what I’m doing but with one eye on them. If it gets out of control, I can intervene.
“My son wants those cleats,” he says, pointing to the left window. “Those are the one his favorite soccer player uses!”
“I’m sorry sir,” Danielle says, still keeping her cool. “I can put in an order with the distributor, but it can take up to a month to—”
“Shit. I don’t have a month! My son’s birthday is tomorrow!”
Helena’s eyes are as wide as plates as she watches the spectacle happening inside our humble store.
Anna drops what she’s doing too and holds a dusting rag on top of a shelf while looking at Danielle and the hostile customer.
“There’s nothing I can do, sir. Have you tried other stores?” Danielle grows exasperated, and I see it’s time for me to step in.
I leave the baseball jerseys and head toward them.
“Excuse me, sir?” I call for his attention. “I would like you to not curse at my employee, please.”
“And who the hell might you be?” He rolls his eyes then mocks me, punctuating the word with air quotes. “The ‘manager’?”
“Yes,” I offer him my hand to shake. He just looks at it for a moment. When he finally reaching out, he does so with a limp handshake that instantly irritates me. “What seems to be the problem?”
“What kind of shit store do you run that can’t keep those cleats in children’s sizes in stock?” he says, angry.
“Those specific soccer cleats are very popular sir,” I say, apologetic but firm. “Like Danielle here said, have you tried other stores? I’m sure you will find them at another sporting—”
“What did you say?!” He leans in close and grabs my arm, and a surge of fear courses through me.
I can’t believe the moment Dan leaves the store something like this happens. Where’s dad when you need him?
“Hey!” A different male voice makes itself heard, and luckily the outraged client seems to pay respect to it.
This other man, tall and about the same age as my dad, takes the rude client by the collar, and simply says, “You let go of her, and I’ll let go of you.”
I’m quickly released, and the man rushes out of the store.
“And don’t come back here!” my newfound hero yells.
“Thank you, sir,” I say, laying my hand over his shoulder, my heart still beating rapidly.
The girls approach as the man turns to me, smiling. “You don’t remember me, do you, Emily?” he asks.
