The Long Holiday Nights

I had a thought: say, hypothetically, I die one day. In such a case, this would be my hell. I would be at work, wearing a red polo shirt and tight khaki pants, fulfilling someone’s never-ending online grocery order, while Christmas carols play over the loudspeakers. And moments before I pass out from exhaustion, my second to last thought would be if my ass still looks tone despite all the weight I lost over the past eight hours. 

This thought warmed me, like a plush-loft blanket cocooning my body at two a.m. after walking five minutes from my car to my apartment through frigid winds. Like I’d unlock some universal truth at age thirty-two. I have decades to find the right path, to correct my course. I just have to not snap before then.

As the panic set in, of not remembering if I’d taking the lonely walk home or if I actually did pass out while working, I realized another day has arrived. “Sleigh Ride” by the Ronettes echoed throughout the store, same as it did twenty-four hours ago. It was three p.m., and I was too busy to be bothered with the details of yesterday. I accidentally skipped the morning again, which, for the while I had it, was the only time of day I could catch a breath.  

There was an excitement in the air that can only be felt in during the holiday season between seven a.m. and midnight, yet this feeling peaked at three p.m. Parents and grandparents were leaving work, and in their precious time before their other homely obligations, they came to Target to complete their Santa duties with a fever. Christmas, only six days away, felt like it would take another two weeks to arrive, and I had to soldier on, to try and keep up with the energy of the people. 

I was the manager in charge of the online orders. I knew this role would be the death of me when I first took it three years ago. I’ve had opportunities to switch departments, but, naively, I couldn’t bring myself to leave such a fate to some other poor soul. I was wrong. I should have fled for my life.

I ran into Dylan, my boss. Thoughts raced through my mind at that moment, like how dehydrated I felt, the fogginess in my head, how you haven’t seen me in so long. (I’ve missed you. I hope you know that.)

“You look chipper, sir,” I told Dylan. He really did. It made me uneasy. 

“Well, all I did was get your Fulfillment team to increase their productivity. Our pick-on-time score is currently the lowest in the district. Now it’s up to you to bring it on home.”

“Of course,” I lied. How dare he, like the daytime Fulfillment Team wasn’t the same group of people I’ve spent the past year developing, like the entire closing team I have to “bring it home” with wasn’t hired a month ago, when all the madness began. Whatever, I thought. I’ll complain another time. There was work to be done.

Nothing surprised me about the night, because it was the same as every other night. My team and I failed to keep up with the mounting online orders, we were consistently stopped by needy instore guests, one of my new team members found ways to make mistakes despite all the time I’ve invested in his training, I tried to pull my hair out, and finally, overtaken with stress, I blacked out before somehow coming to in an icy parking lot, taking the long walk of shame to my apartment.

There were a few positives throughout the day that carried me on through my trials. My PB&J that I made before leaving home was particularly delicious during my lunch break, at 8:59 p.m. It was my only meal of the day, thus my starvation enhanced the flavor. At 5:45 p.m., “Snowman” by Sia played over the loudspeakers, the only time it played all night. It wasn’t a typical overused traditional Christmas song, and for the two-and-a-half minutes it played, no one needed me for anything. At 4:10 p.m., I made prolonged eye contact with an incredibly cute goth chick as we passed by each other in the backroom, exchanging not names but simple hellos. I could never date her, given that I’m in management and she was a seasonal hire for another department, yet I’m lonely enough to enjoy even these brief interactions.

These moments seemed to fall off me as quickly as they arrived, like how snowflakes dissolve on warm skin before one can appreciate their intricate beauty.

---

I woke up at noon again. The day was so cold to me that I couldn’t leave from under the covers. Eventually, I had to muster the courage to move. It was 1:35 p.m. Time to get ready for work. Capitalism is a trap, I thought.

Dylan is unphased by the day by the time I arrived at 3 p.m. He asked me for the eightieth time this month why my night team is not completing all the online orders by the end of the night, why the all-stars he gets to oversee has to complete the orders rolled over from the previous day on top of today’s workload. I make excuses but keep them to myself. I don’t want to sound like a bitch. Is there any other option besides getting it all done tonight, anyway?

The online orders came in fast. My team moved too slow for my standards; they were too green. The corporatocracy is set up to make us hate each other. We chase metrics like dogs chasing sticks, and when we can’t catch them, we blame our coworkers. The coworkers are not the enemy (most of the time, at least). The real enemy are the people. The shoppers. The gluttonous consumers. Some of them were hairy and savage. Some had fangs dripping with blood down their chin. Some were wrapped in bandages from head to toe, revealing only their glowing, venomous eyes. Some walked sluggish and limp, with bits of rotting flesh hanging from their bones. Some floated off the ground and made chilling noises that hung above my head instead of from any particular direction. They flooded the store. They terrified me more than I let on. 

The corporatocracy’s master plan is working, because I wanted to strangle Jamal. He was one of my seasonal hires. Sixteen years old. He moved like a snail. He still didn’t understand how to find things. He made mistakes I wouldn’t expect a person to make after a week on the job. I can monitor the progress of my team members through my work device, and during my lunch break—after enjoying my divine PB&J—I notice that Jamal made to progress in finding the few items he had left for his online order. There are still several more orders to get to. I asked him over one of the walkie-talkies we all carry if he’s having trouble and said yes. The poor kid was trying his best during the most hectic time of the year and I repeatedly smacked my walkie against my desk before looking for him.

“Jamal,” I later confronted him, “I understand you wanting to find everything in your order, but sometimes we cannot find what we’re looking for. Those items either get lost or stolen or already picked up by a guest. That’s the reality of our job. You have to make the decision to cancel the items you cannot find and move on because there’s always another order that needs to get done after you finish the one you’re on.”

“Oooh,” he said. It was his catchphrase. Every time I gave him a new piece of information, he went “Oooh.” His head would tilt up. His eyes would widen behind his glasses. These innocent details always made me want to laugh whenever I heard it. On such occasions my blood pressure was too high for me to enjoy anything.

It was another 2 a.m. night upon my arrival to my apartment complex. All the close spots were taking this late at night, so I had to park farther than normal. I’ve grown accustomed to parking closer to my building entrance by now. The inconvenience bothered me. Not the cold; I wore a heavy jacket. Not the darkness; I kept my wits about me. The extra five minutes it takes me to reach my door couldn’t feel lonelier or more deserving.

Again, I waited until the afternoon to finally leave my bed. My shower thoughts consisted of plans to leave work at a reasonable time, to sleep with the curtains open, to wake up early enough to complete something productive before the inevitable grind. I hated how long it takes me to shower. The warm water soothing my skin felt so good, and the cold air hits so bitterly whenever I turn the shower off. My water bill will make me regret this habit.

I was greeted by my boss’s balmy expression, his snide attitude towards my previous night’s performance. Déjà vu. Moments and feelings played out just as they did before. The optimism I held on my chest when I clocked in quickly faded before the ludicrous demands of the public. The productivity of my team opened me to disappointment, which gave way to hopelessness. The goth girl and I exchanged hellos, at the exact same spot in the backroom as previous. She was so young, at the peak of her beauty. Her eyes were cartoonishly large. I instinctually looked back to make sure I saw them right. She faced forward, a one-way curiosity. Her arms were so thin I imagined wrapping my middle finger and thump around them.

There was nothing new about these thoughts. I was stuck in a loop. “Snowman” by Sia. A fanged creature asked me where to find lotion. My PB&J. Jamal said “Oooh.”

At 10:26 p.m., before the never-ending grocery order I would try to fulfill, before my realization, before I eventually passed out, a witch—stocky, with apathetic eyes—asked one of my team members if she can by a display tree. I, as a manager, was called upon for assistance. This close to Christmas, there were no other trees anywhere in the store, display or otherwise. I hesitated. I lived this before. Then I tried to get ahead of the situation. Yes, ma’am, you can buy the tree with all the Target-themed ornaments attached. Yes, ma’am, I’ll sell it to you for 70% off. Wait here while I find a flatbed to carry the tree to a register for you, ma’am.

She followed me, thinking that was what I asked of her. An ornament broke off as I lifted the tree onto the flatbed. She went through the same motions as she did last night: asking for a replacement ornament (of which there was none), wondering if there were lights on the display tree (there were none), asking if she can get the tree for a discount since it was not in a box (I already told her 70% off). In between each inquiry, she mumbled into a cellphone held by her ear in a language I couldn’t make out. This has happened before. Everything else today has been circumstantial, and commonly so, but that display tree and that fucking witch bitch, those details were too specific. What was going on? In my interaction with her, I tried to pull my hair out, to yank two fist full chunks completely from their roots. I discovered then that I had no hair. I’ve been bald for over a decade.

---

The next day I walked into “Sleigh Ride” by the Ronettes. Right on time, like everything else. The boss, the goth, the minor, the witch bitch, you know. The loop was looping. I watched. I listened. Everyone memorized their lines, delivered them like they’ve rehearsed for a thousand hours. I spoke mostly in grunts; I didn’t want to waste words on anyone. The same monsters asked me where to find lotion and cornbread and Christmas cards. I simply pointed them in the right direction this time. This satisfied them enough. Nothing changed.

At 11:18 p.m. I started the last online order of the night. The rest of my team were either in the middle of fulfilling orders themselves or leaving, as many of them were only scheduled till 11. This order, a grocery order, bounced me back and forth, from the cheeses to the salads to the yogurts and back to the sugar cookies. Time slowed down for me, as if the planet stopped spinning, yet I foolishly tried to defy nature’s fatigue. My once toned body has withered away into skin and bone, like I’ve become a ghoul myself. That’s when my epiphany happened, that this will be my hell if I die, that if I don’t make different decisions, then I will never escape. That knowledge—that internal locus of control—lifted my head. It warmed me like a sauna into a state of euphoria, which gave way to blackness.

How much time has passed, I didn’t know. I awoke where I last remembered standing: in the middle of the produce section. Not another soul in sight, no one to watch me fall or check on me as I came to. According to my work device, it was a quarter to twelve. All of the chilled items I grabbed for the still active grocery order were out of temp and needed to be replaced. I had to get them all over again. I had to start over. The store was almost closed, and I was still working on this goddamn order. This never-ending grocery order. I still had twenty-three items left to retrieve for it. I screamed I am dead! I have died! This is hell! I am in hell! Every night this has happened. Every night this will keep happening. It will never end. Oh god, why won’t this ever end?

Silence. No one around to hear my laments. No one here to comfort me. I got up, took a breath, and went back to work.  The order needed to be fulfilled. I am a retail employee. What else was I to do?