The Snowman

I was four hours into my shift, but it felt like I’d been there for about 800 years. If you’ve ever worked retail, you know that after a couple of hours, it all starts to blur together. If later on, you’d asked me to pull the woman who yelled at me because I told her I couldn’t process her return without the receipt out of a lineup, I might have mixed her up with the… other woman who yelled at me because I couldn’t process her return without a receipt. Yeah, people really take issue with that particular store policy. They’re also enraged by my state’s sales tax, no matter how many times I explain to them that I do not, in fact, have control over which items are taxable in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.

Anyway, this wasn’t just any ordinary shift. It was the 22nd of December. I was in charge of closing, so that day, I would have the distinguished honor of dragging last-minute Christmas shoppers from the store kicking and screaming. That’s an exaggeration. I swear. But, moving on, it was a rough time to work. I had to wear a sparkly reindeer antlers headband. Over the course of the day, I heard every Christmas song Michael Bublé has ever recorded. Last, but certainly not least, there was the snowman. 

Not a real snowman. We didn’t have snow on the ground at this point in the year, just wintry mix. No, this was a guy dressed as a snowman. It wasn’t the first time I had seen him at or near my place of employment, either. The first time I saw him was in April of that year, and yes, he was dressed as a snowman then, too. He walked into the store, came up to the cash register, grinned, and said, “Sir, you are my new best friend!”

I’m not a man, but for some reason, the snowman really thought I was. I might have found it offensive if the whole thing hadn’t been so bewildering. And why did I smile and nod instead of saying, “Dude, I don’t want to be friends with you, and I’m not a dude, by the way”? Um, hello, because the customer is always right? Even if he’s always dressed as a snowman and he thinks you’re his best guy friend.

By the time I saw the snowman on the day in question, we had become pretty close. I knew that he was a happily married father of three (it really does take all kinds), but that his parents didn’t approve of his penchant for dressing as a snowman. I also knew that he was an insurance adjuster, although I’m still unclear on whether he wore the snowman costume to work. I never asked. Another thing I never learned was his name. I did ask once, but he shook his head and walked away. I suppose this was only fair. He never learned my name, either, even though I wore a name tag. He called me Doug once, so I assume that was his name for me. 

So, back to me, halfway through the Shift From Hell. I had just reorganized the display at the front of the store before I dashed back over to the register to help a man who was buying a suspicious number of elf hats. I asked him if they were for a party, and he chuckled and said, “In a sense.” I looked up from the elf hats, and practically jumped out of the hideous Christmas t-shirt I had been wearing every shift since Black Friday. Why? The snowman was standing right next to me. I have no idea why I didn’t hear him approach. He was wearing an inflatable snowman costume. Those things are, like, leafblower loud. 

“Do you have a minute?” the snowman asked.

I did not have a minute, but I put on my customer service smile and said, “Sure. What can I help you with?”

The snowman looked a little disappointed. “Come on, man, I thought we were friends. You don’t have to talk to me like I’m a customer.”

“Oh… Well, I’m sorry, but I’m a bit busy right now. Christmas shopping, you know?”

“Christmas what?”

“Shopping.”

He looked puzzled and shook his head. “Pretty sure that’s not a word, buddy.”

“Riiight. Well, there are a lot of people waiting in line now, so could you wait a little while? My break’s in an hour.”

“Okay.” The snowman took a few steps back and leaned against the wall.

“You’re going to wait there for an hour?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Don’t have anywhere else to be.”

I blinked a few times, hoping that would make the snowman less confusing. Not that it ever worked. “Well, okay then,” I said. Then I turned to the ever-growing line of exasperated shoppers.

The woman at the front of the line slammed something down on the counter. Like I said, they blur together, so I don’t really remember what it was. Let’s say it was a tuba. We don’t sell musical instruments, but it was a tuba. “I want to return this,” she snapped. “If that’s not too much trouble for you, missy.”

“Do you have a receipt, ma’am?”

“Do I have a receipt? No, I don’t have a receipt. I bought this tuba last week. You expect me to still have my receipt? No, that’s not how we’re doing this. I bought this tuba, in this store, last week! It isn’t what I wanted, so I would like to return it!”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Without a receipt, I can’t process your return.”

She spluttered. I think she got in a “Well, I never,” but I can’t verify that. Finally, she got herself together and said, “I want to speak to a manager.”

“I’m the shift supervisor.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Well, get your boss on the phone, then.”

“Unfortunately, my boss is out of town,” I said. 

“Fine! In that case, I guess I’ll take my business elsewhere! You just lost yourself a customer! I hope you’re happy that you ruined Christmas for everyone in this store!” With that, she collected her tuba and departed.

The next few customers were easy to deal with, but then one of my coworkers came to me crying because someone had yelled at her. When I got back from dealing with that, the other person on register was trying and failing to adequately help the neverending wave of impatient people holding mugs and cat t-shirts, scented candles and boxes of chocolate. I jumped back in, and by the time I was set to go on break, I had completely forgotten about the snowman. He had not, however, forgotten about me.

“Break time,” he said, bounding over to me. 

“So it is.”

The next thing I knew, I was in the Taco Bell across the street with the snowman. He insisted on paying for my food. Now, you may be asking yourself, how does one carry a wallet whilst wearing an inflatable snowman costume? I’ll tell you how-- a fanny pack. He always wore a neon green fanny pack around the middle of the costume. Over the months I knew him, I caught glimpses of its contents. A brown leather wallet--standard as can be-- with photos of his kids inside, business cards (none of which were his), a harmonica, a ticket to a Baltimore Orioles game, and a packet of duck sauce from a Chinese restaurant. 

“So, what did you want to talk about?” I asked.

The snowman set his taco down. “I know I always painted a rosy picture for you, but that wasn’t the truth. Denise is leaving me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Do you know why?”

He looked at the table. “It’s the snowman costume. Also, I think she met another man. But it’s mostly the snowman costume.”

“Oh, man.”

He nodded. “Well, I came to you because I need you to convince her not to leave me.”

“But I… I don’t even know your wife. How am I supposed to convince her?”

“You’re better at this stuff than me. I mean, your wife is never going to leave you. Happiest woman on earth.”

“I don’t have a wife,” I said. 

“Don’t you? I thought you did. Thought her name was Susie.”

I shook my head. “You know, I should probably tell you, I’m not a man.”

The snowman smiled. “Oh, I know. Thought you were a lesbian.”

“You called me Doug one time.”

“No I didn’t.”

I sighed, finished my burrito, and stood up. “Well, it’s been nice talking to you, and I’m really sorry about your wife, but I need to get back to work.”

“I understand. Well, Denise is coming by to do her Christmas… Um… Her Christmas…”

“Shopping?”

He laughed. “Yeah, that’s a good one! Shopping! Nice try, kid! Anyway, she’s coming by to buy Christmas presents, so when she comes in, I need you to convince her to stay with me. I can’t stay, so can you do it without me there?”

“Will do,” I said. “But how will I know it’s her?”

“She’s blonde. 43 years old. About 5’4”. Looks kind of impatient. You’ll know her when you see her.”

He had just described a significant portion of my customers, but I smiled and nodded. I put my coat on and hurried across the street. Back at work, I asked the girl who had been covering for me if she could handle staying on register. She nodded. This left me free to wander around fixing things and checking in with other employees. We were still understaffed, and I could tell everyone was frazzled, employees and customers alike. I had already decided when I talked to the snowman that there was no way I was actually going to track down his nondescript wife in this mess and convince her to stay with her husband, and going back to work should have solidified that.

Still, I felt bad for him. He clearly wasn’t all there, but he was nice, and they had kids together. Plus, it was almost Christmas. As much as working in retail had taught me to hate Christmas, I didn’t like to think of the poor guy all alone for the holidays. Weird or not, he was kind of my friend. That was why, about half an hour later, I decided to help him out. The trouble was finding her. I had no idea how I was going to do that. Like I said, the description he gave me could have described half the women in the store, and at least a quarter of the women in the whole town. The strategy I settled on was… ill-advised, to say the least.

“Excuse me,” I said, tapping the first middle-aged blonde woman I could find on the shoulder. “Are you Denise?”

“No. Why?”

“No reason. Sorry for disturbing you. But while I have you here, is there anything specific I can help you find?”

The woman rolled her eyes and walked away. Not to be deterred, I continued my potentially dangerous strategy. For every lady who either walked away or let me down politely, there was one who went off on me, blaming everything about me on my entire childish, participation-trophy-winning generation. But that wasn’t going to stop me. After several long minutes, I found Denise.

“Yeah, I’m Denise. Who wants to know?” I can’t say I was expecting the thick Brooklyn accent she said this in. We’re a Philadelphia suburb. But I wasn’t there to worry about accents, so I ignored it. 

“Are you the Denise married to the guy who dresses up as a snowman?”

She sighed. “Did he tell you to try and change my mind? Well, you can tell him me and him are done. I mean it. I thought I could live with the whole snowman thing at first, but I can’t do it. The kids are getting bullied at school for it, you know that? And he never has time for me. No, it’s always snowman this and snowman that. I try to have a nice dinner, and does he take the snowman costume off? No. So you just tell him I’m not putting up with it anymore. I’m tired of him embarrassing me all the time. You hear me?”

“I hear you. But… he’s a nice guy, otherwise, isn’t he?”

“Oh, he’s a sweetheart,” she said. “That’s how he won me over. But this snowman business is just… I can’t deal with it. So, you tell him.”

“What would convince you to go back to him?”

“If he threw that damn snowman costume in the trash.”

That was when the snowman appeared again, and I swear, this went down like a romance movie. “Denise,” he said.

She turned around. “What are you doing here?”

“I want to win you back.”

“Yeah? Well, did you hear what that’s gonna take?”

“I did,” he said. “Honey, if I have to burn this costume to get you to stay with me, I’ll go get the gasoline.”

“You don’t need to burn it,” she said. “There’s a dumpster down the block.”

“Okay. I’ll throw it out.”

Denise ran into his arms and kissed him. “Oh, baby, I missed you!” She broke the kiss. “But show me you’re serious.”

“You got it.” He turned off the costume and pulled it down. 

It would have been a nicer sight if he’d been wearing a shirt under there, but hey, at least he was wearing pants. He picked up the costume from the floor, and he and Denise walked of the store holding hands. I never saw either of them again, but it’s unlikely I would have recognized them, anyway, with the snowman costume gone. 

I was so preoccupied with the romantic scene I’d just witnessed that I didn’t notice the customer until she had tapped me on the shoulder. Repeatedly.

“Excuse me.”

“Yes?”

“I’ve had a terrible experience in your store,” she said. “I would like to speak to the manager.”