King Santa

Abbey Hutchins detested standing in lines, queues, or any synonym describing the action of standing while awaiting some future object, service or action, with someone standing in front of you or behind you awaiting the same. She purposely organized her soon-to-be-middle-aged life to avoid such lines, which in the post pandemic world had become somewhat   normalized. She was willing to pay premium delivery prices which resulted in her almost never leaving the comforts of her home or waiting her turn for anything, until today. She’d just spoken to Lisa with Express Pharmacy about her delayed medication delivery, the one component of her highly organized life left to the auspices of the US Postal Service.   “Let’s give it  another week or so before we resend your order,”  Lisa said calmly. “In the meantime, we can contact your local pharmacy for loaner meds to be deducted from your replacement order. “Can I please have those overnighted to me?” Abbey implored. “Oh, I’m afraid not,” Lisa replied. “You’ll have to speak to the pharmacist in person.”  Abbey could feel the heat of indignation rising.  “You mean to tell me that I have to be inconvenienced to the point of having to travel for my meds due to your mess-up!” she countered.  Lisa sighed audibly, “Ma’am, we can’t be responsible for the actions of the postal service, but as I said, we’ll work with your local pharmacy, which according to my screen is only about five miles from you,” she added. “That is much beside the point!” Abbey responded angrily. “I’m sorry ma’am,” Lisa answered, “That’s the best we can do. I’ve already sent a fax to your local pharmacy. I suggest you call them too before you go there to make sure your emergency replacement meds will be available. Have a good day.” Lisa said before ending the call. “I’ve got some suggestions for you too!” Abbey responded to the drone of the dial tone. 

Twenty minutes later, Abbey parked her black sedan near the blue US post office mailbox adjacent to the Walgreen’s Pharmacy. It was a few days before Christmas and Abbey was not feeling at all festive. She walked briskly from her car to the pharmacy  entrance where a Salvation Army Santa was  ringing a bell alongside the traditional black kettle directly in front of the automatic doors . “Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!” Santa uttered in mock jolliness. “Damn,” Abbey uttered silently. “Ho, Ho, Ho…How are you today!” Santa added. “I’m sort of in a hurry,” Abbey said meekly. “I’ll take care of you when I come back,” she added before almost running through the open doors.  As Abbey feared, there was a  line of customers wrapped around several aisles, just a few steps from the pharmacy entrance. Her heart sank as she moved ahead to secure her place in line. She tried to remember the last time she’d stood in a line like this. Was it some thirty years ago when she’d stood in several lines to register for her college load or had it been the  several years prior to that when she and her brother stood in the sweltering summer heat to be vaccinated for elementary school?  She equated standing in this line today as a failure of sorts that she took quite personally. Successful people don’t stand in line, she thought, only the great unwashed,  the ordinary, the common,  with nothing better to do with their time.  Surely, people like Oprah and Katie Couric and others would never condescend to stand in line for anything. Maybe if  I’d studied harder, worked harder, I would have avoided this. Maybe I’d have been able to send someone in my stead, she mused, attempting to diffuse the chatter of the other customers around her. Thirty minutes later, she was in view of the pharmacy counter with three registers operated by two very young workers.   “That new gal is so slow,” she heard an elderly woman somewhere behind her remark about one of the workers. These young folks ain’t nothing like we was,” she added. “They don’t wanna work….got no work ethics.” “I blame Joe Biden.” Abbey heard another customer utter into the ether. “Always trying to make it so they don’t have to work to pay them loans back. They didn’t have these long lines in here before he got to be  president.”  Abbey,  fighting back the  impulse to  shake her head, thought of her late mothers words which rang true today. The most ignorant folks seem to  always talk the most.    Fifteen minutes later, she was standing in front of the blue line, a few feet from the counter.  “Next,” an attractive Asian woman called.  Abbey quickly walked to the counter, followed closely by an elderly man  who ignored the blue line, and stood so closely behind Abbey that she could smell his stale cologne.   A few moments later, Abbey accepted the replacement meds and turned toward the automatic doors, almost bumping into the old man behind her.  She could not wait to leave this place and vowed she would pay whatever premium Express Pharmacy imposed to avoid standing in another such line. To her relief, the Salvation Army Santa was absent from his previous post. “Guess he’s on a break, so maybe I lucked out being in there so long,”  she muttered, turning the corner toward her sedan. As she pulled the key fob from her bag, she observed the same Santa near the US Postal Service mailbox. “Damn,” she muttered.  Santa was now standing directly in front of her sedan.  “Ho, Ho, Ho, I see you made it back!” Santa exclaimed. Abbey looked around sheepishly.  She didn’t want to open her bag for a donation, so she pulled her phone from her coat pocket instead. “So sorry, Santa,” Abbey started, “It seems I spent everything inside,” she lied. She checked her surroundings before moving a little closer to Santa. “If I can get your name, I’ll send in a donation with your name included so that you get the proper credit,” she added, opening the Notes App on her phone to record his name. “Don’t you remember me, Abbey?” Santa said pensively, the bell now stark still in his right hand.   Abbey looked closer at Santa. His blue eyes were vaguely familiar, and oddly strange, like her brother’s prized cobalt-blue marbles.  “Are you still Abigal Hutchins?” Santa asked. Abbey didn’t know if she should answer. Maybe this was part of a bigger scam. “It sure looks like life has been good to you,” he continued motioning toward her sedan.  “Those eyes,” Abbey thought, “I’ve seen those eyes before.” “Don’t you remember our  Senior Prom Royal Court.” Santa continued. “I was the King our senior year, and if I remember correctly, you were part of the royal court too…Right?” Santa said with a knowing wink.   Abbey’s mouth opened in disbelief. “Mark,” she uttered softly. “Mark Ford?” Santa nodded, flashing a huge smile as he pulled his fake beard back to expose his face, marked with the evidence of many years of poor choices. Despite his appearance, Abbey was flooded by the memory of their times together so many years before, and  for a very brief moment, she felt like the young girl who’d loved this man with all her heart, before they’d gone their separate ways.  “Mark, what…what happened?” Abbey implored, blinking back a salty tear. “It’s a long story,” Santa replied. “Maybe I’ll tell you about it sometime, but I’ve got to be in line at the shelter by three.” he said.