Night Shift

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Night Shift

Jack is two minutes late for work. Nothing unusual about that. He’s actually ahead of his own schedule, just not his boss’ schedule. He would have been on time, maybe even a minute or so early, if he hadn’t knocked Mrs. Compton off her feet in his rush to leave home. Apologizing profusely, hauling her clumsily upright, chasing and returning DeeDee, her toy poodle, had taken what little extra time he had allowed himself and then some.

Catching all the red lights is as normal as his toast landing peanut butter-side down.

With a grunt he yanks on the employees-only door of the mega mart. The force pulls Mr. Zucker, the store manager, who was pushing from the other side, into Jack’s arms, sending both men sprawling to the concrete.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Z. So sorry.” Awkwardly, Jack lifts the skinny man to his feet. With a heavy hand he tries to brush the dust off the manager’s suit only to end up spanking the older man’s bony behind.

“Cease!” Mr. Zucker bellows. “Take your hands off me, you idiot!” Mr. Zucker shakes his head. “If it wasn’t for your father… Never mind. It’s a good thing you can’t do much damage at night. Go! Go and try not to screw up.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Z.” Jack drops his head. “I didn’t mean to...” Mumbling, apologies under his breath, he enters the dark building, fumbles with the payroll clock, accidentally clocking Amanada, one of the cashiers, in instead.

Hours later, Jack hums atonally while toying with his pencil. He doodles, erases, doodles, tries to twirl the stubby remnant between his fingers, drums it on the desk, taps it against his teeth and throws it up to make it stick into the acoustic ceiling tiles. That last trick doesn’t work. Luckily, it’s the gnawed orange rubbery end that lands in his left eye, and not the pointy end.

With a curse, he sits up, rubbing his knuckles in his eyes. A useless attempt to substitute one pain with another but, in fact, doing nothing to relief either pain.

What’s that?

Something moves on the CCTV monitor. Nothing ever moves in the gloom of the cavernous store. Unless it’s Jack himself getting another family-sized bag of Fritos and a liter of diet coke.

There!

Movement is picked up by one of the cameras. Whatever it is, it’s fast and bigger than Mrs. Compton’s toy poodle, smaller than Jack’s father’s pit bull. And why is it rushing up and down the aisles in the garden center? Excited over having something to do, Jack forgets about his dinner and runs the tape back and forward, back and forward in ever smaller increments, till he realizes he can go frame by frame.

“Holy crap!”

Nobody will believe him. Not without a picture. He amazes himself and manages to print a still.

Remembering his dinner, Jack carries his bag of Fritos with him as he hurries toward the garden center. Maybe it’s the crunching as he eats one handful after another. Maybe it’s the jingle of his keys - none of which fit in any lock - as he lumbers through the store. Maybe it’s the very fact that he lumbers. But all is quiet when he stands among the flats of seedlings, bags of mulch, potting soil and pesticides.

“Come on. I know you’re in here.”

Nothing, nada, zilch. Dejected he returns to the relative comfort of his “office” after a much-needed detour through the snack and beverage aisles.

Tomorrow. He’ll catch them tomorrow.  

However, on Tuesday night, even though he, uncharacteristically, keeps his eyes glued to the monitors, there is no movement.

Wednesday night. Nothing

Thursday night. All’s quiet. He keeps looking at the print, just to remind himself that he really saw it.

Friday night. Bingo!

He kind of jogs to the garden section. Again, he’s too late.

Why does it come here? What does it want? Think, man. Think like one of those smart TV detectives. Better yet, think like a superhero. Has anything been moved? Is anything missing? Um, … How can you tell if something is missing if you don’t know what was there to begin with?

Deep in thought, he almost stumbles over a garden gnome that had been left out in the middle of the aisle.

“Sorry, little fellah.” Jack apologizes to the little ceramic statue with a cute yellow floppy hat and carefully sets it with the other gnomes before heading back to the monitors. Again, he reviews the tape. Yes, there it is. A little gnome with a yellow hat, running around. How had it gotten away? It can’t possibly be that fast. Can it?

Over the weekend, he can’t think of anything but how to catch the little thing in action. Monday night Jack takes a fold-up lounge chair from the sporting goods section, along with a small cooler and settles in the garden center. He has enough Fritos, coke and ice to last the night.

Nothing happens. At least nothing happens before he falls asleep around one-thirty.

Tuesday he sleeps undisturbed through his shift.

On Wednesday he wakes up when something tickles his nose. He tries but can’t lift his arm to swipe the bug away.

“Huh?” He can’t move. “What the …!”

His large, plump body is tied to the lounge chair with several garden hoses, the extra-long ones. On his chest, poking his nose with a thin, green plant stake, is a little man with a long white beard wearing, among others a pointed red hat.

“What the f…?” Jack repeats. “Hey! I really did see you.”

“No, you saw Dopey, there.” The bearded man with the red hat sighs. “He’s a green one and doesn’t know how to be inconspicuous, yet.” The old man growls and adds. “You were not supposed to see him. You now will forget you ever saw him.”

“Nah,” Jack grins and shakes his head. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. You know, once you’ve seen a gnome, it sort of stick with you.” He shrugs making the old man stumble. ” Besides, I have pictures.” Jack grins disarmingly.

“Hah, Marvin has already tampered with your CCTV get-up.”

“You are too cute.” Jack chuckles, making the little fellow bounce on his chest.

Indignantly, the miniature person plants his fists on his hips. “I am NOT cute. I’m over five hundred years old. I outgrew cute more than three centuries ago!”

“If you say so.” Jack shrugs, toppling the old man. “Oops! Sorry about that. What are y’all doing here, anyway?”

The little man pulls himself to a sitting position. “We’re garden Gnomes.” He explains. “We tend gardens. Normally we go to the Garden Center on the other side of town, but they are out of petunias. Mrs. Swanson has her heart set on petunias. Lord knows why. So, we had to come here. We’ll just get them and be gone.”

“Oh,” Jack is disappointed. “And not come back?”

The old man, shifts, moves off the fourth buttons on Jack’s uniform shirt. He absentmindedly toys with a loose thread, till the button pops off and ricochets against a fountain. “Oops.” He chuckles. “No, we prefer the quality at the other place.”

“How long will it take you to get back to Mrs. Swanson’s?”

“With luck, the night after tomorrow. We’ll over-day in the cemetery. Nobody ever comes there.”

“I get off at six. Can get y’all there by six-thirty, easily. It’ll still be dark. Of course, you’ll have to let me up.”

Something tickles at Jack’s left ankle and then that knee. And on his other ankle. Pretty soon six gnomes have joined the bearded man on Jack’s chest. And more are coming.

“Why?” The old man asks.

Trying not to shrug and still sound casual, he says. “Why not?”

“What’s in it for you?” A gnome with a blue hat asks.

“Well...” Jack thinks. “What do you get out of doing Mrs. Swanson’s Garden?”

“Fried chicken.” A little fellow with a yellow floppy hat pipes up and is promptly shushed.

“Dopey?” Jack cocks one eyebrow and stage-whispers to the old man who sighs and nods.

“Well.” Jack thinks some more. “Satisfaction. You know, the warm feeling you get, knowing you’re doing something good. Something other than eat Fritos and run into people.” He starts to shrug, but ten pairs of small hands held up in consternation stop him.

“I don’t know.” The old-timer muses. “What do you all think?” He asks the other little men.

“Ride in a car, or haul two flats of pansies for two nights? We could even get a bag of mulch.” One with a green hat says. Eight little pointed hats bop.

The old man stands up and sighs. “It goes against everything I’ve been taught, but alright. Let him up.”

Jack exhales, sending seven hats flying. The smallest of the gnomes is blown off its feet. Only the quick reaction of one of his mates keeps him from rolling off Jack’s chest. “Oh, sorry! My bad.”

Before the day shift shows up, the gnomes have carried two flats of petunias and one bag of mulch to Jack’s car. Marvin has erased all the action from the CCTV feed and has shown Jack the new program, Gnomeface, he installed on Jack’s phone. After he clocks out, Jack drives to Mrs. Swanson’s home where he drops off his new friends and their supplies.

“Call me, next time you need a ride, okay?” He holds out one finger for a low-five.

Feeling good about himself, which sadly, is quite unusual, Jack whistles as he drives home.

He is thrilled when Marvin texts him a week later.

M - U free Sun?

B - U bet! ‘sup?

M - Picnic?

Slowly, cautiously, they form a friendship. First an occasional Sunday outing with just the small band of gnomes he met in the store. But soon other clans join. A lot of gnomes will fit in a Corolla. 

The younger ones use Jack for climbing practice and then slide back down his chest and belly, doing flips and pikes and twists, giggling and whooping the whole way. Marvin patiently teaches Jack how to play the gnome version of dungeons and dragons. Others try to teach him the basics of gardening. But the latter isn’t really his strong point.

Sometimes, before his shift, he’ll run an errand with Graham, the old gnome, tucked in his chest pocket.

“You guys should have a business, you know.”

“We have a business.” Graham points out, gruffly. “We have been doing this for centuries.”

“Yeah, I know, but … if you’d advertise. I don’t know … have a warehouse, maybe. Your own greenhouses… Your own garden center ….” Jack shrugs. “I mean, why use a middleman, when you do it so much better.”

“Harumph.” Graham is a hard sell, but eventually the younger ones convince the elders that, unlikely as it sounds, Jack may have a point. The next spring, a warehouse is rented, and a greenhouse filled with plants and seedlings. Even though it’s hard to believe, Jack is now the face, though not the brains, of a new landscaping service.

Enchanted Gardens.

Wake up to new beauty.

We work while you sleep.

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For the first time in his life, Jack is part of a group, part of a family that accepts him with all his clumsiness, charm, awkwardness, cheer and voracious appetite.