Ding Dong

Sounds of labored huffing and clumsy clip clop footfalls heightened in my ears. Instinctively, I knew this was a telltale sign of Meredith Bowers. She was in my general vicinity and on the move. This lady was never not in a rush, always telling someone something and loudly at that. My mother says Meredith is a good-hearted woman, but I know she’s only good-hearted when she thinks she might get some recognition for it.

Now within ten paces of my grocery lane, Meredith shouts at me using traditionally friendly language coated in her demanding tone, “Hey there, how are ya doing! Has anyone mentioned a cash reward for a missing wallet?!”

I averted my eyes to the open spaces flanking me, hoping to anything holy someone else was around to help her.

I wouldn’t say I was on bad terms with Meredith, per se. But it’s true that our interactions had never quite been the same since I ding dong ditched her with a flaming poop bag as a result of one of my boredom spells three summers ago. My largest take away from that whole experience was to always do reconnaissance on a target before pranking it or else you’ll read the headlines and learn you committed a Class B misdemeanor at the mayor’s personal residence. Despite my best effort to destroy that day’s edition of the newspaper, my father still saw the headline and then the gig was up. He already had raised suspicions about what I may have been up to, because on the day of the incident itself he observed me trying to do my own laundry without being asked to for the first time ever in my life. By his face at the time, he had also gleaned I was the source of the vague odor of dog park which was permeating our home. Unfortunately, I’d been unable to gracefully place our pet’s dookie in the bag without also getting some on my clothes, and this proved to be my undoing.

The headline had served as the final piece of the puzzle for my dad, and I was forced to deliver an in-person apology to Mayor Meredith. Ultimately, she didn’t press charges, but I know that’s only because she desperately wants to be perceived by her constituents as a forgiving woman who cares about the community’s youth. Despite not catching a charge, my parents still insisted I mow her yard for the next two summers out of the goodness of my heart to help atone for the emotional damage I had no doubt caused her. In my defense, I had no idea she was hosting a wake for her recently deceased mother when I dropped the flaming package of feces on her doorstep that day.

Much to my current dismay, not a soul was around at present to intercept the oncoming train. I was going to have to deal with her.

“No one’s told me anything about a missing wallet.”

Meredith looked me up and down, her mouth was smiling but her eyes were saying something along the lines of “I wish someone else was here to help me.” A triple coating of pink lip gloss created small strings of what can only be described as melted eraser between her lips as she formed words, “Well, where can I turn this in then?”

She held up a visibly worn brown leather wallet, her elbow resting on the landing of a rotund muffin top protruding from ill-fitting business slacks. I silently wondered how the laws of physics allowed her to sit in the garment at all. With a hand extended palm up, she presented the wallet to me now as if it was quite inconveniencing her. She moved the pink slugs on her face again, adding “I found it in the parking lot, don’t know who it belongs to but I’m sure you can take care of it, right?”

Before I could say anything or take my eyes off her gloppy maw, she dropped the wallet on the counter and shouted a drawled “Thank youuu!” As she departed, she gave a wave with her bloated hand.

It wasn’t uncommon for Meredith to take part in conversations in which she’s the only person speaking, and I think she prefers it that way.

With still no one else around to take care of it, I figured I could at least see who the wallet belonged to. The tattered trifold was packed to the gill with receipts, photos, old concert tickets, and strangely an entire chain necklace. I finally located an ID, and it portrayed the face of a slightly younger looking Jesus than the one I was used to seeing. The name on the ID was not Jesus of course, but Randy Archibald.

Since the 80s, our town has put on an annual nativity musical on the 25th of June. This tradition began at Meredith’s suggestion when she was still gung-ho about being a newly elected official and considered it her duty to create wholesome traditions for the town. At the start, it felt only as significant as something quirky a small population of people could look forward to each year. Then in the mid-aughts, a few clips of the show started making the rounds on Facebook and it snowballed into its current status as a regional attraction. Viewers must have mistaken the terrible production value as camp.

The same show that used to call the local St. Mary’s activity room home, now drew enough of a crowd to fill our entire high school auditorium each year, with out-of-towners even paying for their seats. Everyone living here felt it was important the residents of the town could enjoy our own tradition without cost, but gladly enforced patronage from any visitors who wanted to watch the spectacle. While admittedly I do catch myself humming to the tune of the musical’s original song “Jesus is the Pal in Me” from time to time, there’s truly nothing alluring about the show overall. The show’s attraction laid almost entirely on the shoulders of Randy and the sheer ridiculousness of his recurring role as Jesus. Randy was now a 56 year-old who had fulfilled the role each year since his late teens.

He played Jesus thanks in large part to Meredith, who’d insisted on personally participating in the selection of who portrayed each role. Being the youngest in the room each year, Randy was continually a shoo-in for it at the start. Then after about a decade straight of this same rationale being applied for his selection, Randy was not still always the youngest in the room but it had become tradition and he was the unquestionable choice.

A local fan club (likely created ironically at first, but now anything but) even went so far as creating t-shirts in his honor. On any given day, you're likely to see no less than three different people about town donning one of the Randy Jesus shirts: Jesus on a cross with Randy's face superimposed on the body. Each year, an updated version featuring a new expression on Randy's face is created. They've had to start getting into some very niche expressions at this point. One year it was described as "thoughtful" but read as "constipated". Nonetheless, the shirts appealed to both the regional tourists and the sellers' coffers.

Despite this shared history, Meredith doesn’t particularly care for Randy. She once referred to him in my presence as a “fair weather Catholic” which my father explained basically means he likes to show up for the meals, but not mass. Among most of the population (my parents included) there was a consensus that Meredith didn’t have a great appreciation for sharing the spotlight with Randy at town events, as it was clear he was regarded as the local hero despite the annual event being Meredith’s creation in the first place.

As I studied Randy’s ID in my hand, a revelation struck me. I had to act now. I shoved all of Randy’s crap back into the wallet and darted towards the exit.

I could see Meredith still ambling her way through the parking lot, already on the phone gasp-shouting at some poor soul on the other line. I made my way to her, and once the wallet in my hands was out of view of the parking lot camera, I concealed it in my clerk’s apron. At her pace, it was no hardship to catch up with her, and once I did, I placed my finger firmly on her shoulder. More of a poke than a tap. When she turned to see me standing before her, her cartoonishly defined eyebrows shot up. First, in confusion and then her features scrunched all at once like she had just caught whiff of a rotten egg. She quickly recovered this momentary lapse in masking with a flashy mayoral grin, and I knew this was my absolute last chance to change my mind.

I decided I didn’t want to change my mind, “I just wanted to be sure to thank you for returning the wallet. You’re an important part of what makes this town great.”

I could tell Meredith wanted to be flattered but was too suspicious of my intentions to portray gratitude.

She was still holding the phone to her ear and studying my eyes, “Oh sure, no problem. Anyone would do the same, of course.”

I smiled blankly at her and left her with an enthusiastic, “You have a nice day now!”

I had to turn my back completely on her to head in the direction of the store’s entrance, but I confidently felt her eyes watching me as I walked away. Now back in view of the parking lot camera I kept my clearly wallet-less hands swaying at my sides and calmly walked inside the store, went directly to the restroom, and secured myself in the roomy handicapped stall.

I brought the wallet out from its hiding place in my apron. There was a little over $80 in the wallet, which immediately went into my jeans pocket. I waited several seconds to make sure I was still alone, then unlatched the stall and took the opportunity to toss the rest of the sentimental garbage along with the wallet into the large trash receptacle next to the sinks. I then concealed the items under several layers of paper towels and resumed my duties at my lane.

Later in my shift, I spotted one of the infamous Randy Jesus t-shirts (specifically my personal fave: the ’22 version, Randy’s sporting a playful smirk, and the shirt itself is tie-dyed), but I didn't not realize it was Randy himself wearing it until he was waiting in my line.

As he approached, I could tell something rehearsed was coming my way.

“Ya know, they should consider my shirt a form of ID when I’m wearing it!” He delivered this line with an open mouth smile which I sensed was going to continue to be his expression until I performed a chuckle for him. This was at least the third time he’d greeted me with this line and I’ve only ever had maybe eight actual conversations with him my whole life.

I forced a smile and offered a flat, “Hah, good one.” I stared at him hoping my polite rebuff would cure the plague of his presence.

Unlucky for me, Randy has more to say, “So, I think I left my wallet in the store earlier today, has anyone turned anything in?”

I cocked my head, turned my mouth down, and looked off into the distance like I really had to think hard about it, “You know what? Someone sure did. The mayor found it, said she was planning to bring it to you herself. I mean, she really is such an incredible person, isn’t she?”

Randy’s face contorted into an expression that looked even more confused than usual. His brow furrowed, giving me the impression he really had to consider if he had somehow forgotten an entire phone call from Meredith, or maybe that the wallet had already been returned to him, and he forgot. His pondering lasted a few seconds, then he took a big fulfilling breath, and confidently stated, “No, no, I don’t remember getting any phone call from Meredith. In fact, I just saw her at the post office and not a word about my wallet.”

There was a lilt at the end of his sentence, making it sound more like a question for me than a statement, but I wasn’t planning on saying anything more. I raised my eyebrows helplessly and shrugged, giving my head an empathetic shake at his unfortunate circumstances.

He seemed to really appreciate that gesture, returned with a polite nod of his own, and started to leave. He turned back, “Ya know, Meredith is always so busy it probably just plain slipped her mind. I’ll catch up with her soon. Thanks for the help!”

Randy returned no less than an hour later, with quite a determined look on his face which was an amusing contrast to his smirking face blazoned his shirt. He blew right past me and began speaking urgently with the manager Gerald who hadn't even had a chance to make it past the door frame of his office before Randy was upon him requesting the cameras be reviewed at once for activity earlier that morning. This development didn’t concern me one iota.

I knew it’d only show Meredith bringing the wallet to me, me checking it, running back out to "return" it to her in the parking lot so it could be delivered to Randy (which I’ll swear is what she totally told me she was going do with it), then me returning to the store unburdened with the wallet and going to the restroom (strictly for the purpose of doing bathroom things, I’d tell them). News moves fast in this town and it was only a matter of about 30 minutes before Meredith was gracing the store with her presence again.

This time, I heard her shrill voice before her footsteps, “And exactly what was the meaning of your voicemail, Gerald?!”

She was addressing the store manager in a less than polite tone, while Gerald stared at her with an accusing furrow. He quietly suggested they have this conversation privately, and she followed him into his office to join him and Randy's conversation.

Occasionally I’d hear some muffled shouting from the direction of the manager’s office, and I was certain my time was coming soon.

The office door opened behind me but I wouldn't dare turn to look in case any of them beckoned me. The telling clunky steps of Meredith along with the more balanced steps of Randy and Gerald all approached my lane. Randy and Gerald went towards the exit without acknowledging me. But as Meredith reached my lane, her eyes met my gaze. I didn’t see the usual air of arrogance about her. I think she fully understood it was going to be my word against hers, and in a way her reputation against Randy’s. Maybe she was contending with the fact that people could find it totally reasonable a grown woman with her power-tripping demeanor would want to get revenge on the snot-nosed prankster who made her briefly believe her house was going to burn down and was also the reason her favorite loafers got covered in animal shit and all on the day she had a house full of people mourning her dead mom and then all the kid had to do was mow her lawn a few times (and admittedly do a terrible job of mowing at that if I’m being honest). Not actually knowing what was going through her mind, what I did know was this was the quietest I’d ever seen Meredith.

Her searching eyes let me know she was considering her options. “Let it be known; I will get to the bottom of this.” As threatening as the words were, her face was sullen, and she looked only at the floor as she made her way to the exit.

It took a while for the hullabaloo to die down at the store, but eventually the gossip about Meredith's involvement with Randy's missing wallet had made its way around all the employees (and likely everyone in those employees’ phones). Then once everyone was informed it went right back to being boring again and remained that way until my shift was over.

As I was walking to my car, something about the wallet wouldn’t leave my mind. I almost thought of going back to get the chain in case it really was worth something. Call it a conscience maybe, but I couldn’t help but feel I’d regret throwing that in the trash. The closest pawn shop was two towns over but it could be worth the gas money if it was real sterling silver. After some reflection, I figured digging through the trash would probably draw more attention to this situation than it was worth. And truth be told, I certainly had no desire to make a mess of myself and create a need to take a stab at my own laundry again. It only got me in trouble last time.