Matt Cowper - The Clerk

“Will do, boss.”

“Thanks, buddyrow. Now get to eating! Get to drinking! Ho ho ho!”

Vernon waddled out of the room, probably to go check on Yolanda. Thomas grabbed a plastic Dixie cup and filled it with sweet tea from a large flower-decorated jug. He didn’t want to start in on his beer until a little later, after certain tasks were completed. Namely: Cynthia and Orianna were munching pretzels and talking together in a corner, which was perfect. Knock out two apologies at once, and then later, if he could talk to Orianna by herself…

“Hey, ladies,” he gushed. “How are the both of you?”

Under normal circumstances, it would’ve been obvious to Thomas that he’d butted into a conversation. But his jolliness was rolling along like a choo-chooing amusement park train, and so he was oblivious. Even the two women, who at first scowled at him, had to smile when they saw how beatific he was. Cynthia had on a red sweater and Christmas-tree earrings, while Orianna was dressed in her usual tank-top, jeans, and bandanna outfit.

“Hey, Thomas,” Cynthia said.

“Hey,” Orianna said coolly.

“Listen, while I’ve got you two together, I’d just like to apologize for my behavior the other day. I’m sorry I snapped at you both after that… incident… with my… friend. It won’t happen again — any of it.”

Cynthia and Orianna looked at each other. It appeared they were impressed, or it could have been Thomas’s rose-colored glasses making them impressed.

“Well, thanks, Thomas,” Cynthia said, smiling. “I accept your apology. I didn’t mean to rile you up. I was just concerned.”

“Not your fault at all,” Thomas said. “And I appreciate your concern.”

He turned to Orianna, who was grinning at him.

“What about you?” he asked.

“I don’t accept your apology,” Orianna said.

“Oh, come on,” Cynthia pleaded. “He’s being nice…”

“I know. It’s not what you think. I embarrassed Thomas a few days before that incident, as he calls it, so he deserved to get a little payback.”

“How did you embarrass him?” Cynthia asked.

“Don’t worry about it. It was just some silliness. But I think we’re even now — right Thomas?”

Thomas flushed. This threatened to derail his jolliness. Why did she have to bring up “Are You Interested?” with Cynthia standing right here? Yes, he wanted to talk about it, but he wanted to talk about it alone . He coughed, and muttered: “Well, I wasn’t thinking about payback when I snapped at you, but if that’s how you want to look at it… as long as we’re cool.”

“We’re cool,” Orianna said, nodding.

“Alright then,” Cynthia said. “That’s that.”

“That is indeed that,” Orianna said, but her eyes and body seemed to be screaming “We need to have a real talk” to Thomas — but again, Thomas’s heightened mood could’ve distorted things.

Suddenly, an ear-splitting whistle cut through all the chatter. Everyone winced and turned towards the source, which was Vernon. Like many old-timers, he had a whistle that could shatter glass. He was standing at the front of the room, by the big-screen TV, his white-gloved hands held high, his white beard bristling.

“Friends and fellows,” he roared in his military-grade speaking voice, “I believe everyone is here — and if they ain’t, they’re a bunch of damn stragglers and don’t deserve any consideration!”

Laughter and mutters of agreement.

“Welcome to the annual Oxendine’s Grocery Christmas Party!”

Cheers from some, sardonic grins from a few youngsters, touching smiles from a few other youngsters who felt like Thomas had all those years ago.

“You’re all already drinking and eating, so I don’t need to tell you to begin. That’s the way it should be! We’re not a bunch of hoity-toity lords and ladies who need fifteen different forks laid out on the table before we can eat! We’re a bunch of rough and ready good ol’ folks, who know how to have a good time!”

More cheers, and a cry, possibly serious, of “Vernon for president!”

“No, I’m not going to tell you it’s OK to eat now, or say a prayer, or do much speechifying at all.” And now his voice lowered a bit and became more solemn, like a teacher reading a favorite passage to his students. “I just want to thank you all for working for me, for coming in day in and day out and doing your jobs. I want to thank you for being good people. I’m glad we can all be together and have fellowship tonight.” A long pause as he scanned the room. More than a few people felt the sincerity of that gaze and those words yanking out tears, which were embarrassingly suppressed. Thomas was certainly one of them. Vernon made basically the same speech every year, and each year Thomas was affected. “That’s all I have to say. Now — let’s be merry! Secret Santa time is in one hour!”

Cheers as everyone eagerly burst out of the solemnity. Thomas looked around, but Cynthia and Orianna had drifted away. Orianna was filling a plate with food, and Cynthia was talking with Eddie, who, like last year, was drunk off of two beers.

Thomas was aware of several younger people around him. They were the night-shift workers he didn’t know well. They looked at him, and he looked back at them, but no one said anything. Finally Thomas slid away, feeling only a little guilty. They’d likely be gone in a few months anyway. No use getting chummy.

He thought he heard snickers behind him as he left the knot of teenagers, but he wasn’t certain.

By the doorway to the conference room, Vernon held his mistletoe aloft and got a chaste kiss from Maureen. He pawed her shoulder and said “Ho ho ho!” Carly passed by, her butt bouncing, but she only smiled at Vernon. Vernon said something that was likely inappropriate, but Carly just laughed, wagged a finger, and shook her head. Noah followed in her wake, a barnacle-covered dinghy desperate to catch up to a glittering cruise ship, but as Carly apparently was heading to the bathroom, he could only follow so far.

Thomas grabbed a paper plate and began loading it up with food. Eldridge’s meatloaf would be supreme, so he sliced off a large chunk of the brown mass. Eddie’s mac n’ cheese looked like it had been pulled straight from a perfectly-produced television commercial, and Thomas spooned some onto his plate. There were several other dishes of unknown craftsmanship which looked tasty: chicken parmesan, airy hush puppies, clam chowder as thick as wet cement. He grabbed some of each. After he had a multicolored mountain of grub, he sat down in one of the Chamber’s high-backed and over-priced chairs and pecked away. Like his family’s Christmas Get-Together, one had to pace themselves when eating at the Party, for the feast was hours long.

He hadn’t been sitting there long before Orianna sat down beside him. She bit into a deviled egg and looked at him.

“You know,” she said, “I never expected you to apologize. It’s not like you really needed to, anyway — it was a pretty minor thing. But still, you did.”

“I felt it was the right thing to do,” Thomas said magnanimously.

“Yeah. Well. We haven’t really talked since… well, since the last time we talked. I hope you understand I didn’t mean to embarrass you by asking you that question. You know the one I mean, I think.”

“All is forgiven,” Thomas said, though he again flushed at her mention of “Are You Interested?” Why did she have to keep bringing it up? Was she pouring salt on the wound, or was she truly trying to make amends? And why was he acting like a little bitch about it? Hadn’t he wanted to talk about it alone with her?

“It was a strange conversation, wasn’t it?” Orianna said in a far-off voice. “Almost like — hmmm — how can I put it? Like — no, I can’t put it into words.”