One

Steve

Well, today started like every other fucking day. I had my coffee—because a day without coffee is just wrong on too many levels to even begin to list—and drove to work at the electronics store I’d worked at since graduating college. “Fat lot of good that tech degree has done me,” I grumbled to myself as I avoided as much snow as I could while driving up Highway 50 headed to El Dorado Hills. It was that time of year when we occasionally had to contend with the slippery stuff that so many seemed to enjoy. Not me. I found it dirty, and a pain in the ass. But that was just me. I lived in Sacramento so luckily, I never had to deal with it at home.

Driving around behind the building, I pulled into a parking space and turned the engine off before I took a deep breath and tried to find a shred of patience to get me through the day. I was the person responsible for any repair that happened at Tech Warehouse, which was funny since it wasn’t a warehouse, and it barely had tech beyond a few gaming systems, laptops, and flat screens, but a lot of people needed repairs, and this is where they came. It was located just off the highway in one of the small strip malls that were common in this area. I wasn’t sure why that was. “Time to get this shitshow on the road.” I yanked open the back door, because that fucker always stuck, and this time of year it was even worse.

“Morning, Stevie,” Frank said as I walked in. “I need to speak to you.”

“Fuck,” I mumbled under my breath. Frank Lowry was the owner of Tech Warehouse and had zero understanding of electronics or tech. Which is why the tech sucked and why I was here to fix what we had or what customers brought in. He was in his late fifties and mostly sat at the counter greeting customers as they walked past him to tell me what they needed or to ask any questions they thought he couldn’t answer.

“What was that?” he asked as I walked to where he stood at the counter.

“Just complaining about the snow,” I lied.

“So . . . I’m sorry, there’s no easy way to say this, but I’m afraid I need to lay you off. It’s been a very slow few months and—well I just can’t afford to keep you,” he said and for a moment I didn’t react. Mostly because I needed to make sure I’d heard him correctly.

“Are you firing me?” I asked.

“Laying you off. I may have work for you after the holidays,” he said but he didn’t meet my eyes. Making me think there was more to this than him wanting to trim his budget.

“Who is going to do the repairs?” I asked. To be clear, I hated this job. But it was better than no job, and the fact it wasn’t in Sacramento or even near a big city was a huge bonus to me. While I liked living close to everything, I didn’t really want to work anywhere that was overwhelmingly busy. Especially during the holidays. Which is why I had taken this job, even though it was an hour’s commute from my house.

“Eh, I’m not going to worry about it. If they need something fixed, they can drive to Sacramento,” he said and crossed his arms.

I wanted to say more. To tell him how much I hated this fucking job, and how I’d stayed here more out of habit and a lack of motivation to find something else. But I didn’t. I nodded my head and kept my mouth shut until I could form a response that wouldn’t ruin any chance of getting my job back. Because even though I hated the job, I did like the slower pace of this community far away from the hustle and bustle of Sacramento. “When’s my last day?” I finally managed to say.

“Today, sorry, Stevie,” he said and turned his back to me and the counter he rarely left while I stood there stunned.

“So, did you want me to work today?”

“Nope, go ahead and take it off. I’ve got your last check right here,” he said and handed it to me.

“Okay then. Guess I’ll check back after the holidays,” I said, not sure what else to say, and after walking back out in the cold I stood there for a moment, still trying to make sense of it. It was mid-November and Christmas shit was everywhere despite the fact we hadn’t even had Thanksgiving yet. Thank god I was anti-social enough to have put some money away otherwise I’d be fucked.

I walked to my car avoiding the little clumps of ice and snow that littered the parking lot and thought about what options I had. There were lots of jobs in Sacramento, and if I was honest with myself, better pay. But there were also a lot more people. I could try to get a job at one of the restaurants in El Dorado Hills, or maybe look into virtual tech support, but when I thought about that I practically broke out in hives.

“Time to check out something closer to home I guess,” I mumbled, got into my car, and made my way back the way I’d just driven. I had just passed Folsom and decided against trying to get a job there. The past few years it had grown so much it was nearly as busy as Sacramento, and if I was going to deal with crowds, I’d deal with it closer to home. Taking the exit for Hazel Avenue I decided to drive toward Citrus Heights. Hazel Avenue ran all the way from Highway 50 to Interstate 80 and skirted along many businesses and a few neighborhoods along the way. At one time it had been a more rural drive, but now the city had engulfed it and even though traffic moved along at the speed limit, it was still very busy.

I was lucky and lived in a small house in Oak Park that I rented from my parents and hoped to buy for myself. It was in a great location with a big yard and a tall fence that kept the neighbors away from my front door. Everyone in the neighborhood kept to themselves unless there was a problem, then they all stuck together. It was a perfect place for me to live and I didn’t want to change that. But right now, I needed to find work, and I must have lost my damn mind as a thought hit me and I turned left on Greenback toward the old Sunrise Mall.

I parked, having zero problems finding an empty space because the parking lot was nearly deserted, and entered the side of the building that led directly to the center of the mall. The noise level was louder than I expected and the amount of people walking around with kids either in a stroller or holding their hands shocked me. They were all headed to the long line that was wrapped around the area where a huge, padded chair sat on a small stage. I knew, without having visited the mall at Christmas for years, that this was where Santa and his elves were located.

Giant candy canes lined the way, as adults and children waited for their turn with Santa. A photographer dressed as an elf took pictures before each person was rushed off to the side once they’d had their time with Santa. “Please let me never be so desperate that I have to work as a fucking elf at the mall,” I said to myself and hurried to the first business past Christmas land.