Well, another writing class, more homework assignments.
This is a major departure from my usuals--nothing all that heavy in here.
Aftermath
By: Laura Davies
I groaned and let my head drop into my hands. It was my fault. If only I hadn't been the one who was tending the store last week when the man from the paper came by. I peeked out the window at the throngs of people who were camped out in front of my door before I pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat off of my forehead. I grimaced as I saw a group of people trampling my wife's prize rosebushes as they tried to peer through the bedroom windows. At least my wife, Amanda, and our daughter, Sarah, were at my in-law's house this week and weren't here to see the mess that had somehow found us. Yes, I know I've been whining, but wouldn't you? I mean, some idiot decided to play a prank on me, and I've got people on my lawn who want nothing more than to clean me out and take everything I own.
I sighed, plopped down on my chair, and slumped into its worn, comforting embrace. I picked up the newspaper and glared at the ad that claimed that all of our household effects were up for grab. It was a lie of course. Last week, a representative from the Neighbor Newspaper had come by my father's jewelry store while I was in charge and asked if we wanted to place an advertisement. If I had only said yes, I wouldn't be in this predicament now!
With a growl of frustration, I stood, walked across the room, opened the door, and stuck my head out. "Go home," I told the people waiting in front of my house. "We're not giving anything away." I shut the door tightly behind me, locked it, and wandered over to collapse into my favorite chair. I shut my eyes tightly and let my mind wander back to what had happened the week before.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I had carefully wiped the last of the Windex™ off the glass display case and picked up the bottle to move on to the next one. I put the cleaning solution and the rag under the counter as the bell on the door rang, signifying the entrance of a customer. "How can I help you?" I asked the customers pleasantly.
"We'd like to look at some engagement rings," the man said, peering at the display of diamond rings through the glass case.
"Certainly," I said, as I reached for the keys, unlocked the proper case, and pulled out the rings. The couple browsed through the selection for a moment before the woman picked one up and slid it on her finger, exclaiming over it.
The man glanced at the price tag and nodded. "We'll take it."
I smiled, took the desired piece of jewelry, put it in a ring box, placed the others back in the case; and locked it before heading to the register. As I began to ring up their purchase, the bell rang again and a middle-aged man entered. He was short, chubby, balding, and he wore a discontented look on his face. In his left hand was a well-worn briefcase, and a pencil was tucked behind his right ear.
"I'll be with you in a minute," I said as I ran the couple's credit card through the machine. I handed my customer a credit card slip to sign and placed the boxed ring and the receipt in a small shopping bag. "Thank you," I said with a cheerful smile, accepting the slip and handing him the bag. "Please come again--we do repair work, too." The couple smiled their thanks and walked out of the store, hand in hand.
I put the credit slip in the cash register before turning toward my new customer. "How may I help you, sir?" I asked, hoping for another sale or some repair work. Business had been slow lately, and we could always use the money from anything that came our way. Perhaps this customer had a watch or a piece of jewelry that needed repair.
"I'm from the Neighbor Newspaper," the man replied. "I'm canvassing the local shops to see if you'd like to place an ad with us."
I shook my head. "No, thank you," I said. "We've placed an ad with your paper before, and we've never had any positive results, so we don't need an ad."
The man ran his hand over the mustard yellow velvet seat of the stool that stood next to the counter and scuffed his feet against the dark blue carpeting. "But surely it can't hurt," he insisted.
"No, thank you," I repeated. "If you'll excuse me, I have some work to get done." With that, I turned and headed back to my jewelry bench, watching from behind the cutout window in the wall as the man glared at me and left.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Earlier in the day, I had opened this week's edition of the paper to discover an ad had been placed in the free section, where they usually advertised free dogs and cats, that claimed that I and my family were giving away everything we owned for free. The jerk playing the prank had even compiled a list of household items that we were supposedly giving away--including the furniture and my wife's washer and dryer. And just a few hours ago, I'd been forced to rescued my daughter's tricycle from the arms of one thief and locked everything up in the house. The phone had been ringing off the hook, both at home and at work. In desperation, I had finally unplugged the phone from the wall. I'm usually a reasonable guy, but this is ridiculous!
I glanced out the window and grimaced in disgust as I saw that the group of people had not yet dispersed. I picked up the phone and began to dial. I grimaced when all I heard was dead air, then remembered to plug the damn thing back in. I dialed again, this time, getting a response. "Hello? Yes, this is Joseph Nichols, and I need to report trespassers at 362 Wild Cherry Lane. I've got a large group of people messing up my lawn, and I'd like y'all to come and get rid of them for me--they wouldn't believe me when I told them that the Neighbor Newspaper's ad is a hoax, and they won't leave. What ad? Oh, some idiot over at the paper put in a fake ad that said that I'm giving my family's stuff away. You'll send a patrol car? Thanks."
I hung up the phone, but before I could pick it up to dial another number, it rang. I made a face before answering it. "Nichols's residence."
"Sir, I saw your ad in the paper, and I desperately need your furniture and your washer and dryer. See, my husband jest lost his job three months ago and we were only renting ours, so we had to send them back. And since the newspaper said that you're giving them away, why I jest thought that maybe you'd be so kind as to help us out. Please, Mister?"
"Mrs.--"
"Tucker, Shelly Tucker."
"Mrs. Tucker, you shouldn't believe everything you read. The ad in the paper was someone's idea of a joke that they played on me. It might even be funny in twenty years. We're not giving any of our things away!" I said, exasperated.
"But Mister, the paper said," she said in a whiny voice.
"Madam, I couldn't care less what the paper says. It's a lie." I grimaced as the woman began to blubber and hung up the phone with a clunk. "Damn freeloaders--trying to get something for nothing."
I reached up and scratched my jaw before reaching for the phone again. I dialed the newspaper's number and waited impatiently while it rang. I growled in frustration when they put me on hold. After a few minutes, they finally deigned to answer me, so I began my tirade. "This is Joseph Nichols, and you ran an advertisement that claimed that my family and I are giving all of our possessions away in this week's issue of the newspaper. You must not have checked, because it's a lie. You will be hearing from my lawyer on Monday because of this--I want a retraction, and an apology in your next issue, and we'll discuss other reparations later."
I slammed the phone into its cradle, then unplugged it from the wall again. If I was lucky, I wouldn't lose my job over this; after all, I knew that they'd been calling the store as well. I stood up and walked toward the kitchen. I was hungry, Amanda and Sarah should be home soon, and it was almost time for dinner.
A week later, things had finally returned to some semblance of normality. I was lucky, I guess. Most of the time, I wish it hadn't happened, but there wasn't anything I really could have done to avoid it. My father told me that he would have fired anyone else because the phone had rung off the hook all day--sometimes being the boss's son comes in handy. The newspaper paid for the damages to my wife's rosebushes and my lawn. They also printed the retraction and the apology that I wanted--I guess the threat of suing was enough to scare them. I heard that they fired my prankster, too. I guess some people are just half a bubble out of plumb.
finis
