So here's a little Christmas story for you all that should bring some cheer or cause you to bang your head against the desk so hard you black out. I inadvertently got an employee at Target fired from his job. Well, I was a catalyst. He did it to himself. I find it's generally hard to keep a job when you're a disrespectful douchecanoe; but, hey, that's just my opinion.
I went to the Target around the corner looking for a certain electronic gift for my dad. (He reads this blog sometimes - not always as a dutiful father should, dad - so I can't say what.) I went to the electronics section and inquired as to the item I wanted. The attendant, a very helpful and conciliatory man with a mighty neck beard that could shame all other neck beards, apologized and told me they were all out.
"What I can do is call the other store on 65th Street and see if they have it," he said with a smile.
I told him that would be fantastic. The 65th Street store was a 15 minute drive at best considering it was late at night. Still, to have the object in my hands would be perfect. The item was on sale for cheaper than I could find online so this was going to be a mighty big Christmas win for me if I could get it.
Nebby, which is short for N.B., which is short for Neck Beard as I will adoringly call him, perked up.
"Yes? You have it? In your hands? Perfect. Hold on..." he put his hand over the phone. "What's your name?"
"Garrett. Gary. Put down Gary." No one ever hears Garrett and if they do they spell it wrong.
"Gary. Okay. Thanks. He'll be there in about 15 minutes." He hung up the phone and told me to book it over there. The item was sitting in electronics. Last one. It would be under the register tagged with a sticky note with my name on it.
I shook his hand and thanked him for his help. I told him how much I appreciated his going above and beyond for me. Then I booked it like and drove like Speed Racer on meth to the other Target. In the process I narrowly avoided a ticket for speeding and making an illegal U-Turn right in front of seven cops who were, lucky for me, busting someone actually on meth. Though I suppose that isn't surprising for 65th Street.
I sassied up to the electronics counter and gave them my name, "It was a call made 10 minutes ago. I drove fast. It has the name Gary on it."
"Okay," said the attendant whose neck beard has sparse and sickly. Not like Nebby's. I will call him Douchecanoe. For reasons that will soon make sense. Anyways, Douchecanoe searched. And searched. And searched some more.
After about two minutes of looking I knew that I was going to be pissed off.
"It seems to have gone?" said Douchecanoe.
"Gone? You said that like a question. Are you not sure?"
"Well," he replied, "I saw my coworker grab the last one but it's not here. It seems to have gone."
"...What? Dude, it vanished in ten minutes? The other store just called and had you take it off the floor? Who could have taken it?"
"It was more like fifteen minutes, but..."
"Not really the point here. Also, I made good time. It was ten," I rebuked with injury.
"If you want I can show you some other, similar items," he said without any real sincerity, of which I demand from all Target employees.
I told him no and gloomed my way out of the store to my car in a fitful stomp. I pulled out my keys and then thought to myself that he didn't check the front of the store or the back. Maybe it was there? Couldn't hurt to ask, right?
I went back inside and as I passed the cashier who was there? Mother. Fucking. Douchecanoe. With the held item. WITH MY NAME ON IT.
If you know me personally then you know I generally don't have a filter and that I appreciate the occasional dramatic flair, so it took poor Douchecanoe by surprise when I walked up and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around and I greeted him with a simple, "The hell is this?" and a smile.
I have never seen a face go white so quickly in my entire life. It. Was. Glorious.
I calmly asked the cashier to call her manager and that she needed to do it now and that she should probably cancel the current transaction. She looked at me with confusion, then to Douchecanoe with a rather reproachful eye (was this not his first crime?), and hit the cancel button with a rather resigned thump of her finger. She then called the manager.
Douchecanoe was now in a state of total panic. Sweat, frustration, and anger took over. I calmly explained tot he supervisor the situation. I had called ahead for the last of the item. His employee had lied to my face, waited for me to leave, and then bought it himself. My name was still on the box. We could call the other store to backup my story if needed, but the post-it with "GARY" written in all capital letters really sealed the deal.
The manager began to question Douchecanoe and from the tone of the conversation I could tell this was not the first infraction. Though to call it a conversation is generous. The manager asked questions, and with each question Douchecanoe just looked and the ground and grew redder. His teeth began to grit so loudly it sounded like trucks downshifting on a highway and he began to ax murder me with his eyes through scornful looks.
The conversation ended when Douchecanoe grabbed the item - again an electronic - and threw it to the ground where the sound of snapping metal and plastic echoed in the store like gunshot and stopped all surrounding patrons and employees alike. He then dashed out of the building and, obviously, out of his job.
Needless to say, screw that dude. You reap what you sow, and what he sowed was probably a very crappy Christmas for himself.
Still, having worked in social work I want to step back a bit and ponder some things. No one is born this angry. No one instinctively does bad things. What happened in his life to cause such an attitude? It's possible that many factors in his life completely out of his control hammered into him a resentful attitude? Maybe he was a good kid who suffered too much disappointment, neglect, or distrust. Look out of number one is sometimes the only way people learn to live.
If so, I hope that things turn around for him. I hope he finds a way to get life on track.
Regardless, that was still a pretty douchey thing to do.
So yes, recipe. Peppermint chocolate crinkles. These have nothing to do with the story, so there's no clever way to tie the two together. I just wanted to share both the story and the cookie.
However, they are my husband's favorite Christmas cookie. He loves them. Adores them. These cookies are an endangered species in this house.
It's just a slight riff off the recipe I did originally for Simply Recipes. A bit of peppermint extract added, less vanilla, no espresso. They taste like a chill Sunday decorating the tree and have more pizazz than the most sparkly of wrapping papers.
You can find the recipe here. Just add two teaspoons of peppermint extract instead of vanilla for a mintier cookie.