![]() Shivering in the harsh Michigan weather, their noses red, grasping coffee cups in their mittens. For the past hour, our truly dedicated customers lined up outside the store. After Alicia begrudgingly puts on her hat we take our spots at the cash registers. ![]() “That’s the spirit, Faith!” Bill says to me. Without making eye contact with Alicia, I grab the hat from my boss and stuff it on top of my blonde curls. Bill’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles and his enthusiasm for his business is hard to say no to. “Come on! I’m going to wear a Santa one!” He places a red hat with white fur on his head. Alicia and I exchange a look, her brown eyes telling me she’d rather drop dead than wear that hat. They are green and red, with giant ears on the side. “So,” Bill continues, not allowing us to spoil his fun, “what do you think about wearing these hats?” He produces two elf hats. To go with his Christmas tie, my boss is wearing his signature smile. “Good morning ladies!” Bill strides out of his tiny office, his hands behind his back. It’s enough to make anyone stab themself in the eye with a candy cane. Which means I hear them on a loop for seven and a half hours straight. Bill has a holiday playlist he blares over the speakers that consist of like fifteen songs. The only annoying thing about the atmosphere here is the music. Bill always buys a real one and the shop smells like pine needles. Everyone knows it’s my favorite task, especially placing the star on top of the tree. Another employee, Pat, and I decorated it yesterday after I got out of school. In the center of the store is a tall Christmas tree. Whenever I see it a reluctant smile graces my face. My favorite kind is sporting Santa in a bathing suit and relaxing in a hot tub. They are all color coated and, for the most part, holiday-themed. The walls are lined with rows upon rows of any kind of wrapping paper you could ever want. I step away from where Alicia and I are working and study the small shop. We’ve been getting ready for this day for the last month. I’ve been stocking blue and white sparkly wrapping paper for the last hour and a half. TWPS doesn’t open until 8 but my boss, Bill, asked me and Alicia to come in at 6:30, aka before the sun rises. It’s 7:45 in the morning and my eyes are heavy. The worst we would do is silently judge them and Betty Turner would talk about them behind their back. If someone ever dared use a gift bag all 2,139 of us would stone them in the village square. But in Grandville, wrapping paper is like a weird status symbol. In other places, a store like this wouldn’t be as busy. Today is November 1st and it might as well be Black Friday in my town, Grandville. For any occasion, birthdays, baby showers, and weddings, but our busiest time is the holidays. At TWPS we sell, surprise, wrapping paper. It’s so long, it barely fits on the green sign above the front door. I’m not kidding, that’s the store's actual name. Alicia is my favorite person to work with at The Wrapping Paper Store. “No, Faith, this is the billionth time we’ve heard it.” She rolls her eyes, grinning. “This is the twentieth time we’ve heard All I Want For Christmas Is You,” I say to Alicia.
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