Snowflakes on Saguaros [SAMPLE]

One

Working in retail during the holidays was its own special kind of hell, and it seemed to start earlier every year.

First with the decorations.

Then the music.

And finally, the sales.

As the hours grew longer, customers' tempers shortened. There was nothing like the prospect of spending time with a bunch of family members you didn't actually want to see that brought out the worst in people, and who better to release your stress on than the poor defenseless employees of the nearby department store.

It was enough to make anyone dread the most wonderful time of year.

Jasmina pasted what she hoped was a smile on her face as she waited for the customer to find her receipt. Overhead, someone was singing about decking the halls. Her shift had started less than two hours ago, and she'd already heard this song three times. She wished she could deck something, and it wouldn't be the halls.

"I'm sure it's here somewhere," the middle-aged woman mumbled to herself as she dug through an overstuffed wallet. Receipts from probably the last decade littered the counter.

The lady behind her sighed loudly. Any second now, she would make a comment about how some people should be more prepared, and she didn't have all day to wait around.

Not that Jasmina blamed her. She would say the same thing if she could.

"I can look up the purchase using your card if you would like," she offered again.

The woman's head snapped up. "No, I told you I would find it, and I will. Just give me a minute." She tucked her short brown bob behind her ears and continued digging through her mess.

Right on cue, the lady behind her huffed again and stage-whispered to her companion, "Some people have their stuff together before they get in line."

Jasmina's smile twitched.

This could go one of two ways. Either receipt lady would tell the other woman off, or she'd reciprocate with her own passive-aggressive statement.

Jasmina's bet was on the second option.

Receipt lady may have felt comfortable snapping at helpless employees, but she didn't strike Jasmina as the type to directly call out someone who could fight back.

A few seconds ticked by. The song about decking the halls ended and the opening strains of White Christmas started playing.

"Here, try this one," receipt lady said. She held a food grease-covered paper between her red acrylic nails.

So Jasmina had been wrong. This woman was the rare third type: ignore everything said about her as if she hadn't heard it. Good for her for taking the high road.

Jasmina took the receipt and tried not to cringe as her fingers touched an unidentifiable gooey substance. She scanned the barcode and waited for her computer to process it before scanning the tag on a hideous floral top. Almost immediately, a message popped up saying the item couldn't be found.