Just North of Whoville by Turiskylie, Joyce (free children's ebooks pdf .TXT) 📗

they still give out food stamps? Could I use them for cat food? Can you even bring pets into the shelters? Oh no. I’d wind up in the Bronx. Do they even get The New York Times there? This was awful. I’d have to move back home. Be one of those people who just couldn’t make it in New York. Sure, if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere---but what if you can’t make it here? What then? Sinatra didn’t sing about that. I was at the lowest of the low. I needed to talk to someone. But who?

I changed out of my pajamas and went to the coffee shop.

The music wasn’t as cheery as usual. Elvis was crooning about having a “Blue Christmas” as I looked behind the counter for a little ray of Sunshine.

“Oh---hi,” she said as she looked up. Oh my god. She was crying. Who would do this to Little Miss Sunshine? “I’m sorry,” she said as she wiped the tears out of her eyes. “How are you today?” she made an attempt at her usual chipper self.

“What’s wrong?”

“My manager just told me I had to work Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I had plans to go to Connecticut to see my family. I have a ticket and everything. I was going to leave after work tonight. But he thinks it’s going to be busy and the new guy quit so I’ve got to work. On Christmas!” she said as she let out a muffled wail.

I couldn’t believe the injustice. If anyone deserved a Merry Christmas, it was Little Miss Sunshine. I looked around the coffee shop, watching people happily sip their cappuccinos. Selfish New Yorkers. Didn’t they care? When did coffee shops suddenly stay open on Christmas? Did people need lattes that badly?

“Who’s the manager here?” I asked.

She pointed across the room at a slim, forty-something man behind the counter. “His name’s Dick.”

How appropriate.

“Excuse me, Dick?” I asked as I walked up to the counter.

“Yeah?” he looked up from his inventory sheets.

“You don’t know me, but my name is Dorrie Krakowski and I’m a regular here,” I introduced myself as I sneezed into a tissue.

“Listen, I’ve been coming in here for months now. And one of the reasons I keep coming back is because of this lovely young lady here,” I motioned to Little Miss Sunshine, who was presently mixed with rain. Eyes all around the coffee shop were suddenly trained on me. I had an audience, which normally would have been frightening. But not this time. Because I could instantly see that they were on my side. “Every single day for the past seven weeks, this young lady has been wishing us a Merry Christmas. She’s been promoting the Christmas pastries. And she’s probably sold more Christmas blend than any other person behind that counter. Which, by the way, is not Christmas-y in any way, just so you know. What makes it the Christmas blend? No one knows. You,” I said to Laptop Boy who I recognized as a regular. “What’s in that Christmas blend?”

He looked in his half-drunk cup. “I have no idea. It just tastes like regular coffee.”

“And yet, you drink it,” I followed up. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” he said as if it were the first time he’d ever even thought of such a question. “She was just so happy about it.”

“Exactly. You know,” I said philosophically as I lifted his coffee cup up in the air. “Some of us are glass half-full people. Others are glass half-empty. And some of us really want to know what’s in that glass. But maybe, what really counts is how you sell that half a cup. Wouldn’t you agree, Dick?” Little Miss Sunshine had been wagging her tail for seven long, Christmas-music filled weeks. I was determined to spring her out of the pound.

“Look,” Dick said as he put down his paperwork, “I’d love to give her the time off. But we’re short-staffed already and it might get busy.”

“Okay,” I said as I looked to my people. “Show of hands. Who in here will protest this coffee shop and vow not to come back for one week if this young lady is forced to work on Christmas?”

I raised my hand, and then I looked out into the crowd. Suddenly, the hands began going up. One, two, three, seven, twelve, twenty. The place was full of hands up in the air.

“Dick,” I said pointedly, “this lady deserves the time off. Stop being a Scrooge. Let her go home for Christmas.”

“Okay, go home,” he said as he looked at Little Miss Sunshine. “Merry Christmas,” he said grumpily and walked into his back office.

The whole place burst into applause. Little Miss Sunshine was laughing and crying all at the same time. She ran over and gave me a hug.

“Thank you! Thank you so much! All of you!” she said as she looked around the place and beamed like she’d just won an award. She was so overcome, that within seconds, half the joint was crying. Sunshine began walking around the place, giving people individual hugs. Then everyone started hugging everyone. What had I done? A Hug Fest? I had to get out of there. As I snuck out the door, I saw Sunshine take off her apron and happily toss it in the air. Between the two of us, she definitely deserved the Merry Christmas more than I did. After all, what had I done besides complain?

As I made my way home, I suddenly saw a familiar sight coming out of the liquor store.

Shoeless Joe.

Wearing a pair of Christian Louboutin High-Top Sneakers!?!?

“HEY!” I yelled as loud as I’ve ever yelled in my entire life. “You have shoes!!!! YOU HAVE SHOES!!!!!”

He took off running down 42nd St. in his designer sneakers.

“Oh don’t you even