The following is part of a serialized story, Everyone Thinks I Dream of Chocolate. You can find the first chapter here.
Valentine’s Day is about love. Romantic love. This is a concept that humans have been drunk on for the last 200 years or so. Grand gestures and loud displays of affection are encouraged. It is a day that values narcissism and punishes those who fail to meet those expectations.
Luckily for me, Chrissy hates attention and prefers small, personal displays of love. My time, wallet, and patience are ever grateful.
Still, the rest of the world was cursed with such issues. On a day like this, one couldn’t just buy a giant bag of mini Twix and expect an A on their report card (although in my opinion, this is just as valid as anything else). This is why gift baskets full of stuffed animals and various confectionary are priced in the double and triple digits. Although I did not suffer from the vanity of the holiday, I certainly helped Dick and Lou capitalize on it.
Unlike other chocolate shops, Lou didn’t like to sell premade boxes for the holidays. We already offered custom boxes as a service. The few times that we tried to sell premade boxes, the customers usually wanted extra items in the box so we ended up making new boxes anyway.
In retrospect, I liked this idea a lot. Many businesses often see premade bundles as a way to sell multiple items quickly. Theoretically, it saves time during peak hours as all of the packing work is done hours before. The problem is that most people are picky. They might see something in the box or bag and want an extra item. Even worse, they don’t like something in the package and it completely disqualifies the product. It’s a small blemish that somehow ruins the whole package.
As an employee, I prefer the custom option. That way, the customer gets exactly what they want without wasting time deliberating whether the bundle is “good enough for the world’s best lover”. Plus, packing the gift box pads time in my workday. It is something to fill in the small incremental moments of time ticking away towards the end of a shift. While speed was encouraged, patience was valued even more. Lou saw aesthetics as equally important to the recipe. Aesthetics took time.
“So what if we take our time?” Dick once said. “They can fucking wait.”
And wait they fucking did.
Each box was its own process. After the customer picked their gifts, we provided white or red boxes in various sizes. The customer got to choose a ribbon color from an entire shelf dedicated to the hundreds of rolls in various colors, band thicknesses, and designs.
Inside the box, we lined the bottom with delicate, white tissue paper. It was crisp and light to the touch. You could either keep the paper clean or crumple it to pad out the inside so the truffles could nest comfortably in a blanket or cushion.
After setting everything in the box, we showed the customer the box (“What do you think of this?” or “Is this to your satisfaction?”). If the customer gave us the all-clear, we slid the top on and wrapped the chosen ribbon around the package. We asked the customer if they like the ribbon (which they usually did). Then, we finally put it in a white paper bag, charged them, then sent them on their way.
This was the basic rubric but it wasn’t perfect. Sometimes, the items didn’t fit well into any of the boxes properly. A medium-sized box didn’t have enough room and the large box had too much empty space. In these cases, I had to use two boxes, stack them on top of each other, and wrap them. The result was a pyramid-shaped package. A lot of people liked this because it made the final gift look large. People like two boxes more than one.
Regardless, I usually made it work. In fact, that was a reason why I liked selling custom gift boxes more than the pre-made ones. Everyone had different needs and whatever they were, I was sure I could figure out how to help them walk out of our store satisfied.
Except for the one time I couldn’t.
It was three days after Valentine’s Day. The traffic was pretty slow since we had several weeks until Easter. It was a Sunday which meant we had no production so I was mostly re-organizing the shelves in the chocolate case. There wasn’t too much to organize since most of our shelves were empty. We hadn’t had time to make new product and we wouldn’t be fully stocked again until Friday.
It was nice to see. Despite having very little to sell customers, the major holiday was over. All the empty trays meant we had sold a lot.
This sentiment was not shared by the customer who came in. He was wearing a dress shirt and pants. A loose tie hung around his neck like a noose before a hanging. He was sweating like a man on death row.
“Do you have anything for Valentine’s Day?”
“All the stuff that we have on display.”
His eyes were rabid, the gaze ripping back and forth across the display case. The two pupils were hunting, gleaning, and desperate. I saw something drip from the edges of his eyelids. Was that sweat or tears? I guess in a way, tears are like sweat for eyeballs.
“Do you have any truffles?”
“Sorry dude, all out.”
“Damn it.” He closed his eyes tight, squeezing out the bead of salt. “How about sea salt caramels?”
“Sorry. All out.”
“Damn it.”
He is starting to pace across the shop.
I try to give him the benefit of the doubt. He is in a dress shirt. He looks a bit worse for wear. Maybe he was traveling for work. Perhaps he lived in New York City and had just come to Maryland from an important meeting. Probably some sort of executive who works through a lot of holidays. Still, he seems like a nice guy, trying to make it work with his long-distance girlfriend. They knew that they were going to be celebrating Valentine’s Day a few days late but that was ok. Their love went beyond the expectations of a simple holiday. The ritual of expressing their devotion was all that mattered. Still, he did want to get her a gift. They had agreed beforehand to drop the gift exchange but he couldn’t help it. It was the last thing on his list of things to do before going to his girlfriend’s house, taking a shower, then making sweet passionate love while watching Flava Flav’s Flavor of Love, a show that they bonded over due to their mutual ironic enjoyment.
Yes, that was it. He was merely flustered because he had planned to get chocolates from his girlfriend’s favorite chocolate shop but didn’t expect such a huge hole in our stock. There was no way that he forgot Valentine’s Day. This story I made in my head gave me a sense of sympathy for him. Surely I could help him.
“Relax my guy,” I said, my tone high and bright. “Nothing to worry about. I’m sure we can find something for your lady. It’s not like you forgot Valentine’s Day.”
“No, I did. I totally did.”
“Oh.”
Now, I was sweating and my apron felt just a bit tighter.
“Here, I can put together a small box for you.”
“Ok, ok,” he said, still frazzled. Poor guy. Probably didn’t get enough sleep on the bus ride here.
I managed to put together a small box full of dipped confectionary. Graham crackers, Oreos, and pretzels.
“Do you know if she likes Milk or Dark chocolate?” I asked.
“I have no idea.”
Most people liked milk chocolate so that’s what I put in the box.
“Well, the total is $20.”
“What that much?”
“…Yeah.”
He made some sort of noise. Then, he walked out of the shop. From the front door, I watched him walk from store to store, exiting each stop empty-handed. Eventually, he left the Old Town Mill, eyeballs sweating tears. I watched him walk out into the parking lot, expecting to see him get into a car. Instead, he walked into the neighborhood. I can’t help but wonder how much money he had in his wallet.
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20. Becky
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To Be Continued
Danger Wonka 