Page 7 of Mistletoe, Mayhem & Mr. Grump
I'm starting to understand why this town needs corporate intervention.
"You know cars?" he asks.
"I know they have engines."
"That's... a start. Where you from?"
"Around."
"'Around' isn't very specific."
"Neither is 'Help Wanted' written on a pizza box."
"Fair point." He grins. "Look, I can't pay much. Fifteen an hour."
Fifteen an hour. My watch costs more than this man will make in five years. The watch I'm currently hiding under a flannel sleeve that still has the fold marks from Target.
"When can you start?"
"Whenever."
"Tomorrow. Seven sharp. And Holden?" He grins wider. "That flannel's so new it's basically still at the store. Might want to rough it up a bit."
"Noted."
I spend the afternoon destroying perfectly good clothes with sandpaper and a cheese grater I bought from the general store. The elderly woman who sells it to me asks if I'm ‘doing a craft project’.
"Something like that." I tell her.
"My granddaughter does crafts. She made me a toilet paper cozy shaped like a swan. Would you like to see pictures?"
Twenty minutes later, I've seen forty-seven photos of toilet paper swans and know more about her granddaughter's failed Etsy business than I know about some of my relatives. This town is personal, and somehow I've been adopted by a stranger who insists I take a coupon for buy-one-get-one crackers "because young people need to eat."
By the time I escape, the afternoon sun is already fading, and I look like I've been in a fight with a cheese grater. Which, technically, I have.
Sterling calls while I'm watching a YouTube video titled "Oil Changes for Idiots."
"The board wants an update." He starts without any preamble.
"It's been two days."
"Two days of what? Sitting in Vermont eating cheese?"
"Reconnaissance."
"Is that what we're calling it?"
"Would you prefer 'strategic integration into the target community through systematic observation and careful relationship building'?"
"I'd prefer results."
Through my window, I see the town square filling with people. That damn tree glowing like a beacon of anti-capitalism. Families walking together. Couples sharing hot beverages. Wren hurries past in what appears to be a cape made entirely of tinsel.
"The town is exactly as the file indicated. Financially vulnerable. Emotionally attached to unprofitable traditions. Resistant to change."
"Perfect. Timeline?" He demands.
"Six weeks minimum."
