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To make Peter’s scheme appear legitimate, he decides he needs a badge declaring he’s an official representative of Alphabet Apes cereal. He drives to a ship and print center as far across his GPS map as he’s willing to drive. Banners hung in the windows advertise holiday cards, party invitations and decorative backdrops.
They’ve split the store in two sections. One side for printing, the other for shipping. The package area is bombarded with people frantically seeking assurance their parcels will reach their destinations before Christmas. In stark contrast, the print side is vacant aside from a bored woman behind the counter. She cuts split ends from the length of her hair with scissors beefy enough for industrial cardboard.
“Welcome to your personal print center. What can we do for you today?” The woman doesn’t look up as she speaks. The scissor blades dance dangerously close to her fingers and Peter winces as she snaps them shut, trimming away a millimeter of hair.
“I need a name badge and some business cards printed, please.” He fishes a flash drive from his pocket and drops it on the counter.
“No Christmas cards?” When he shakes his head in answer, she hops off her stool and drops the scissors in a penholder. “Thank God. If I have to arrange one more layout of people in matching holiday sweaters, I might kill myself.”
“I don’t even own a holiday sweater. Looks like you’ll live another day.” Peter grins and points to the gray-hooded sweatshirt he’s wearing.
“Name badges and business cards are easy. You have a layout on your drive?” She picks up the thumb drive and plugs it into a row of ports embedded in her computer.
“I do for the badge, but not for the business cards. They don’t need to be fancy. White with black text is fine. A logo if you can fit it.” Peter watches her fill out a form. She asks questions about lamination, embossing and whether he needs to buy a lanyard. Each box she ticks gets him one step closer to where he wants to be. She prints a proof of both the cards and badge for him to look over. Peter signs off on them and turns to leave.
“Hey,” she calls after him. She pulls the false name he gave her from the form, “Ted. I know our guarantee is to have stuff printed in four hours, but as you can see, I’ve got a serious lack of shit to do. Want to sit and wait? This’ll only take about twenty minutes.”
“Sure.” He returns to the counter and the print girl gestures to a metal stool behind the desk.
“Have a seat. Look professional if someone talks to you. Ask them to wait, then come get me over there.” She points to a block of machines along the back wall. Peter nods. She hits a few keys on the desktop keyboard to lock the terminal.
Peter watches the customers jockeying for position at the shipping counter. Suddenly, she’s back at his side with a laminated badge and fifty business cards.
“What do you do for this Alphabet Apes place, anyway?” She looks him up and down, her doubtful expression causing Peter to feel uneasy.
He busies himself with paying so he doesn’t have to look her in the eye. “Market research, mostly. Checking out the local demographic for the home office.” Peter gestures at the modest bundle of cards on the counter. “I lost all my stuff on the plane ride in. I’ve got to be out in the field tomorrow. If I wait for the airline to find my luggage, I’ll be flying home before I get any work done.”
“I hate when that happens.” The girl offers him a receipt, but he waves it off. She chucks the evidence of his order in the trash.
“Yeah. Me, too. Thanks for getting me taken care of. You’re a lifesaver.” Peter looks at her with as confident a smile as he can muster.
She tucks his purchases in a paper bag. “If you don’t know your way around here, I’d be happy to take you on a tour tonight.”
Peter’s eyes snap up from nervously watching her hands. “What?”
“You don’t want to be alone for your whole trip, right? I know a place we could grab dinner later.” Her bored expression has transformed into glowing bronze cheeks and glossy eyes.
“Oh, um,” Peter stammers. “I’m meeting a banker for dinner tonight. But maybe I’ll drop by the next time I’m in town?”
Her thin lips spread into a smile. She writes the name Staci down on a blank card in bold, blank ink, followed by her phone number. Sliding the card across the desk to him, she utters, “I’d like that.”
Peter takes the card and waves it at her in a clumsy goodbye. He thinks about calling Valorie to cancel, but he already showed up late to meet her the day he printed all those labels, and he knows he’s skating on thin ice with her. He’s got to be present for a while if he hopes to smooth over her rigid expectations of him.
“Next time,” he whispers as he tucks Staci’s number in his pants pocket.