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Butterflies drum against the walls of Peter’s stomach as he sets up the prizes. He hasn’t set other appointments this week. Not only is he nervous about Glen, but it’s also Christmas Eve. Despite the number of goodies he has left to distribute, there haven’t been many calls from potential winners. The few he’s spoken to are busy with holiday plans, so it seems an appropriate time to take a break.
Peter stacks a pyramid of cereal boxes in the room's corner. The package he tampered with sits front and center. It looks almost identical to the others. A slight crease on a corner of the top flap is all that announces its presence. He tries convincing himself the difference isn’t substantial enough to turn Glen off opening it. He supposes only time will tell.
The intercom beeps and the receptionist announces the winner is on his way. It doesn’t take long for Glen to make the hike from the lobby. Soon, his bulk fills the doorway, a flattened cereal box tucked under the folds of his sweaty arm.
“You made it.” Peter forces a wide smile and reaches out to shake his hand. Glen doesn’t return the gesture.
Instead, he slides into the room and sits beside Peter’s laptop and barcode scanner. He eyeballs the prizes. “Let’s figure this shit out.”
“Okay.” Peter squirms through the narrow gap his visitor has left behind his chair. He settles in the seat behind the laptop and taps the keypad to wake it from sleep mode. “Exciting, isn’t it?”
“I’m trembling in my boots,” Glen says, his tone saturated with boredom.
Peter feels his smile falter but pushes it out again in his best attempt at enthusiasm. “May I see the box, please?”
The tattered cardboard has long, heavy creases. It looks like someone folded it down to fit in a manilla envelope. Peter glances sideways and wonders if Glen cares he’s made the connection between the folds and his comments about shopping online. “Where did you say you bought it?”
Glen stares Peter in the eye, defiant. “Does it matter?”
Rage simmers below Peter’s bracing grin. He wishes he could reach over and wrap his hands around Glen’s flabby throat. For a split second, he fantasizes about pressing the life out of him, watching his blotchy skin depress in long rows beneath his fingers. His eyes would bulge, glassy and bloodshot as he struggled for breath. He’d flail against Peter in a battle of wills before falling limp in his chair.
But how would Peter drag him out of the office with no one noticing?
“It doesn’t affect you at all. It helps us track which stores have the highest redemption rate for future promotions.”
Glen shrugs. “If it doesn’t make a difference, scan it.”
Passing the UPC code under the red light of the barcode reader, Peter’s computer beeps appropriately. A new, pre-programmed response sends text scrolling across the window.
Congratulations! You’ve won the Alphabet Apes grand prize for Portland, Oregon.
Glen’s face stretches into an odd grimace. It takes Peter a moment to realize he’s smiling. He leans forward, perched on the edge of his seat. His fingers tap the table nervously as he takes a slow look around the room. “So, what’s the grand prize?”
Peter takes great pleasure in gesturing toward the pyramid of cereal. He claps Glen on the back with his other hand. “You, Sir, have won a year’s supply of Alphabet Apes!”
The smile dissolves on Glen’s face. It’s replaced by a visage of utter disappointment. “What?”
Getting up, Peter dances around the conference table. The cereal boxes almost glow under the room’s fluorescent lights. He gingerly pats the bent corner of the tainted box when he reaches it. With the crumpled disrepair of the package Glen brought in, there’s no way he’ll think anything of a meager depression in the cardboard.
He picks up a couple boxes from the pyramid and waves them in the air. “You’ve won a full year’s supply. Fifty-two boxes of delicious Alphabet Apes cereal. We want to make sure you enjoy the boxes when they’re fresh, so you’ll receive just twenty today. Thirty-two more will ship to your home address in about five months.
Discontent radiates from Glen’s side of the room. He eyeballs a nearby stack of gift cards. “Can I trade the grand prize for something else?”
Lifting his hands in a ‘what can I do?’ motion, Peter shakes his head. He pretends to be sympathetic. “Unfortunately, no. Prizes are non-transferrable. Only one prize per household.”
A light skip in his step, Peter returns to his seat to fill out the simple prize redemption form. It doesn’t include much more than Glen’s name and the address he wants the rest of his cereal boxes delivered to. When they’re done, Peter makes a couple trips to load the packages into Glen’s borrowed car. Glen doesn’t help.
“At least my grocery bill will be smaller,” the winner finally comments as Peter stacks the last few boxes in the back seat.
“Absolutely. One whole meal a day you won’t have to worry about for a while.” The happiness Peter exudes is genuine. He makes sure the tainted box is on top of the stack, easy for Glen to access. He imagines the gargantuan man placing it front-and-center in his kitchen cabinet. Peter looks away when he realizes he’s staring at his unsuspecting victim.
“Well... thanks, I guess.” Glen shuffles around to the driver’s seat and fumbles with the keys.
“Merry Christmas! Maybe Santa will bring that crossbow tonight.” Peter winks at him over the roof of the car.
“Christmas implies religious participation. I prefer happy holidays. It’s more inclusive.” Glen pulls the door open and shoves himself inside.
Peter takes a few steps backward. He’s even with the curb when the car door slams and the engine revs. He waves an enthusiastic farewell as he mutters, “Happy holidays, dick.”