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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Christmas season of nineteen forty-seven, straight from heaven was the rush. Delighted to have a job, Dollene was eager to get to work that Christmas Eve day. It will probably be a busy day, Mr. Bentley, the sales manager had said in a hush. When the doors of Macy’s open, the crowd pushed themselves in, merrily and gay. They came for the dolls, the trucks, the blocks, the coloring books and ornaments too. Dollene was so busy, she did not think about lunch or eating until a quarter after two. Mr. Bentley came by as she started to leave, and warned her if she left her station, He would have to give her job to his cousin, who would be thrilled with titillation. Luckily, she was so busy by now, being yelled at that this one was next. That one’s a liar. Her landmark number of sales receipts were piling up to the ceiling, and maybe much higher. By the time she got finished two seconds before Macy’s closed her welcoming doors, Dollene’s limp used up body slid down uncomfortably, on one of the toy aisle floors. Don’t forget to tidy up the shelves, Mr. Bentley said in his mean little way as he walked by. More exhausted than on black Friday, she could not rouse a foot, an arm, a wink or an eye. Anyone whose shelves are left like this will be fired at the end of this record sales day, Mr. Bentley said, sashaying away in his usual abrasive ugly mean heartless privileged way.
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