Big Box Surprise

Last week – in the midst of a really bad pain flare-up that had me mostly adhered to my heating pad and attending important meetings with my pillow so I could lay down – I got an email announcing that a Christmas gift I ordered for Rob had arrived at a Big Box Store and was ready for my requested Curbside Pick-Up.

Knowing time was of the essence to retrieve the Super Heavy Gift, wrap it in the trunk of my car, and enlist the help of the best neighbors EVER to carry it into Woodhaven for me, I poured my super sore self into my SUV and skedaddled to the store while Rob was out running errands.

For a variety of reasons, my back-saving Curbside arrangement did not flow smoothly. I ended up trudging inside to the Customer Service desk with a confirmation code and determination not to cry from the pain and frustration.

The Guy In Charge tapped away at his computer, confirming my item was “in the back.” He dispatched young, lanky, subordinate Liam to retrieve it.

Liam returned several minutes later with an empty cart, assuring both me and TGIC that Rob’s gift was nowhere to be found. Proving why he’s In Charge, TGIC ever-so-slightly rolled his eyes and told me and Liam he would be back shortly with the heavy box.

Fully prepared to continue my scrolling through Social Media in search of more cat videos, I was surprised when Liam stared at me and said, “Well, we have a few minutes. Shall we play a game?”

Paralyzed by introverted horror, I hadn’t yet mustered an appropriate guffaw when Liam posed a second panic-inducing query.

“What’s the name of the game where you act out words?”

“Charades?” I offered quietly, desperately longing for the safety and solitude of Curbside Assistance.

“Yes! Let’s play. I’ll go first.”

I stood and stared at Liam, wondering if “Entertain the Customer” was part of his Big Box Store employee training, or if he was going rogue. I suspected rebellion.

Putting his hand on his chin, the other on his hip, Liam narrowed his eyes and was deep in thought.

“Wondering,” I offered as my first guess.

“Oh, we’re not playing yet. I’m trying to remember how this works.” I offered no help.

In a burst of recollection, Liam held up two fingers, then one finger, and then started motioning his hands and arms like one of those guys on a tarmac using orange sticks to direct airplanes around. A few guesses later, he excitedly confirmed “GO!” was the correct answer.

Liam then tugged on his ear like Carol Burnett, with a 99% probability he has never heard of her. He was off and running on the second word, using his long, thin arms to scoop up the air around the Customer Service kiosk.

“Catch??”

Liam was very excited. He stared at me eagerly, like a dog wanting to play ball, waiting for me to put “GO” and “Sounds like CATCH” together for the win.

Tired of trying to telepathically conjure the return of The Guy In Charge, I finally stated, “GO FETCH.” Liam was elated.

“OK, now it’s your turn!” Liam exclaimed, returning to his “wondering” pose with expectation.

My defiant eyes bore into him. “Nope, this was YOUR idea. This is all you. My back is spasming right now. I’m not acting out anything.”

When I’m in pain, my social graces get a little tenuous.

Undeterred and exhaustingly extroverted, Liam rebounded like a champ and was suddenly rotating his fist next to his ear while the other clenched hand lingered under his chin. Although I understood he was acting out the “MOVIE” clue, I silently wondered if his early-20s self had any idea why that motion indicates “MOVIE.” Similarly, does Gen Z know why lifting an extended thumb and pinky to your ear means “CALL ME”? I really wanted to spend my wait time pondering these generational questions, but Liam was tugging on his ear again.

“Sounds like,” I said, almost hiding my resignation.

With great flourish, Liam pointed to a nearby shelving unit stocked with online orders that weren’t so very far away in the back of the store.

“Shelf?”

So much excited, expectant nodding.

“Elf?”

Much celebration.

“You know, it would have been more fun if you had acted out being an elf,” I coached Liam, hoping this would end the game and change the topic of conversation.

Instead, inspired by the challenge, Liam was soon on his knees, scooting around the cement floor.

“No, you look more like a dwarf,” I explained with pain-induced social grace.

Liam started pantomiming a pointy hat and ears and hammering on an imaginary toy.

“Much better!” I said to both Liam and The Guy In Charge who had blessedly returned with Rob’s Heavy Gift on a cart.

Several minutes later, as I gratefully watched the surprisingly strong Liam lift Rob’s present into the back of my car, I asked Liam if he had taken Drama classes in school. He demurred and explained they never fit into his schedule.

“You know, you actually have a talent for this. I was able to figure out your clues pretty quickly. You should really look into acting.”

For a brief second, Liam looked like he might cry.

I asked him if he had heard of a local community playhouse, one that does about four plays per year and hires people of all ages. When Liam said he hadn’t heard of it but would think about it, I uncharacteristically demanded, “Get out your phone.”

With a surprised, “YES, MA’AM!” speed, Liam had his phone in his hand and was typing the search words as I dictated them.  As he scrolled through the theater’s website, I closed the trunk and approached the driver’s side door.

“Good luck with your acting career!” I called out as I drove away. 

Although I smiled with relief to have survived Liam's impromptu game of Charades, I smiled bigger at the hope that he will soon find a bigger stage than the Customer Service Desk at a Big Box Store.

I wrapped this in a parking lot without attracting
too much attention. The bottom is not wrapped;
rotating it was enough work. It only took Rob
about 36 hours to notice it near the Christmas tree.
Thank you again for the neighborly heavy lifting,
Karin and Makayla!