Most of the time, I love my job. It's usually exciting and very often frustrating, but it's never boring, and that's enough to keep me at it.
October 31st, though, always falls into the latter category. Trying to organize a couple of hundred midget witches, ghosts and goblins, some with crayons for colouring, some with knives for carving and some just with knives, is an exercise in frustration. Most of the little kids arrive with parents. They're not the problem. Actually, I enjoy watching them get a kick out of the different activities. It's the older ones who want a chance to hack at anything with their blades, including each other, that I can do without.
Our mall Security crew hates Halloween, the maintenance staff won't talk to me for at least two days before it because they know what the clean-up's going to be like and the rest of the management team makes sure they're never on duty that day.
So why do we do it? The community expects it as a special children's event, and God forbid we should alienate the customers' kids. The local rag even gives us free coverage, and that's next to impossible to get, so here we are. This was my third Halloween promotion, and I wasn't having a good time so far.
I'd arrived at the mall about seven that morning, because shopping centre promotions are governed by Murphy's Law, and I like to buy a little extra time.
The four high school kids I'd hired that week to help out were waiting at the front entrance. So was a mile-high pile of pumpkins.
“What the hell are these doing here? They're supposed to be inside. I had a maintenance guy scheduled to open the promotion doors round the back at six this morning so the truck could drive right in and park next to the stage.”
The tallest kid, Joshua, shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands. The other three formed a line behind him, rally caps on tight. Backup, I guess. This sure wasn't going to be their fault.
“We just got here, and they were here already. Guess the driver went to the wrong door. He was just leaving 'cause he tried ringing the night bell but nobody showed and he knew you needed them for today and, anyway…he wasn't taking them back so he unloaded the truck and said that would cost you extra on the bill…'cause of he wasn't supposed to unload the truck…'cause of he's got a bad back and you gotta hope it doesn't get worse 'cause of this…and Joe here tried to get security to let us in, but they wouldn't…'cause of they don't know us so we couldn't do anything anyway…so we just waited for you.”
Having got rid of all that, he stepped back with the others and the four of them looked at me, arms folded across their chests. They suspected what was coming, and I didn't disappoint them. “You guys'll have to take them in.”
I got out my keys, opened the small door to the left of the main entrance and shooed them inside.
“Joe, go to the promo storage area. The one at the back of the Food Court behind Tijuana Taco, not the upstairs one where you got the stage and stuff yesterday. Look for the door that says Promotion Department.” I handed him the key. “You'll find a flat dolly and a couple of shopping carts. Take Vijay and Roger with you and don't dawdle. It's half past seven already.”
Joe and his buddies veered off to the left, moving fast. It was like watching one body with six legs. No need to tell teenagers where a shopping centre Food Court is.
Joshua and I went to the stage outside one of the mall's two department stores. The day before, the boys had set it up beside eight six-foot tables placed in a hollow square. The tables, where the kids would do the carving, were covered with newsprint cut from end rolls, courtesy of our local paper. The stage held four rows of chairs for parents and later, the judges, and a sound system was in place for the emcee—a local DJ-come-entertainer, who was being paid handsomely to keep the kids happy and, please God, reasonably under control.
“First off, Josh, we can't block the entrance to the department store. Those pumpkins are going to take up more room loose than they would've on the truck.”
He loped back and forth in his Nikes, striding around the stage and tables. “Why don't we pile them up in the middle of the square and they can help themselves?” he asked. “We got all that empty space.”
“Because some kid'll pull one from the bottom and start an avalanche. No, I think a better idea is to put as many on the ground here as you can.” I paced off a floor space about fifteen feet square. “No more than two, maybe three deep. Leave the others in the back hallway over there through the maintenance doors. You're scheduled to be here anyway, giving them out, so Roger and Vijay can stay with you and go back and forth for more as you need them.”
“What about the costume parade and the colouring contest? Aren't a couple of us supposed to help with them?”
“I'll manage those,” I said. “There's never much to do once they're started, and they're pretty easy. Practically run themselves. Joe can help me see to the parade. It's only going from one end of the mall to the other, and it doesn't start till this afternoon.
“While you guys handle the pumpkins, he can pass out crayons and paper for the colouring contest in the Food Court. We lined up some of the tables last night for the kids to use. And, unless their parents dump the little angels for free babysitting, they can keep an eye on their own kids. We just have to make sure the colouring is finished in time for Maintenance to clear up for the lunch crowd.”
I mentally dusted off my hands. Now for the sneaky part. “I want all four of you up in my office the minute you finish here. Your costumes were delivered yesterday.”
“Costumes?” His voice went up four octaves. “What costumes?”
“Oh, did I forget to tell you? My helpers always wear costumes for promotions. Makes them easier to spot if they're needed, and the little kids like ‘em too. I'm sure I mentioned it when we talked about this job probably being a long-term thing for you guys. Don't forget, upstairs, the minute you're finished.”
God, that was below the belt, but hey, I'm for whatever works. “While I'm at it, I'll write out ID cards for the four of you so Security'll know you next time.”
An hour later, four large, white rabbits were at their stations, ready for the onslaught.
Now, listening to Mary on the phone, I realized my mistake was telling Joshua to take charge of getting the DJ set up. I'd even told him to help pick the music.
“Mary, I'm going down to check out how the colouring contest is going. If anyone needs me, I'll be the one in the Food Court with no crayon.”
“One more thing, Jenny, before you hang up,” Mary said. “Susan took a call for you earlier. A Mr. Doug White. Said he was supposed to be Santa but has to cancel. Said sorry, but he just can't do it. Something about being too nervous, and he doesn't want you to call him back.”
“What?” I held the phone away from my ear and shook it, hoping her words would fall out and evaporate. “What did you say?”
“Susan took a call…”
“Mary, I heard you the first time. I was just wishing I hadn't. I didn't mean to yell at you. Don't worry about it. It's just one more thing for the list.”
I sat back down on the couch, staring blankly at the carpet. Dick Simmons and the rappin' rabbits were nothing compared to this. This was Murphy's Law at its finest.
Other than “collect the rent”, there are very few credos in the shopping centre industry, but there is one for promotion directors that means your job if you ignore it: “If you can't do Christmas right, don't do it at all.”
That's it. Plain and simple. It doesn't matter what else you do all year, if you muff the Christmas promo, you're gone.
The mall's annual Santa Claus Parade was scheduled, as usual, for the second weekend in November. With the exception of miscounting the elves, I had everything in place. The majorettes, the Police Pipe Band, all booked, extra security was lined up for crowd control, the radio and print advertising was booked, a new jingle written and the