Christmas Joy

She had the right name for the season though she had entirely the wrong attitude. If you want something doing on Christmas Eve, it really helps to be nice to people not come in demanding attention like some snotty nosed bitch.

?I?m Joy Lampton, you have a package for me.?

She pushed the regular delivery slip through the counter slot. I looked at it, noted the address and looked back at her. She was a good looker all right; say late 20?s, very nicely turned out. Still, she could afford to be judging from the address; she lived in one of those mock Tudor jobs just off The Parks, great big front lawns, and whole forests out the back. She was wearing a camel hair wrap over coat, had some sort of fur trim, probably real fur, though I would never have been able to tell the difference. Blond hair, long I guessed, by the way it bunched around the back of her neck, tucked up into a matching fur trimmed hat, a few melting snow flakes nestling on top.

?Can you turn that fucking noise off??

She nodded her head in the direction of the tree standing in the hallway, she thinks she has problems, I?ve had them for three weeks; the worst thing about this job - those bloody musical Christmas lights.

?I am sorry Mrs Lampton??

?It?s Ms. Lampton.?

?My apology, Ms. Lampton. Unfortunately, the only way to stop the music is to turn the lights off, I am afraid the bosses will not agree to that. Still snowing is it??

?Yes, and if I don?t get my package now, it?s going to be even worse and I?ll never get back home.?

Christ, there is hardly an inch of snow on the road, the bitch could walk home in five minutes; She was not going to take this at all well.

?I?m very sorry Ms. Lampton but you will not be getting your package today. Unfortunately because its Christmas Eve??

?What do you mean? Give me my fucking package you little shit-head.?

?I?m sorry Ms. Lampton there is nothing I can do. Your package will be out on the rounds somewhere, locked in a holding box where they leave stuff that cannot be delivered. They won?t be collected until Tuesday, the earliest you will see your package is next Wednesday when this office re-opens, that?s what five??

?I can count, I?ve got a fucking economics degree.?

?What a coincidence Ms. Lampton, so have I and I?m studying for a fucking PhD in economics and I still make it five days.?

?How dare you swear at me, get me the Manager you?ve seen that last of this job sonny.?

?I would rather you didn?t call me sonny, Ms Lampton. And don?t worry about threatening me with the sack, us university ?boys? all finish in about? oh, seventy five minutes, it?s just a holiday job.? I said scrutinising my watch.

She seemed to decide a different approach was required and lent forward, the front of the coat billowing out letting me view an obviously well maintained neck and shoulders.

?What is your name??

?Michael, Ms. Lampton. Michael de Grainger, though we don?t use the ?de? much in public.?

?Well Michael de Grainger, if you can find my little package I will pay you one hundred pounds, how?s that, it will cheer up your Christmas.?

?Ms Lampton??

?Please Michael, call me Joy.?

Oh this was fun, she was going to be so pissed.

?There really is nothing I can do. The parcel is out there somewhere, apart from tramping round all the boxes, there is no way to get it for you. I simply don?t have the authority to do that.?

?Two hundred