“Seven dollars.”

Brian watched the woman extract a wad of bills from her bra and parse out three of the damp, limp pieces of paper. Two weeks ago, he would have shuddered at accepting the money, but in that time, thousands of bills had passed through his fingers, many of them wet, dirty, crumpled, crusty, or worse. God only knew how many diseases he had narrowly avoided up to this point. Or perhaps had contracted and simply was not showing symptoms yet.

“Good morning,” the next customer said as he scribbled on a questionnaire. “How are you?”

“Tired.”

Brian would have rubbed the sleep from his eyes, but he made a habit to never touch his face during his shift. Instead, he glanced at the clock which proudly displayed the time as a mere thirteen minutes past five.

“Don’t I know it, man,” the client chuckled. “Nothing like waking up at four thirty just to get in here before work. I reckon you must wake up even earlier.”

“Four,” Brian confirmed. He looked at the man to accept the seven one-dollar bills and was taken aback by what he saw. It was easy to assume everyone who came here was a drug addict complete with every stereotype imaginable. A couple weeks here had nearly confirmed the prejudice, but then along would come someone like this. A young man, early twenties, nice smile, suit and tie—not Brian’s idea of a druggie.

“Well, thanks for opening early,” the man said. “Not sure I could make it through the day without this.”

Brian gave a small wave in acknowledgement and produced a sad smile as the man took a seat in the waiting area. It was easy to look down on those who were not like him, to think their sins were worse than his, but he was continually shown the error of his assumptions. Reprobates on the far end of the downhill journey with their health problems and criminal records made for good television commercials, but the opiate crisis was no respecter of persons, made more insidious by the fact addiction could start with a legal prescription. Once again, Brian thanked God for his good health—that he had never had to use powerful pain killers. There but for the grace of God, he would be as well.

“Seven dollars,” he said, though the next customer already had the money out. He winced inwardly as he took the money. One of the bills was crusted with something he hoped was neither the result of a bodily fluid nor cocaine. It probably was not, he told himself. Then again, it wouldn’t hurt to bring latex gloves to his next shift.

******

“This is wrong again.”

Shelly’s boss couldn’t even wait until she was completely inside his office before telling her what she had done wrong.

“What do I need to fix?” Shelly asked in a detached tone. This was not the first time she had been called into Jack’s office, nor would it be the last. Jack never looked away from

his computer screen but waved a stapled report covered in red notations.

“Were my calculations wrong?” Shelly asked as she took the papers and flipped through them. “I’m pretty sure I was looking at the right references, though the whole set

of regulations is so confusing I can’t be one hundred percent sure.”

“I’m sure all your number are correct, but the formatting is atrocious,” Jack said. “Words need to be capitalized, oxford commas all over the place, and I counted at least thirteen times you didn’t put two spaces after a period. This isn’t hard to figure out. Why can’t you get it straight?”

Because you don’t follow the regulations and everyone in this godforsaken place has a different way they want to see my reports! Shelly thought bitterly. She left the office, report hanging limply by her side. The meeting was over.

“What did he say?” Jerry asked when Shelly returned to their shared cubical.

“Didn’t like the formatting,” Shelly grunted and tossed the papers onto her desk. “Either too lazy or too incompetent to know if the information is correct.”

“Well, he is a lot more concerned with how it looks than what’s in it,” Jerry agreed. “What are you gonna do. Just make the changes so he’s happy.”

“Happy?” Shelly said. “He’s never happy. I think the only time he enjoys himself is when he’s marking up reports for stupid, pedantic reasons. You know he doesn’t even use the writing guide? It’s official guidance from Washington, and he ignores it!”

“So does everyone else here,” Jerry pointed out. “I think sixth-grade English teachers run this place. It’s their inerrant teaching which determines how people want things written, official guidance be damned. Just make the changes and send

it back.”

“I know.” Shelly covered her face with her hands and sighed. “I just don’t like how he thinks I’m incompetent. If I keep this up, he’s going to fire me, and I can’t afford for that

to happen.”

“These are government jobs we’re talking about,” Jerry replied. “You know as well as I do the only way you can get fired is to steal something or, I don’t know, watch porn on your government computer. If incompetence were grounds for firing, most of the people here wouldn’t have jobs. Besides, we both know you’re not incompetent.”

Great, so my job is secure, Shelly thought as she turned to correcting the report. The good news is I can continue to work in a job I hate for a boss who makes it a living hell all to keep up with the payments for property we can’t afford.

******

“Seven dollars.” Still, after all this time? Brian’s inner voice snarked.

The monotony of the day was interrupted, never a good thing in this vocation, by raised voices from outside. Brian continued to accept payments but craned his neck to look out the windows in the front of the building.

“Brian.” Tom, the office’s security guard was suddenly there. “Lock the door behind me and call the police.

Brian hurried around the desk into the waiting area and followed Tom to the door. The old, grey-haired man took a deep breath and stepped through the door, armed with nothing but his badge and some pepper spray. It did not look good for him if bullets started flying, Brian thought as he spun the door lock. Then again, Tom had served in the first Gulf War, hadn’t he? Perhaps he could hold his own, even without a weapon.

The scene outside did not look bad yet, but things like this could go from innocuous to horrible in seconds. Two of the clients were yelling at each other over a fender bender by the looks of it. Brian remembered the police and fished his phone from his pocket as one of the people pushed the other. Tom started to run as they tussled, then a glint appeared in the sunlight followed by a sharp crack.

“911, what is your emergency?” the phone asked as Brian dove to the floor. He dropped it and it clattered across the tiles, sliding as he scrambled to retrieve it.

“Hello, hello?” he shouted into it when he had finally fumbled it to his ear.

“Yes, I’m here, sir,” the dispatcher answered. “What is the nature of your emergency?”

“There’s two guys fighting outside,” Brian stammered. “At least one of them has a gun. He’s fired it once.” He winced at a second crack. “Twice now.”

“Where are you located?” the dispatcher asked calmly. Too calmly, Brian thought as he gave the address.

“I’ve dispatched a unit,” the dispatcher said after a moment. “They should be there in two minutes. Is anyone besides the two people you mentioned in immediate danger?”

“Our security guard, Tom, was trying to break up the fight,” Brian answered. “He’s still outside. Should I see if I can spot him?”

“No, stay away from the windows and get behind something solid,” the dispatcher advised. “I’ll let the officers know to look out for him. What does he look like?”

Another crack and Brian collapsed to the floor, dropping his phone a second time. This was definitely not worth eight dollars an hour.

******

“I want the parking lot closer to the building than that.” The stars on the man’s shoulders identified him as a general while the wings on his chest meant he knew nothing about facility designs. He probably didn’t know much more than how to pull back on the stick to make the plane go up.

“I’m sorry, sir, but it’s not possible to put the parking closer.” Shelly tapped on the map where a colored line encircled the structure in question. “Regulations state that for force protection measures, we can’t have vehicles getting closer to the building than here.”

“I want my parking spot here,” the general said as though Shelly had never spoken. He stabbed a bony finger toward the table, practically touching the building on the map.

It’s for the house, Shelly reminded herself. I put up with people like this so we can have the house and property.

She abandoned the biting response first to her lips. “The closest I can put it is over here,” she said instead. “That’s on the opposite side of the building from my office,” the general snapped. “Unacceptable! I can’t be expected to walk that far every day!”

You expect all your people to walk further than that, Shelly thought. She opted for the more tactful, “I’ll get it as close as I can, sir, but there are regulations to follow.”

“There is, of course, a waiver for everything, sir,” Jack spoke up. “I’m sure it wouldn’t be hard to get one for you.”

Right, because explosions don’t affect generals’ offices as much as they do the rest of a building, Shelly thought bitterly. Well, if the moron wants to get blown up for the sake of not having to walk so far, so be it, but I for one will not be doing the stupid waiver.

“Shelly has done these waivers before,” Jack said. “She got one pushed through for the medical clinic. This one shouldn’t be a problem.”

“That wasn’t a waiver, Jack.” Shelly struggled to keep her tone respectful. “Ambulances are required to be able to drive up to the building. It’s in the reg.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll figure this one out,” Jack said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Good,” the general declared, as if him getting his way had ever been in question. “Now on the inside, I noticed my office does not have a kitchen attached to it.”

Shelly opened her notebook and pulled out a pen. Taking notes gave her something to do besides throwing objects at the man before her.

******

The pace today was ridiculous. Why were so many people coming here on this day of all days?

“A number two, medium with a coke, a four-piece nugget, and a small fry. Will that be all?” Brian spoke to his headset. The bun for the sandwich was already in the toaster, and he tossed nuggets into a small box. “Your total will be $14.76. Please pull around to the first window.”

The public seemed to have a craving for fast food today and it had been nonstop since the beginning of his shift. Cars crowded the drive-thru, looping the building, while a dozen families waited to place their orders at the front counter. The clock declared it was a mere three hours until Brian’s shift ended and already his feet were dragging.

It’s for the house. This had become Brian’s mantra to get him through most days.

It’s not even that nice of a house, an inner voice argued.

Sure, it needs some work, but I’ve never been afraid of that. Besides, it’s not the house but the potential we bought. We can do anything we want with it. Animals, camping, gardening. Maybe even have our own business some day.

The inner voice did not rebut. It didn’t have to. Instead, Brian’s headset beeped in his ear, and he took a brief moment to compose himself before speaking.

“What can I get for you today?”

This person didn’t know what they wanted and Brian suffered through the whole ordeal, asking questions now and then, but mostly making the other orders which constantly flooded onto the screen above the prep table. When the customer finally got their order straight, he scurried back to the register to key it in. The fries squealed to be pulled from the oil which he did before returning to packaging food. All the while, another customer droned in his ear about their need for unhealthy burgers and subpar shakes.

The chicken was beeping at him now, begging to be removed from the hot grease. Brian stole a glance at the clock. A mere two hours and fifty-seven minutes until the end of his shift. How he would survive that long, he did not know.

******

Shelly quickly packed her bag, keeping an eye on the clock. She was already an hour late but, as usual, Jack had given her a task with an unreasonable deadline. Even now, an email stood prepared on her desktop. She would send it on her way out the door so Jack would not know she had gone until it was too late.

“Good, I caught you before you left.”

Shelly jumped at the words, turning to see her boss standing in the door to her cubical.

“I need this done by Monday morning.” Jack extended a stapled set of papers through the door frame. As Shelly hesitantly took them, she got the distinct impression Jack thought entering the work area of his lowly peons was somehow beneath him.

“We don’t have work tomorrow,” Shelly reminded Jack. She thumbed through the paper so she didn’t have to look at her boss.

“Take your computer home,” Jack replied. “You have three days.” He turned to leave. “Plenty of time.”

There was no longer any reason to move quickly, and Shelly slowly packed up the rest of her things, adding her laptop to the bag, hating herself even as she did it. She and Brian got little enough time together as it was. She did not need to be taking work home with her.

The thirty-minute trip home had lighter than usual traffic, it was Christmas Eve after all, and Shelly’s mind had time to wander, to fume, to gripe, and to hate.

Why did Jack, the insensitive prick, give her work to do over Christmas? Had he no heart? And what about Jerry? Why didn’t he ever stay late? It wasn’t fair that Jack didn’t give him the same amount of work as Shelly. He never had to take work home with him!

But you know who is really to blame for this? Brian. He talked me into buying this property. I knew it was a bad idea, but he pressured me until I agreed. With the market the way it is now, we can’t even afford to sell, and it’s all Brian’s fault!

But in her soul, Shelly knew this wasn’t true. They both had concerns, had talked through them, prayed about it. The purchase was expensive, but with her and Brian’s jobs, they should have been able to pay it off early. It wasn’t Brian’s fault he had been laid off. He’d even gone out and secured three jobs, all of them far beneath his education and intelligence level, to help make ends meet.

Gradually, Shelly’s anger was replaced with shame and sadness—two staples of her life these days. She normally covered these emotions with a smile, but today there was

nothing left, no fake happiness to spread over her true feelings.

She turned onto their dead-end road, normally dark save for two streetlights. The last few weeks, however, their few neighbors had decorated and now strings of lights atop fences and a spotlighted creche illuminated the road.

The festivity of the ornaments should have lightened Shelly’s mood, but they served as a juxtaposition to the darkness of Shelly and Brian’s property. She worked overtime and he held down three jobs, leaving no time to decorate. No time for lights on the porch railing, no time for a wreath on the door, no time for Christmas cookies, no time to get gifts for each other, and no time for a tree. The few presents they had received from family via the mail were stacked unceremoniously on the living room floor near the fireplace.

Shelly sat in the car for several minutes after parking, staring at the dark house, tears falling into her lap. When she finally got out of her car, Brian’s car door opened as well, startling her. Brian swiped at his face as he collected his things while Shelly waited for him.

“How are you?” Brian asked as they headed to the house. They both knew better than to ask about work.

Shelly was about to give the same answer she always did. The world expected her to proclaim that everything was fine, but that was a lie.

“Not good.” The words were out of Shelly’s mouth before she could stop them.

“Why?” Brian asked, mildly surprised. They had danced this ballet a thousand times, never deviating from the script until today.

“Why? Because I’m miserable,” Shelly answered. She dropped her bag on the porch and sat heavily on the steps. “I work too hard at a job I hate for a terrible boss who makes me work overtime even though it’s illegal.” She grabbed papers from her bag and waved them. “He gave me work to do this weekend! Over Christmas! What kind of a horrible person does that? And I put up with it all so we can make payments on property we haven’t even been able to use because we’re too busy. Oh, and our money problems are wrecking our marriage.”

She dropped her head into her hands, both ashamed and relived at the outburst. She suspected Brian already knew she felt this way, but at least now she had said it. A moment later, she felt an arm around her shoulders and looked up in surprise. Brian was sitting beside her and hugging her, well sort of. Either way, the physical contact was more than she had received from him in over six months. He didn’t say anything because there was nothing to say. He knew the situation as well as she did.

“I know how you feel,” Brian finally said. “I hate that you feel so stuck in your job. I wish I could help, but I feel helpless. After all, I’m the one with an engineering degree, stuck working fast food and front desk at a clinic.”

“That’s not your fault,” Shelly said, lifting her head to look at him.

“Knowing doesn’t make me feel any better, especially when I see what it’s doing to you,” Brian said morosely. “I wish I could help more.”

Silence fell once again. They both knew the facts, the truth, their feelings. They also knew there was nothing they could do to fix the problem. Words certainly would not.

“It’s just not fair, you know,” Shelly said dully. She leaned her head against Brian’s shoulder. “This is supposed to be a happy time of year and look at us. Only two hours to Christmas and I don’t think I’ve ever been more miserable.”

Another minute of silence. Brian suddenly laughed, and Shelly looked up at him.

“What’s so funny?”

“It just occurred to me that we’re living out the real Christmas Eve, aren’t we?” Brian said.

“What do you mean?” Shelly asked.

“The world is in a bad spot now, seems to be getting worse every day, but I don’t think it’s ever been more hopeless than the day before Jesus was born,” Brian explained. “No matter how bad things get these days, we have hope now. Our situation seems pretty hopeless. I don’t know how it can get better or at least, how we’ll last long enough to see it get better. But in two hours, it’s Christmas—a reminder of how Jesus came to help us when we couldn’t help ourselves. Humanity’s problems didn’t vanish with his arrival and we’ll still have our problems tomorrow. But Christmas reminds us we have hope, no matter how bad things may seem.”

Shelly laid her head back on Brian’s shoulder and put an arm around his waist, her heart a little lighter. Brian was right. They had not solved anything today, and tomorrow would be no different. But they had hope—a hope easily forgotten, especially in hard times, but a hope which never disappeared. No matter what happened, they had each other and they had hope.