The Man in the Video Store at Christmas Time.

I don't know why I think of this every year...but I do.
Every year mid-December, I often think back to the days when I worked in a 24 hour video store -Jumbo Video - so maybe that leads to it.
Either way - a Sunday story I thought I'd share with you...or with myself.
I just felt like writing down some memories today. Tis the season, I guess.


All kinds of people came into Jumbo Video at all hours of the day and night.
We were the only 24 hour video shop in town.
Customers at a video store - especially in the mid-90s - ranged in every demographic of people - because movies truly are universal. Everyone loves movies.
Every colour. Every age. Rich. Poor. Snotty. Trashy. Geeky. Stoner. Conservative. Hippy.
You never knew who was going to walk through the door and it was always different.
Everyone loves movies.
Around the holidays - like any store - it got pretty crazy. Keep in mind this was before internet-shopping. There was no "Amazon.com". There was no Ebay. There was no downloading and burning DVDs. In fact, there were hardly any DVDs!
It was crazy and busy and hectic and stressful and loud and non-stop.
Always a total blast though, working there at Christmas.
We'd throw on Frosty or Rudolph or National Lampoons Christmas Vacation. We'd blast some holiday music - and we'd just immerse ourselves in the insanity of hundreds of shoppers pouring in, asking for this movie or that movie, making and picking up special orders, making recommendations.
People would come in with movie quotes from films - films they remembered loving, but could not recall the title - they'd test our knowledge, and we'd always know - and they'd thank us!
"I love that you all know so much about movies here."
We loved being surrounded by films and even more so - being surrounded by people who loved films.
Customers would order the most random movies! I would often be reminded of a great movie from the past that I forgot about and would order a copy for myself.
We laughed. With everyone. With the shoppers, at the shoppers. Mostly - with each other.
It was just a big festive mess. Holiday haze hanging in the air. The twinkling lights from the new release wall. The smell of popcorn. Stacks of movies everywhere.
If it didn't close, I often say I would still be working there today.
The building just had a really great energy - it was a special place to work.
I'll never forget this one Monday afternoon - right around the holidays, a man walked in.
I was alone. About 2pm. The rush didn't usually start until after 3.
He was late 30s, possibly early 40s, unshaven, and drunk.
I could smell a huge waft of fresh booze on him as he came in from the freezing cold.
He looked around, eyes blurry and started to make his way towards the previously viewed section.
"Anything I can help you with?" I called after him.
He stopped for a moment, almost as if he was trying to determine if he really heard someone talking to him or not and he half turned to me.
Hammered.
"I'm...shopping for my kids...for Christmas..." he slurred.
He seemed harmless enough. Not violent or aggressive. He didn't look homeless...he just looked really tanked, drunk in a "give the guy a break because he hasn't had one in a long time" kind of way, so I let him browse. Even though we were supposed to ask intoxicated people to leave, there was no way I could ask him to go. For whatever reason, I just felt for this guy.
"Let me know if you need anything..." I said, but he mumbled something and turned down an aisle.
I went back to the counter and watched him on the surveillance camera.
I often try to peg people when I first see them. I don't know how accurate I am, but I've always done it. I don't know if it's the same as being judgemental, but I make up a story about them in my head based on what they look like. I try to imagine where they came from...what their story is.
I don't think I was too far off with this guy.
I imagined he was a machine shop worker...maybe an auto worker...maybe a truck driver...
It's what he looked like. He looked "Windsor Blue Collar".
And newly divorced. And not taking it well.
He was shopping for his kids. Seeing as he couldn't have been much older than 40 - probably a rough early to mid 30s - I didn't imagine his kids could be very old.
It was probably his first holiday divorced and separated from his family and he was feeling sad about it. Maybe he was divorced because of his drinking.
Either way - he was sad, going home to his quiet bachelor apartment, which probably didn't have much in the way of decoration. I imagined a small table. A bed. A couch. A TV.
It can be liberating to start with a clean slate, but in this man's situation, that was not the case. It was heart-breaking.
His story flew through my mind: Monday afternoon. Off work - perhaps suspended. So he got drunk again, early afternoon at a bar. Beer and shots of whiskey served to him by a waitress who knows him and the other small handful of regulars by name. But she mostly calls them "hon".
He started to feel guilty about not "being there".
He started to feel sad. He wanted to connect with his kids so he did the only thing he could do. He decided to stagger down the street to the video store and buy them something, because he hadn't yet. He wanted to buy them something for Christmas to show how much he loves them and that even though he is gone, and no longer living with them at the house, with mom, like a happy family - he wanted a way to show them that he has not forgotten them.
And here he was.
After about 20 minutes, he approached the counter, bloodshot eyes and 2 VHS tapes in hand. This was before the advent of the DVD.
"All set?" I asked.
He slurred something incoherent, and asked me if he thought the tapes he picked out were popular with kids.
New Kids on the Block: Step By Step. It was a collection of their videos.
The second tape was an old worn out copy of Sesame Street. Not a whole episode, more like a special. It might have been Thanksgiving or even Halloween.
Not Christmas.
$2.99 each. Out-dated. New Kids on the Block were not retro yet, back in 1995.
They were just..."over". It was sad, his selection.
It said "I don't know my kids, and somehow, I have become completely out of touch with them and who they are."
How does that happen? I guess it just does, right? How does anything happen?
A pointless question, I guess. It's kind of like asking "Where does the time go?"
We'll never know. But one thing is for certain: It goes. And once it goes - it is gone. For good.
"Well, how old are your kids?" I asked.
His son was 8 and his daughter 10.
"If they like the New Kids on the Block and Sesame Street, I'm sure they'll love them," I smiled, trying to be reassuring. In truth, I had no idea what to do or say to this man. I was 18 years old at the time myself - I didn't think it then, but I was still a kid too.
He looked at the movies he picked out with sadness and maybe...confusion.
"I think they'll like them," he said, unfocused, slurring.
I rang the movies in and gave him his total.
He didn't have any cash on him. And his debit card was declined.
He continued staring at the films, as I told him his card was declined.
It was as if he was processing. Or as if he didn't hear me.
Or, maybe - it was a brief realization of where he was because he heard this too many times before.
I could smell booze, strong off of him. Was this his rock bottom? The silence filled the entire store and despite the festive twinkly lights, comforting smell of popcorn and all that hollywood magic surrounding us on those shelves, the whole place suddenly seemed quiet, empty and sad.
So I tried my best.
"I can hold these for you, okay? Behind the counter... And you can come back before Christmas and pick them up whenever it works out best for you, okay?"
He nodded.
"That sounds okay," he said.
I had to swallow back the lump in my throat and try my hardest to not let my voice crack because I wanted to cry for this guy.
That sounds okay.
He said it...in a tone that said "thank you" ...like I did him some favour.
Like all was well. Like everything would now be "okay".
"Alright then," I said.
I took his name - so help me after 15 years I can no longer remember it, even though I remember everything else in vivid detail about this whole transaction.
I elastic banded the tapes together and put them with the other films, on hold, waiting to be picked up and wrapped and put under someones Christmas tree.
He was shuffling out, looking sadder than ever.
He walked out the door and I watched him staggering through the parking lot.
To...where? The bus stop?
Back to the tavern where he had a tab?
Maybe walking home?
That day...that gray late December day...filled with slush and ice and wind..it must have been a hell of a walk home - or wherever he was headed.
Who knows what was going through his head as he walked away from the video store and back to his life...movies on hold and tucked away in the "reserved" drawer, like everything was going to be okay.
But it wouldn't be. I knew it wouldn't be.
I never saw him again. The movies sat in that drawer for a long time after Christmas.
I think it was February or mid-March by the time I finally decided I could no longer look at them. I took off the elastic bands, ripped off the posted note with his name scratched on it and threw it in the garbage and placed the movies back on the shelf.
Movies that would never be bought - because they were just forgotten, out of date, no longer valid or relevant...to anyone.
I think of that guy - for whatever reason - every single Christmas...and this was 15 years ago.
I wonder why that is?