I Applied for a Delivery Job and Got Turned Into a Flying Reindeer?!

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Ding-a, ding-a, ding-a, ding-a!

"Merry Christmas, sir! Spare a dollar for the poor?"

Justin stopped, raising his head to look at the bell-ringing Santa and his shiny red bucket.

Ding-a, ding-a, ding-a, ding-a!

"Just a dollar, sir! Every little bit helps!"

Justin averted his gaze, the irony of the encounter too much for him to bear, and continued on his way without a word. To his relief, the sidewalk Santa let him go without comment. Justin wasn't sure what he would have done if he'd tried to argue. Probably break down and cry. But no, that would have to wait until he got home.

Home...a word that would be about as meaningless to him as Callipygian before long.

Pleasant Ridge wasn't a big town, which was the only reason Justin had been able to hold down a job for the past two months when he didn't own a car—a problem that he alone seemed to have. Judging by the traffic clogging the streets, it seemed that not only had every single one of the town's residents come out to shop today, but each and every one of them had been given their very own car just for that purpose. None of them thought twice about parking directly on top of the crosswalks, a hair's breadth away from the car in front of them's bumper, turning what was normally a twenty minute walk into an hour and a half long slog.

And every step of the way, Justin was accosted by Christmas. Not even a full day past Thanksgiving, and multicolored lights already hung from everything that could conceivably support their weight. Christmas carols drilled into his ears. If they weren't being blasted from each and every storefront, then they were leaking from the windows of the cars he had to squeeze past when he crossed the street. And worst of all, more and more sidewalk Santas waited for him, each one cheerfully asking him to put his money in the bucket to help the homeless, having no idea that he was probably going to be homeless before New Year's, all while incessantly ringing those bells.

Ding-a, ding-a, ding-a, DING-A, DING-A, DING-A, DING-A, DING-A!

By the time he reached his apartment, a studio barely big enough to be called a closet, Justin Flinchley had come to a very sobering realization.

"I hate Christmas," he said after shutting the door behind himself.

Saying it out loud shocked him. How could that be true? How could anyone but the most miserly Scrooge or cantankerous Grinch hate Christmas? Everything about Christmas was pure happiness! The music, the lights, the gifts, the...

...hordes of bloodthirsty shoppers who were all too willing to trample you for a toy their kid would get bored of in less than a week.

His back still ached from the fall he'd taken off the stepladder. He wouldn't be surprised if he went to the doctor—not that he could afford to visit the doctor now—and found out that he'd fractured a vertebra or whatever it was that happened when people took nasty spills like that. Whose fault had that been? The customer's. But had the customer been the one to pay the price? No! In fact, by throwing Justin down the stairs, they had been rewarded with a free toy! The thought turned his face so red that he could have fried an egg on it—but he doubted he could afford eggs anymore, either! And what was even more infuriating was...

No. Gritting his teeth against the anger, Justin forced himself to take a breath. All this ranting and raving wasn't going to help him out of his dilemma. There would be a time and place for that later—with that place hopefully being here. If not that, then from a comfy cardboard box in a nice, warm alleyway. Either way, if he didn't want to spend Christmas warming himself around a burning trash can, then he had work to do.