Hooray, it’s Monday.  Yet another day that I have to put on the old uniform and head off to work.  Let me tell you, nothing beats the canary-red T-shirt they make you wear at Staples, the office supply superstore.  They make you wear a nametag, too.  I hate wearing a nametag.  My parents, (gotta love ‘em), blessed me with a first name that is virtually impossible to spell and even more impossible to pronounce.  Unless, of course, you’re gifted with a double-jointed tongue. 

My parents can’t say my name either, so they’ve always called me by the first letter of my first name.

Most unfortunately, the first letter in my first name happens to be a Russian letter.  When I ask my parents why they chose a Russian letter, they always say it’s because Mom was always rushin’ to the hospital, but it was always a false alarm.

(Hence the inspiration for my middle name, which, I kid you not, is Shriek.  As I said, I gotta love my parents, but they do worry me a lot.)

So, I’m stuck with this Russian letter that looks like a sideways E.  Unfortunately, it’s not pronounced “Sideways E.”  The Russian name for the letter is “Shi Cha.”  And it makes the following sound:  Shch.

Lucky for me, my parents are firm believers in consistency.  If the first letter in my first name is a foreign consonant, then the second letter should be one, too.  The next letter comes from the Hebrew alphabet.  This lovely letter looks like an Olympic-sized number “3.”  It’s called a “Tsadi,” and it’s pronounced “Ts.”  As in the last two letters of the word “cats.” 

I’m proud that my parents are such firm supporters of international relations.  But why oh why does the third letter have to come from an ancient Inca tribe?  Anthropologists translate this lovely little letter into an exclamation point.  To pronounce this letter, just imagine the type of sound you would make if you were to swallow a water buffalo the wrong way.

My parents weren’t totally cruel.  They did allow me one vowel.  It’s the last letter of my first name.  And it’s Klingon. 

A couple of my friends have actually needed medical attention after trying to pronounce my name.  One of them even received two years of emotional therapy. 

Having a name like mine does have some advantages.  For instance, teachers never called on me at school.  And bullies never taunted me because no way in the universe could they come up with a more tortured version of my real name.

But then there’s Staples and their darned policy of making all their employees wear name tags.  It wouldn’t have been so bad if they had given me a job in a back office, or allowed me to hide in the aisles.  But, no.  They had to put me at the busiest cash register at the front of the store.  You know the register.  It’s the one right next to the front door, so everybody and their brother can wave hello to Ms. Shchts!^###  as they walk in.

Why do people have an overwhelming need to pronounce my first name?  Do they think they will endear themselves to me by running around in circles and hacking like a cat with a fur ball?  Do they think it’s cute to hold up my line while they question me about my parents’ sanity?  Do you have any idea how many times I’ve had to jam a ruler into someone’s mouth because his tongue got stuck somewhere and blocked his air passages?

You know, my manager is getting pretty teed off about the ruler thing.  You can’t sell a ruler at full price when it’s full of teeth marks.  Not to mention that Staples’ insurance policy does not pay for any damage that I might do to a customer while prying his tongue out of his nostril.  (Yes it’s disgusting, but if I wait for the manager to show up to resolve the problem, my line will be all the way to the back of the store.  And then I’ll get yelled at some more.)

But I digress.  I haven’t actually left for Staples yet.  I’m still in my car, in my very own driveway.  It’s a very big driveway, being a condo and all.  So as I drive through the condo, I have time to think back on all my misadventures thanks to my Staples nametag.

As I rounded the last corner, something jumped out of a bush and headed towards my car.  Before I had time to react, another something jumped out, and then another. 

“Oh deer, oh deer, oh deer!”  I screamed.  I jammed on the brakes.

They jammed on their brakes, too.  But they didn’t scream.  Deer don’t do that too often. 

So tell me, what were a buck and his two girlfriends doing in the suburbs of Boston?  Besides staring through my passenger window?

Don’t you hate it when something like that happens and you’re all by yourself?  With no camera!  Who would ever believe that three deer were tailing me?

I wanted to stay there and watch them, but of course, Staples, the office supply superstore, beckoned.  Regrettably, I started forward.

So did the deer.

I stopped.

So did they.

Oh deary deer.

Needless to say, I’m the first employee in Staples history to park her deer in the employee parking lot.  

Uh, let’s revise that a bit.  The deer are leaving the parking lot.

They’re following me right into Staples, the office supply superstore.  I wonder if anybody will notice.

“Hello Santa Claus!” my co-workers greet me.

Dork that I am, I turned around and looked for St. Nick.  I had no clue why my friends were yelling about Santa Claus in July.  This is so embarrassing.  My fellow employees had to point out my red shirt, black pants and ankle boots, and the three deer.  Then I got the joke.

But I must say, I happen to be very lucky for two reasons.  One is that our Staples is attached to a Petco, the office supply superstore for pets.  That means that we are the only Staples in these United States that allows animals into our store.  (Conversely, Petco is the only pet store in these United States that allows office supplies into its store.  But I digress again.)  Of course, most of the animals that we see in Staples are dogs who are proudly showing off their new haircuts.  Until today, the only wild animals who have dared set foot inside Staples are the ones that would gross you out.

And two, I am very lucky because throwaway cameras are on sale this week (two-for-one with the mail-in rebate).  My co-workers were only too happy to take pictures of me with the deer (especially since the manager wasn’t around to watch our antics).  The only problem was, we couldn’t decide what would make the best background for our photo.

Aisle one seemed the logical choice.  In aisle one, we’ve got a wall full of multi-colored paper.

The deer looked great against the multi-colored background.  Unfortunately, they refused to stand still.  They were too busy eating the multi-colored background.

We didn’t think that the deer would get into trouble over in aisle two.  What harm could they get into with envelopes?

No problem with the envelopes.  It was those darned labels across the aisle.  Did you ever try to pull a sticky label off a wild deer?  Deer don’t like to cooperate, especially when we dragged them into aisle six, where we squirted them with non-toxic cleaning products.

Oh deer.  We also keep food in aisle six.  Talk about your party animals. 

Darn.  Some of those labels will never come off.  One poor deer has a label on its chest that reads, “Hello, I’m...”  Another is wearing one on its head that says, “Shhh, it’s a surprise!”  And the third.  Where in the world did that buck get its label?  You would think I could just pull the label off his antlers.  Then again, when he lowered his head and started pawing the ground, I decided to let it be.  But, I swear I’ve never seen one of those labels at Staples before.  “Instant Karma is gonna get you.”  What office needs an Instant Karma label?

Great.  How are we going to explain this mess to the manager?

We herded the deer out of aisle six and over to the furniture area.  The deer couldn’t possibly do any damage there.  Most of the stuff on display is already broken or chewed to bits.  It’s where we employees go when we want to vent our frustrations.  The manager is too cheap to buy us a punching bag, so we beat up the sample furniture.  Sometimes our customers follow our example.  The deer, on the other hand, behaved themselves.

They sure looked cute in those pictures.  We all took turns posing with the deer and the computer desks.  Luckily, the furniture hid most of the labels.  Except for that charming Instant Karma job.  Maybe I can edit it out with a software program. 

We used up two rolls of film, then headed back to our stations.  Time for the real fun to begin.

The nice thing about having three deer hanging out by your register is that it takes the customers’ minds off your unpronounceable name.  The bad thing is that everybody tries to come up with a clever deer joke.

You know, it’s cute the first 900 times a customer greets you with “oh dear!” and you respond with “What deer?”  But by the afternoon, I couldn’t take it anymore.  So when the 901st customer stepped up to my register, I didn’t even bother looking up.  Remembering the holiday reference from earlier in the day, I just snapped, “And what do you want for Christmas?”

And he answered, “A recording contract.”

I snorted.

When I came to, the first thing I noticed was the music playing over Staples’ loudspeakers:  “Stuck Inside a Cloud”.  Next thing I know, this familiar, gentle face is peering at me.  The hat and the sunglasses didn’t fool me a bit.  I had seen George wearing them before.  In photographs, of course.  Never in Staples.  George never came to Staples.  Especially after he died.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

I didn’t get a chance to answer.  George disappeared and a pale blue shirt replaced him.  A giant name tag that read “Manager” glared down at me.

“This is not good customer service,” the manager informed me.  “I don’t care how talented you think you are.  You cannot handle a cash register from the floor.”

“Talking to myself,” George sang over my head.

I dragged myself to my feet.

“And don’t forget to get his zip code,” the manager barked.

“Zip code,” I said weakly.

“It’s foreign,” the George-Customer smiled.

The cash register screamed as I grabbed onto it for support.  I poked at it until it quieted down.

“It’s okay,” I gasped, “I’ll use mine.”  Naturally, I couldn’t remember my zip code, even though it was the same as the store’s.  And the store address was printed on the side of my register.  I typed in “90210.”

George-Customer grinned.  “California to Boston.  That’s a long commute, isn’t it?”

“Not as long as yours,” I panted as I wondered just how far away heaven was, in mileage. 

“Do you have a Business Rewards Card?”  I rasped.  Out of the corner of my eye, I noted the manager beaming his approval.  Most other cashiers never remembered to ask customers this question.  Staples offers discounts to our frequent shoppers.  The customer has to carry around a card that tells his name, the name of his business, and his frequent shopper ID number.

George-Customer handed me his Business Rewards Card.  I brushed a trembling finger against his.  He felt solid enough.  I had no idea what that meant.

As I typed his number into the register, I also checked out the other information on his card.  His name was listed as “Henley Gardener.”  And his business was called “Mandolin Reseller, Ltd.”  Oh deary deer!

Still shaking, I handed the card back to him.  In case you’re wondering, our mysterious George-Customer took advantage of Staples 17th anniversary sale by purchasing 200 read/write CD-ROMS ($20 rebate), 200 CD labels (free with purchase of the CD ROMS), and 200 CD jewel cases (instant $5 savings at the register).  From our merchandising department, he bought a slew of pencils, 10 music composition books ($5.50 deducted if you buy 4 or more), a Staples brand pencil sharpener (smart move since all Staples brand products give you extra shopper bonus points during our anniversary sale), and 2 boxes of the famous Instant Karma label.

At this point, the only thing that kept me standing was my dear deer friends.  The two gal deer kindly allowed me to prop myself up on their necks.

When it came time to pay, George-Customer pulled out a wad of bills.  Believe it or not, a lot of Staples’ customers use cash when they buy high-cost items.  Only they do it a little differently.  Most of them use hundreds, or at least fifties.  George-Customer used all Georges.

“One, two, three,” he started counting the single bills.

I had a line that stretched from my register to the employee break room at the far corner of the store.  The manager was glaring.  Especially when I had to recount all those Georges.  Not an easy thing to do when the manager, the George-Customer, 500 irate shoppers, all my co-workers, and three deer are watching you.

I handed George-Customer his receipt.  “Thank you for shopping at Staples, the office supply superstore,” my voice wavered.  Then I went for it.  I grabbed his hand.  “Please, please, please come shop here again.  Tomorrow would be perfect.”

“Love to come back,” George-Customer grinned.  Gently, he removed my hand from his.  “Tell you what.  Next time, I’ll bring your deer a snack.  I don’t think it’s healthy for the big fellow to be munching on a surge protector.”

I swiveled around, gasped, and yanked the item out of the buck’s mouth.

When I turned again, George-Customer had disappeared.  Without hesitating, I bolted out of the store and raced to the customer parking lot. 

I couldn’t believe it.  Even if he had parked in the spot closest to the door, there was no way George -Customer could have packed his car so quickly and pulled out of the lot.  But he had.

Or perhaps he hadn’t.  I guess he uses an alternate form of transportation nowadays.

The two girl deer came outside and nudged me back into the store.  At first, I thought that they wanted me to start working again, and I was impressed with their intelligence.  Then, I realized that they could care less about my job.  They wanted me to have a look at the buck.  Heaven only knows how that darned animal had opened up a locked register, but there he was, happily munching away on all the Georges in the till.

I grabbed the poor guy by the antlers, shoved him aside, and slammed the drawer shut.  “Here.”  I broke a sticky pad into thirds and handed a section to each of the deer.

“That’s coming out of your paycheck!” the manager roared.

“Oh dear!” the next customer shouted.  “Oh dearie deer!” 

“Oh no!”  I gasped as my knees gave out. 

“Not good for business!” The manager stormed up behind me as my head hit the floor.

“When are they going to stop greeting me with that ‘Oh no’ joke?” the customer complained as my vision started to blacken.  “Everybody thinks that they’re the first ones to come up with that.  Then they say, “oh no, I made a little joke-o.’  It’s amazing I didn’t divorce the woman to get some peace from me fans.”

“Get up, get up, get up!” the manager shook me.

“Take a flying leap!”  I ordered.

He did.

With the help of my dear, antlered friend.  Mr. Manager soared over my counter, past the “on sale this week” display, and out the front door.  Lucky thing that the glass doors open automatically.

“Have a pleasant flight!” my customer cheered.

“Good deer,” I complimented my new friend.

Once again, I used the cash register to struggle to my feet.

“I’m just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round,” Staples’ loudspeaker sang to me as my eyes spun round and round.

“You be wanting this?” the customer asked.

I took his Business Reward Card and began putting his number into the cash register.  In case you’re curious, his card contained this information:  Name:  John Lemonaide.  Business:  None of Yours.

“That okay, your animal chewing on a cell phone?”  John-Customer asked me.

“I’m not expecting any calls,” I whispered.

“I don’t use the phone much meself nowadays,” John-Customer nodded.  “Can you pack those cameras separately?  I have to deliver them to somebody.”

I readied a new shopping bag as John-Customer continued talking.  “I’m always running errands for her, you know.  You would think we were married or something.  Maybe I should marry her.  She did fancy me once, you know.”

“Uh-huh,” I said slowly as I put the cameras into a bag.

“She’d fancy those deer of yours.  Loves animals.  Okay if I bring her over here sometime to snap a couple of piccies?”

“Sure,” I squeaked.

He pulled another item out of his shopping cart.  “Could you put the stickers together with the camera?”

Carefully, I slipped the “Go Veggie” labels into the bag with the cameras.

“Thank you for shopping at Staples, the office supply superstore,” I whispered as he pulled out his money.  A wad of dollar bills. 

“George was always me favorite,” he winked.

“Me too,” I croaked.

“Thank you, miss” he smiled as he stopped to pat the buck  “Enjoy the rest of your phone call, laddie.”

I didn’t bother following John-Customer out into the parking lot.  I knew I wouldn’t see him there.  Besides, the manager hadn’t come back inside yet.  Last thing I needed to do was phone an ambulance as he tried in vain to scream my unpronounceable name across the parking lot.

Not to mention that the next customer was just bursting to give me the “oh dear” greeting. 

And I was in no mood to disappoint Business Reward Customer Brian Applestein of Applestein Records.  With a little luck, maybe I could convince Mr. Applestein to give Henley Gardener a recording contract. 

Then again, maybe I should just go home and build a shelter for my deer. 

How am I going to explain that to the condo association?

Oh deer!

Lisha Goldberg is a freelance writer and editor. She also writes a newsletter for a Boston piano studio. Lisha has won several prizes for her writing, including the Boston Herald Star Trek Competition (write a eulogy for Captain Kirk!), CompuServe's Beatle Essay Contest, and Writers Digest Magazine Award for best Inspirational Short Story.