Special Selection for the 2022/2023 Winter Holiday Issue
Fiction by Kraig Kiehl
She knew this was going to be a terribly busy day. They always were this time of year. Gail took off her wreath earrings, since they got in the way of the headset, and accessed the call database. Her day began.
Gail answered the first call, “Emergency Hotline, what is the location of your emergency?”
A woman on the line whispered, “I’m in the garage.”
Gail knew the steps that followed: she had handled many calls like this in her almost 40-year career.
“Ok, sweetie, please stay on the line with me. Is anyone hurt?”
“No, not really – just my feelings.”
“Ma’am, what is the nature of your emergency?”
“I’ve never cooked a turkey, and my mother-in-law says I won’t be able to do it. And I can’t cook a turkey, but I want to.”
“Can you help me?” the woman pleaded in a whisper.
Gail could help her and did. She had worked in this role since the early 1980s. There was no one better in the business. She was armed with a degree in home economics from the state college, a teaching certificate, and over 30 years’ experience as a teacher at the largest high school in Blair City. The kids called her Mrs. G – short for Mrs. Gail. She was retired now and spent more time with her kids, grandkids soon hopefully, but the community needed her today.
She was the lead dispatcher for the Butterbaster Turkey Hotline. It was Christmas Day and although Thanksgiving kicked her butt each year, it seemed like people needed her more on this special holiday.
She completed her notes for the last call, took a sip of water, and reached to pick up another call. The room was buzzing with activity; over 50 other good citizens, in cubicles, in a large room were busy at work; the people needed them.
“Emergency Hotline, what is the nature of your emergency?”
“Mom, it’s me. Why are you not answering your cell phone?” the female caller asked.
“Tara, honey, I’m at work, and the calls are coming in. What can I help with?”
“Mom, I tried the Supercenter like you asked to get our turkey on points, but they were out of turkeys. Dad’s not helping; he is watching Christmas Day bowl games with Uncle Barry. You know this may be a big night for me.”
“Honey, just go over to Martin’s. I know the manager, and he promised to put a nice turkey aside for us. So just take Daddy’s gas card with you to get the discount. Make sure it’s a thawed bird – we are running out of time. I will talk to you later.”
Buzz, Buzz. “Hi, honey, how’s it going?”
“Mom, it’s terrible. Dad and Uncle Barry are going crazy. State is down by 10 points.”
“No, honey. How did the turkey work out for you?”
“Mom, that’s the thing. Martin’s manager promised to hold your turkey until 11. He had to give it away. Stores are closing. What should I do?”
“Well, well…” Gail stammered.
“You are always more worried about other people’s holidays than our family. I just don’t understand,” Tara said with a sigh.
“Honey, you know that’s not true. What I do is important.”
“Yes, Mom. It is.” Tara said.
“Now, listen. Go down to Sanderson’s and see Joey Rabowski.”
“Who?” Tara asked.
“Joey Rabowski. Your Dad and I went to high school with him. Your Dad always called him Little Joe – not sure he liked that. Joey and I dated before I met your dad. He has always had a thing for me.”
“Oh, Mom, that’s gross.”
“Honey, it’s fine. Joey says he always keeps a turkey for me every year just in case I need it. He also gives me chocolate on Valentine’s Day, but don’t tell your dad.”
“Ok,” Tara said reluctantly.
“Go see Joey. They close soon, so hurry.”
Gail closed her flip-phone and wondered, was Tara right? Did she care more about other families than her own?
I really may have ruined my holiday this year, Gail thought.
“Emergency Hotline, what is the nature of your emergency?” Gail asked, a little less confidently than the calls earlier in the day.
“Hi. No emergency. We just called to get your advice on recipes for side dishes for our turkey. We are cooking a turducken in our outdoor oil fryer.”
“Well,” Gail said, “that is certainly a popular way to cook a turkey, not our recommendation, but a popular way. You are surely going to be fine, as long as you are following the directions.”
“We are…” the caller said and began to trail off.
“Sometimes people don’t thaw the turkeys, and they try to cook them froze– .”
Gail heard an explosion on the line, and the caller screamed.
“Ma’am, are you ok?” Gail questioned.
“Um, um. The turkducken exploded, was shot from the fryer, and is on fire in our front lawn. What should we do?”
“Call the fire department and rush over to Sanderson’s. I hear they have turkeys. They may be frozen but see if they have thawed ones in the back. Little Joe, um, Mr. Rabowski can help you.”
Gail disconnected the call.
“Emergency Hotline, what is the nature of your emergency?” Gail asked.
“Mom, it’s me. We got a turkey. Your old boyfriend hooked us up. He had a 20-pound turkey set aside for you and gave us extra cranberry sauce.”
“Oh, honey, that’s wonderful. We will be fine.”
“Mom, ah, one thing. The turkey is frozen,” Tara confessed.
Her day was not turning out the way she expected. Her husband and brother-in-law had drunk a case of Schlitz beer while watching State lose to Southern. Tara was already at the house.
“Emergency Hotline, what is the nature of your emergency?” the operator asked.
“Ethel, this is Gail. I need some help.”
Kraig Kiehl is an American writer of short stories and fiction prose. Kraig is a retired military officer, a former college professor, and currently an executive for the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. Kraig lives in Pennsylvania with his wife, Renae, and two needy dogs.
