The Man in the Fedora Hat

Many years ago, I worked in a department store. We worked Thursday evenings, 5 to 9 with an hour break for dinner and money to buy it too. We also worked Saturdays- 8 to 5. The upside of these hours meant we never missed out on student parties. The only drawback of the job was working over the whole of the Christmas break whilst everyone else took a holiday. However, this job had one major upside, one I had no idea existed until quite some years after I had left the store. I was just 17 when I started working at the store. My very first assignment was running the Christmas giftwrap table. The Christmas season was short- only 4 weeks but, Tony, the floor supervisor told me that if I worked hard, he would see if there was a role for me once I started at uni that February. Giftwrap was by the escalators, surrounded by a constant shifting tide of people racing around to finish their Christmas shopping. At the other end of the floor, towards the rear exit was the luggage department, run by Michael, an architect student and longest serving casual. It was the quietest department so he was on his own and on Thursdays and could quietly study. I could see the gift department, silverware, fine china and behind the escalators was kitchenware.

My initiation into giftwrap was brutal. The paper was thin and tore easily and the managers kept walking by, keeping an eye on how much paper was going to waste. At the start, ladies who lunched would sigh and snatch back their packages but gradually I worked it out and became quite fast and neat. After a couple of shifts, I realized I was seeing some male customers more than once. On my second Saturday, Sue from kitchenware filled in for me when I took my break. She told me on my return, that a couple of chaps had asked her where the Sigrid Thornton lookalike was and would she be back. I was flattered although all Sigrid and I really had in common was thick bushy eyebrows. Sigrid was at least 10 years my senior. Sue said another man had asked if the girl who looked like Judy Garland in the Wizard of Oz would be back. She told me she had mentioned this to Michael in case there was something untoward. We agreed I’d finish early and meet Michael at luggage so we could walk out together. The men who thought I looked like Sigrid Thornton and Judy Garland returned shortly after my break. I wondered had they been waiting and watching me all that time? It made me feel a little uncomfortable but it turned out all they wanted was for someone to listen to them. The Sigrid fan had brought 10 angular, awkwardly shaped gifts for his children for me to wrap. I wrapped each gift as carefully as I could and he told me about his difficult divorce, his sadness and how he dreaded Christmas Day. He was a merchant seaman, away for months at a time and struggled to settle back into the routine his wife had established in his absence. Once the gifts were wrapped, he handed over a $20 note, which I could not accept. Tips or gifts from our customers were forbidden. Not long after I had finished wrapping his gifts, a man arrived at the counter greeting me with a wide grin, asking whether I was wearing red sparkly shoes to take me back to Kansas. Clearly. This was the customer who’d asked Sue whether Judy Garland would be back. I could see my wide, red gingham check skirt brought the pinafore of Dorothy to mind, but if this customer should ever hear me sing Some Day I will wish upon a Star he might be thinking more of Jungle Boy. He had about 5 gifts for wrapping. Clearly he too was terribly lonely and needed someone to listen to him. His wife was refusing to let him see their children for Christmas. I was only 17. I really didn’t know what I could say. I tried to sympathize and went to town with their gifts using lots of ribbon and creating elaborate bows, hoping they would somehow help. As I finished he leant forward and presented me with a bottle of Arpege perfume. I was stunned but explained I could not accept it. I thanked him for being so generous, suggesting he give to his mother in law as a peace offering. He laughed and left. The rest of the shift raced by till closing time. I didn’t think much of it until I saw him again some months later, but on that day, another man was also back for gift wrap having visited me a few times previously. He was older, perhaps in his 50s although at that time, I thought him far older, I now know he cant have been much more than 56. Bearing in mind that outdoors it was 40C, he really stood out in a smart coat over a suit topped off with a fedora hat. He didn’t chat at all, other than to ask me about my accent. He took out a slim, black moleskin notebook and took down some notes whilst I wrapped his gifts. After he left, Sue told me he too had asked her when I would return from my break. I closed the till, balanced the float and walked over to Michael before the siren wailed to signify the end of the day. We had a chat about our day. Whilst I had madly wrapped nonstop bar the lunch break, Michael had written most of a 2000 word essay! We chatted as he balanced his till and we both handed over our floats and sheets to Tony. Michael, carefully shepherded me through the exit. Judy Garland man and Sigrid man were both outside smiling and waving. Once on my bus home, I realized an Arpege bottle was in one oversized pocket and 2 $20 notes in the other. I asked my bus friends what I should do. The consensus was nothing as I had not even seen the gifts make their way into my pockets and had no idea who may have given me the other $20 note.

It took a while to get the steady Thursday/ Saturday hours after Christmas. I wondered whether Tony found out about the gifts and this delay was his subtle way of punishing me. He gave me some hours in the lead up to Easter. It remains my worst ever work experience. My role was to crawl into a chicken hutch, in a space not much larger than a dolls’ house. Every time a child inserted 20 cents into a slot, I had to press a tape emitting a cluck cluck noise and simultaneously shoot out a foil covered chocolate egg. It was hot and stuffy in that hutch and I was on my own with impatient parents kicking the hutch if I was too slow throwing out the egg. The noise reverberated in my head and worse of all some guys from campus had seen me crawl in on my hands and knees and thought it would be hysterical to slot 20 cent coins in one after another in quick succession. As I climbed out on Easter Saturday – the last day of torture I saw the man in the fedora hat. He was writing in his small, black notebook. I smiled and he nodded his head. Once home I found a $20 note in my hand bag which had definitely not been there before. I wondered if he had put the note inside whilst I was throwing out eggs like missiles to the uni guys. A year passed. Someone was stealing cash from the tills. None of the casual staff bar Michael knew it then, but management was convinced it was a casual and got the police in for a sting. The plan involved rotating the casuals from department to department (by this time, my regular shifts were in the Silverware and Gifts department) and to see which till didn’t balance. After a few weeks of this money with a special dye invisible to us was put in our tills. The plan being that the police would arrest the suspect with the dyed cash on his/her way out. All I knew on this particular evening was that a Thursday evening in luggage was dull and lonely. In the hope of drawing more customers to luggage it had been decided by someone to combine gifts with luggage. The gifts were tacky - imitation ancient Greek statutes, alabaster boxes and vases, shell inlaid jewelery boxes, Morano glass ashtrays with clown heads and so on. That evening, no one came by at all before my break. Michael filled in for me when I went on my tea break and said a man in fedora hat had wondered around but not bought anything. I wondered if it could be the same man I had seen over Christmas and Easter. I busied myself dusting the ornaments when a very odd man approached me holding a small statue. Excuse me, Marie (he was looking at my name badge) but what is this? Somewhat flustered, I said, “ Well I think this is a model of Venus.” “How can you sell it when she’s missing her arms?” I stumbled over my words, feeling exposed with no one in sight, all on my own, so near the rear exit. “This” I explained, “is a copy of a real statue from Ancient Greece”. “Should this be coloured in?” He grinned pointing at her vagina. Mr Fedora Hat man suddenly appeared and with him was Michael. Mr Fedora Hat said, “Marie, I hope you will not mind me correcting you but in fact this a copy of the marble statue of Aphrodite from the Roman Period 1st Century” “Not at all,”I said, and turning to the leering customer, “it’s only $15, would you like to purchase it?” The man shook his head and shuffled off. Mr. Fedora man, tipped his hat and left before I could thank him. Michael told me he’d walked over to him to say he felt it was inappropriate for me to be alone far from others with an odd man asking strange questions. That night our fellow casual, Ray, was arrested. In the shock of his arrest, Mr. Fedora man and his rescue went out of my mind. I kept working at the store until I completed my studies. Over the next couple of years, Mr. Fedora man came in a few more times to buy the odd item, always wearing the same hat. Always with his notebook and always with a discrete smile for me.

When I graduated, I stopped working at the store and started my career in architecture. I had not thought about Mr. Fedora man for some years when an official looking envelope arrived at my parents’ home addressed to me.

“Dear Ms Johnston

Re: The Estate of Mr. Woodward We are the executors of the estate of Mr. James Woodward formerly of Stone Road, Double View, Western Australia. Mr. Woodward has bequeathed you $20,000. We enclose a copy of Mr. Woodward’s obituary for your reference. In order to claim your inheritance you will need to attend at our offices with your passport or driver’s licence and proof of your current address.

Yours sincerely Mr. Don Pratt

Messrs Faithful & Hope”