The shipping department of Bledsoe & Brown, a major plant nursery south of downtown
Once got an order for ten thousand plants to be sent airfreight to Poitiers, France.
It called for poinsettias in flower pots, twelve-year-old Scotch pines in three-dozen lots,
Some Christmas cactus and some mistletoe to be packed up and made ready to go.
The order came in on December 9, requesting Christmas delivery time
One day too late to get there by that date: it should have been in by December 8.
They put a rush order out anyway, hoping to get it there by Christmas Day
Packing up every Scotch pine on their lot, ordering out for the things they'd not got.
The shipping manager called up a friend who ran a nursery out in Big Bend
Looking for mistletoe, but he was told all of their stock had already been sold.
They had some Christmas cactus they could send: it was the only thing left in Big Bend,
But as for mistletoe, no one had more except one nursery in Baltimore.
They had the name but no number to call: last thing they'd heard, it had changed hands last fall
And so the manager spent twelve more days calling around until he had found Bley's.
They had moved from Baltimore in the spring and relocated outside of Wheeling.
Yes, he was told, they had mistletoe there, enough to send him and plenty to spare
But they'd just lost their delivery van so, if he needed it soon, send a man.
The manager faced a difficult choice: whom could he spare to go fill this invoice?
All his employees were working late hours printing invoices and shipping out flowers.
The sole solution he saw to his plight: he had to go there himself, that same night.
Both the Post Office and UPS, too, had too much workload to get his plants through
To Poitiers, France before Christmas night, so he called an airline and reserved a flight.
He got to Wheeling at ten p.m. sharp and got a rental truck with a big tarp
But Bley's was closed until nine the next day, so he checked in at Motel Sleep-a-Way.
Then he came back there at nine a.m. sharp, with his big rental truck and his big tarp,
And bought a big bunch of mistletoe stock, then drove his truck to the back loading dock.
Once it was loaded, he got on the road, and then engaged the truck's cruise control mode.
Soon he began to smell something like fire, and the next thing he knew, had a flat tire.
Changing the tire took most of the day, for to save time, he had called Triple-A.
They had a backlog of three to four hours, and so to pass the time, he ordered flowers,
For he still needed poinsettias in pots; Bley's recommended a place that had lots.
He placed a call on his cellular phone to this new nursery called Smith & Stone,
And by the time he got back on the road, had ordered all of the rest of his load.
He got to Smith & Stone by four o'clock, where his stuff waited on their loading dock,
But the bill charged his card up to the max, so from his pocket he paid the sales tax.
That left him with no more money to spend, but in a few days he still had to send
All of this stuff back to Bledsoe & Brown, and from there overseas to that French town.
It was a good three-day drive back by truck, but he decided to trust to his luck.
He had a full tank of gas, so he drove all the way from Wheeling to Cedar Grove.
It was about there his engine conked out, and with no money, his luck was in doubt.
Triple-A towed him to Smitty's Garage, but for himself he found no place to lodge.
The rental place said they'd send a new truck sometime next afternoon with any luck.
He called his boss, Mr. Ned MacIntyre, hoping to have him send money by wire
But was told he was home sick with the flu, and there was little else that they could do.
He left a message, then hung up the phone, wondering where he could get a quick loan.
For without money, then he would be stuck; he still had one day of driving by truck.
No banks or pawn shops or check advance places were anywhere nearby; he saw no traces.
So, having come to the end of his luck, he had to spend Christmas Eve in his truck.
As he lay there on the front seat he dreamed this simple order was more than it seemed.
It was not destined for some warehouse shelf, but had been ordered by Santa himself.
It was for poor needy children in France, who would all love to get these Christmas plants.
Then he began to feel bad he was late, and could not make the delivery date.
Such gross incompetence surely required he be demoted and possibly fired.
With no job how could he then make ends meet? He would surely be thrown out on the street.
Then he got up from his impromptu bed and found on his beeper a message which said,
"Wait there. I'm sorry about your flat tire," which was sent by his boss, Ned MacIntyre.
At last, he thought, things were turning out right; then he slept soundly the rest of the night.
But the next morning he found himself hissing, for the truck's entire cargo was missing.
There was nothing in the truck's cargo bed but a small handwritten memo which said:
"I'd better handle this order from here. I've taken care of things; be of good cheer.
Thanks for your help in supporting our cause. Merry Christmas to you, from Santa Claus."
Surely, he thought, this is some kind of joke. Wasn't it bad enough that he was broke?
Such a disaster he couldn't endure. Santa Claus was but a myth, he was sure.
His confidence in himself had expired. When his boss saw this, he'd surely be fired.
But when Ned MacIntyre got there at one, he smiled and greeted him like his own son.
"Congratulations, my boy, a fine job. I just got done talking with our man Bob
Over in France, who said everything's great. You even beat the delivery date
That we had promised by one or two days. You'll get a bonus and you'll get a raise."
The puzzled manager offered his thanks, chalking another one up to the ranks
Of unsolved mysteries of Christmas Eve, as he rode home for his holiday leave.
And so his boss drove him home Christmas Day, providing him with some holiday pay.
Since everything in the end turned out right, he had a holiday feast Christmas night.