Return of the Mac

A retired Penneys security guard turned monk, Dusty McCallister, comes out of retirement for one last job.

Life was going smoothly when a former boss of mine arrived on the monastery that faithful afternoon. I was tending to the vegetable garden, making the most of the fine August weather. Then that familiar voice called from behind.

"Dusty Mac, as I live and breathe."

I stood up, turned around and there he was - Tex Murphy - Global Head of Security for Primark. A decorated security professional with over 50 years of experience. Trained in counter-terrorism, advanced surveillance, and emergency response tactics. Over seven hundred followers on LinkedIn.

He smiled. "Good to see you again."

"Yeah. You, too," I replied.

"You're sure not easy to find."

"That's how I like it."

"Let me cut straight to the point. I don't know how much you know about what went on after the last grand opening, but several of our men were missing in action."

"What's this got to do with me?" I asked.

"We want you to lead the next Penneys launch, Dusty - in Bray."

"Why me?"

"Because you're the best of what's left."

"I'm retired."

"This mission is important, Dusty. When are you going to put Tallaght behind you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You're running away from the pain but it won't solve anything because wherever you go, you take the pain with you."

"You've come a long way to bring me a lecture, Tex."

"I know you were hurt after that day in The Square but you're using that to hide from who you are."

"That was a long time ago."

"Dusty, let me tell you a little story. It seems there were three bears. And one morning when their porridge was too hot, they went for a walk. And a little blonde girl came skipping through the woods. And she ate their porridge, she sat in their chairs, and she slept in their beds. And when those bears returned to discover that mess, do you know what happened then, Dusty?"

"No."

"That little blonde girl got scared. Ran away."

"So what you're saying is that little blonde girl is me? If this is about me waxing my eyebrows..."

"Dusty, they didn't make you this fighting machine. They just cooked up the porridge and went for a walk. And you'll never stop running, until you face

your three bears."

"I guess I'm not ready yet."

"If you should change your mind, you know where to find me."

"LinkedIn?" I asked.

Tex nodded and shook my hand.

For the rest of the week I contemplated his offer. I had spent the past eighteen months in this tranquil monastery nestled in the Wicklow Mountains, far removed from the raw, unbridled chaos of consumerism. Now, my days were filled with meditation, tending the gardens, and silent contemplation. The echoes of my previous life patrolling the aisles of Penneys had faded into distant memories. I got out of the game for a reason. Yet, after that visit from Tex, something stirred within me. The call of duty never truly leaves a dedicated guardian. After much deliberation, I reached out via LinkedIn and agreed to the gig as a once off, feeling a peculiar pull toward my past.

On the morning of the opening, I stood tall at the entrance of the brand new store. It was a 20,000 square foot space at Bray Shopping Centre in the heart of the town. The feel of the security badge pinned to my chest was both familiar and strange. The badge, hat and bulletproof vest weren't mandatory. Nor were they real. I purchased them myself. Got a good deal on Amazon Prime.

As the doors opened and the first wave of customers poured in, I felt a surge of energy. I moved through the crowd with a calm assurance, my senses attuned to any signs of trouble. My years of meditation had sharpened my intuition, allowing me to sense tensions before they erupted into conflicts. I noticed everything—the excited chatter, the giggling girlos, and even the subtle movements of those with less honest intentions. It wasn't long before my instincts kicked in. A young man, hands shaking and eyes darting, was stuffing Stranger Things t-shirts into his jacket. I approached him calmly, my presence enough to make the boy freeze.

"Son," I said gently, "let's take a walk."

The boy's eyes widened, and he followed me to a quiet corner. There, I spoke to him not as a security guard, but as a mentor. The boy, feeling the weight of his actions, returned the items and left the store, his face flushed with gratitude and embarrassment.

I felt good. It was like I never left. This Dusty wasn't Rusty. But the good vibes didn't last long. I glanced at my watch, my heart suddenly racing as if it had a mind of its own. I couldn't move nor speak but an intense pain enveloped me, like something was squeezing me into a ball. Everything was too loud and too bright, and all the noises and voices blended together like a whirlpool inside my head. I hid behind a rail of grey tracksuit bottoms and closed my eyes, trying to steady my breath, but instead, I was pulled back into a memory I had tried so hard to bury.

September, 2022.

It was a day much like this one—shite weather but the air buzzed with anticipation, with hope. The Queen had just died but in Tallaght the conversation was about one thing and one thing only. Penneys was just about to open its 37th outlet in The Square Shopping Centre. Tallaght had long been clamouring for a Penneys branch and it felt like this had the makings to be a match made in heaven. The official opening of the event had a bigger budget than the last three Olympics Opening ceremonies combined. It was like some dystopian fever dream. Taoiseach Michael D Higgins officially launched the store, cutting a ribbon with a pair of large novelty scissors. The scissors were nearly bigger than him. Also in attendance were Miss Ireland, journalist Bryan Dobson and actor Ralph Macchio from the Karate Kid movies. There was a live DJ set and a performance from a local dance troupe too. As they danced their little hearts out to a Jonas Brothers melody, I couldn't help but think this was more than a mere shopping event.

The doors of Penneys swung open with a triumphant clang, and a torrent of eager customers ran inside. By the looks of some of them, they hadn't ran in years, in decades. Their footsteps were like the thunder of an approaching army. It was later reported the enthusiastic shoppers caused seismic activity equivalent of a 2.3 magnitude earthquake.

Human decency came as an afterthought and the new store quickly transformed into an open-range zoo. I'm old enough to remember the Tickle Me Elmo craze of 1996. Three people died over that period. But this was on another level. It was all out war. The racks of clothing were the spoils of war, besieged by hands grappling for the latest fashions. Fabric flew like shrapnel—shirts tugged from hangers, jeans yanked from shelves. The sounds - how could I forget the sounds - the rustle of garments, the clang of metal hangers, the cries of babies and the relentless chattering of women.

I stood in the epicentre of the earthquake, trying to do what I do best, catching the bad guys.

"Hey, Dusty, we've got a situation near the changing rooms," crackled the voice of one of my team members through the earpiece. I made my way through the crowd, navigating around shoppers who seemed oblivious to anything but the racks in front of them.

As I reached the changing rooms, the claustrophobia hit me full force. The line snaked out into the aisles, impatient customers jostling for position. Two women were arguing loudly over who was next, their voices rising above the din. I stepped in quickly, using my size and authority to defuse the situation, directing them to opposite sides of the room. My chest tightened, each breath a struggle.

"Stay calm, folks. We're doing our best to get everyone through as quickly as possible," I said, trying to project calm. But as I looked around, I realised this was just the tip of the iceberg.

Everywhere I turned, there were more problems. A group of teenagers had decided to make a game of trying on hats and tossing them across the store. A frazzled mother was frantically searching for her child, who had wandered off amidst the crowd. She wasn't the only one who had lost something precious. An influencer was bawling her eyes out after she lost her engagement ring. "I am literally going to die if I don't find it," she cried, vlogging the entire ordeal.

Shoppers were crammed shoulder to shoulder, tempers fraying as they fought for limited space and clothes. The noise and the closeness pressed in on me, the air feeling thicker and harder to breathe.

Distractions kept piling up. I was getting taps on the shoulder from all directions. I turned one way and there was a woman wearing dark pink pyjamas. She was holding up a pair of pale pink pyjamas. "Do yiz have this in 8XL?" she asked. I'd never heard of 8XL before, thought it was just a myth.

"I'm security, Ma'am. Please ask one of the shop assistants."

I turned another way and another woman grabbed my attention.

"Do yiz have any Ravenclaw?" she asked, holding up a pair of Gryffindor underwear. "Me youngest is a Ravenclaw. She took the test online so she did. She wouldn't be caught dead in any of the rest of them."

"I'm security, Ma'am. Please ask one of the shop assistants."

I hurried to the front of the store to help create a barrier, trying to control the flow of traffic. "One at a time, please. Let's keep it orderly," I called out, though my voice was almost lost in the chaos. My own words felt distant, like they belonged to someone else.

Despite my efforts, the situation quickly became unsustainable. The number of shoppers was simply too great, the store not built to handle such a massive influx. I had failed in my duty to keep law and order. The rest of the day was a blur. I don't remember the ins and outs but I do know I handed in my resignation by closing time. That ten hour shift defeated me and I was a shell of a man. As I was walking out of the store, the last shopper was leaving too. It was that Ravenclaw lady, who was somehow still here.

"Hufflepuff me hole," she scoffed under her breath.

"I'm sorry what?"

"Curse a jaysus, ye don't have any bleedin Ravenclaw knickers. Ye should be ashamed of yourself! I have to drive over to Liffey Valley now."

I didn't respond, just kept walking. But her comment rung around in my head.

Ye should be ashamed of yourself. Ye should be ashamed of yourself.

The truth is, I was ashamed of myself.

The flashback ended as abruptly as it had begun. I found myself back in Bray, my chest tight, my breathing shallow. I gripped a pair of tracksuit bottoms and tried to hoist myself up but I couldn't.

The store manager approached, her face soft with concern. “Are you okay, Dusty?” she asked gently, her hand hovering over my shoulder, unsure whether to touch or not.

I really wasn't okay. I had just relived the worst day of my professional career. The Tallaght flashback overwhelmed me completely, and I felt a warm, humiliating sensation spreading down my leg. I looked down, mortified, as a dark stain spread across my pants.

The store manager guided me to the back room, away from the prying eyes of staff and customers. In the quiet of the break room, the noise and chaos faded to a distant hum. The manager sat me down. "Take a moment, Dusty," she said gently, turning to the small kitchenette. She filled a kettle and set it to boil, then rummaged through a cupboard for a cup and a box of tea bags.

I sat there, my heart rate slowly returning to normal. The manager handed me the cup of tea, the steam curling up in delicate tendrils. "Drink this," she said. "It'll help."

I took the cup with trembling hands, the warmth seeping into my skin. "I'm sorry," I muttered, staring at the floor. "I thought I was ready to return."

The manager shook her head. "No need to apologise, Dusty. You've done a great job today. Everyone has their limits."

As I sipped the tea, the warmth spread through me, calming my frazzled nerves. The manager patted my shoulder. "Take as much time as you need. We've got this covered."

In that quiet moment, away from the chaos, I found a semblance of peace. The battlefield outside would wait, and for now, I allowed myself to breathe.

After a few minutes, the manager returned with fresh new clothes from the store’s inventory. “Here,” she said, handing them to me. “Put these on.” She gave me a pair of slacks, socks and boxers. That was sound of her.

But something about the boxers made me quiver.

And then, I noticed it.

I gulped.

The blue crest taunted me. The cup of tea fell out of my hands and smashed into smithereens on the floor.

It was a pair of Ravenclaw jocks.