Minor Inconvenience
By Greenberrypie
Disclaimer: As much as it pains me to admit it, I do not own the X-men, nor am I making any profit off of this story.
Summary: As Phoenix (Jean Grey-Summers) can attest, having been dead for a while can cause a bit of an inconvenience when you return to your daily life. It's a bit fluffy.
The phoenix glanced down at her watch, realizing that she had been in Nordstrom's for well over two hours. Not only did she need to get back home, but also the store seemed to be growing steadily noisier with howling 2 year-olds, overdue for naps and snacks. It was decision time. She looked down at the outfits in her arms to narrow down her haul. Weeding out one top, Jean took her final selections to the counter. The sales associate, flashing a sugary, I-get-commission-and-I-can't-wait-to-ring-up-your-total smile, came forward. The woman behind the counter scanned each barcode and removed each inktag while emptily complimenting the item, Jean's hair, and anything else associated with Jean, her new favorite customer, while silently thanking her lucky stars that Marilyn had called in, a fact she had been bemoaning until the fiery red-head walked up to the counter with what would turn into a hefty commission check. Jean handed her credit card to the deliriously happy sales associate who had just totaled and bagged her purchases. Thankfully, said sales associate fell silent for a few, blessed moments, unlike the stroller-confined children about the store, as she waited for the credit card to go through. Two beeps sounded and that cavity-inducing smile sagged.
"Your card was declined. Do you have an alternate form of payment?" The announcement came out as more of a sneer, but the question was asked in a rather hopeful tone.
"It shouldn't be. I don't have any outstanding balance, I haven't canceled it, and it doesn't expire for another year. Would you mind running it again?"
The woman thought so loudly, due to her anger, that Jean had no trouble over-hearing her thought. This should be Marilyn's customer, not mine!
She then huffed so forcefully that it nearly became a hiss. Finally, she drew a breath, gritted her teeth, and spoke. "Ma'am, could you wait one moment? I need to call customer service." Clearly, Marilyn's unhappy replacement was going to do everything within her power to make this sale, but her pessimistic side was already mourning her lost commission and dreading the chore of re-attaching all of those inktags and putting all of these items away. For the twenty-eighth time that morning, she cursed Marilyn under her breath.
The mature, responsible red-head decided to wait patiently while the unreasonable woman, whose name tag read "Vivian," talked with customer service. Jean reassured herself that everything would work out. Why wouldn't it? There was absolutely nothing wrong with her credit card. It must be their credit card machine.
The phoenix snapped to attention as the now angry clerk dropped the telephone handset back into the cradle, once again cursing poor Marilyn under her breath. "Apparently, you're not Mrs. Summers. She's deceased, and the credit card company canceled her account after her death."
Redheads are stereotypically known for sporting bad tempers, but this particular redhead remained calm, and even managed to respond with an understanding smile. Jean pulled her driver's license from her wallet, and attempted to present it to the cashier. "Here, this is my driver's license. I am Jean Grey-Summers, and as you can see, I'm alive and well." Of course, Mrs. Summers HAD been dead, but she had a pulse NOW, so it certainly wasn't worth mentioning or explaining to a stranger, especially not to this stranger. Any woman who would continually curse an ill coworker would definitely have no respect or understanding for the formerly dead.
Vivian crossed her arms and paused a few moments to display her attitude before reluctantly accepting the proffered I.D. "According to the credit card company you're deceased, therefore, your card is declined." Vivian crossed her arms, and gave her best resolute face. Unfortunately, all of her facial expressions, save her saccharin smile, looked pretty much the same; it was an angry, bulldog like face, so attempting the change it for dramatic effect was pretty much useless.
The formerly dead telepath sighed inaudibly. She was going to remain calm. She was not going to take advantage of her powers in order to procure a "quick fix." As an instructor who was trying to teach young mutants to use their powers responsibly, she had a duty to act in kind. She would handle this ethically.
With determination and a reassuring smile, she replied, "Obviously, there's been some sort of mistake."
"How do I know that this isn't a fake I.D.?" Then, the clerk answered her own question by swiping the magnetic strip on the driver's license through the same machine that was used for credit cards. The redhead's age appeared on the miniature screen. It was indeed a valid driver's license. Vivian found this rather disconcerting as she had completely forgotten about the sale and the commission, and was now getting a perverse pleasure out of ruining a pretty young woman's day.
Jean smiled triumphantly.
Vivian begrudgingly reached for the phone to call the credit card company to sort everything out. She was halfway through dialing the 800 number when a thought struck her, and she quickly hung up the phone. The telepath opposite her heard the thought as the bulldog like woman was thinking it, and felt a twinge of defeat. Vivian looked up at Jean with her best haughty glare, which, just like her resolute face, was reminiscent of an angry bulldog.
Vivian pointed her index finger at Jean in an accusatory manner. "How do I know that you're not an identical twin? You could have stolen your dead twin sister's I.D. and credit card." She made a jabbing motion with her nicotine-stained finger on each syllable for emphasis.
Taking advantage of her telepathy was becoming more appealing by the nanosecond. The screaming of the multitude of unhappy toddlers shopping with their oblivious mothers seemed to be growing louder. The din was making the situation all the more intolerable. Didn't any of these mothers keep small packages of animal crackers in their purses? Back to the main issue. Being reasonable and mature seemed to be getting her nowhere. How did one go about proving that theirs was a singleton birth? There was nothing more frustrating than not being able to function in society. This woman, Vivian, was Jean's proverbial roadblock, preventing her from functioning in society. Hadn't the redheaded telepath tried solving this dilemma sans telepathy? Yes, she had been the very portrait of patience and maturity. Were here students here? They would never know.
With a serene grin, the phoenix blazed. Vivian picked up the phone, before it had even rung on the other end, the representative of the credit card company walked to the computer and pulled up Jean's account, deleting the ugly and incorrect word "deceased," and the multitude of vocal, discontent toddlers, suddenly fell asleep in their strollers.
Jean closed her eyes for a brief second, savoring that feeling of relief, took a deep breath, and relaxed her shoulders. Reopening her eyes, she took a closer look at the clothes before her on the counter. The color looked different under the lighting over the register. Somehow, nothing seemed to be the right hue.
"Ma'am," Jean said, stopping the clerk just short of sliding the now valid credit card through the machine, "I really appreciate all of your help today, but I think I need to rethink some of these choices. Maybe I'll just come back tomorrow." With that, Jean reclaimed her credit card and license, dropped them into her purse, dug out her keys and sunglasses, and headed for the parking lot. Vivian could do nothing but blink and curse poor Marilyn under her breath, which would not be her last time that day to do so, as she reached for the calculator to see what her commission would have been, had she made that sale.