Ding for Service

I scrambled up the wooden stool behind an empty checkout counter and peeked over the register. Right beside a stack of shopping bags sat a shiny chrome service bell with a little round button on top. I crept over, lifted both hands, and brought my palms down right on the plunger. Ding! The sharp, ringing chime echoed toward the ceiling, making my ears tingle. I froze, listened to the silence, and let out a bubbly giggle. Then I tapped it again—ding, ding, pause, ding! A crisp little beat. Before any clerk could check who rang, I ducked right behind the register monitor with a knowing smirk.