I’m Jason, and today marks my third day working at the Noname Thrift Store in Seasum. I was sitting at the counter, staring out the window at the setting sun, wondering if I should grab a burger or a hot dog for dinner tonight.
Yeah, life’s that exciting. After three months of fruitless job hunting, I ended up in this quiet, picturesque town with a job that pays minimum wage. At least it’s a job, right? I have to thank Prime Minister Trudeau for making Canada the land where graduating from college means you get to join the ranks of the unemployed.
The old, worn-out clock on the wall was about to strike 6, and I was already packing up, ready to close the shop. Another uneventful day with zero customers. I still don’t get the boss. He’s a complete mystery. After I reached out to him on Kijiji, we had one quick phone call, he hired me, sent me the address, and that was that. I’ve been working here ever since, and I haven’t seen him once. I’m starting to wonder if he’s even going to pay me on time.
"Jingling"—the door opened, and an old man with a rather peculiar outfit shuffled inside.
"You take old stuff, right?" he asked.
"Yeah, how can I help you?"
"Anything, right?" he asked, looking hopeful.
"Yeah…" I wasn’t sure where this was going.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The old man dug through a plastic bag and pulled out a McDonald’s Big Mac box—one that looked like it had seen better days. "How much will you give me for this?"
I was stunned. Does "anything" really mean "anything"? Does that include the trash from the dumpster? I didn’t know how to respond. My eyes wandered to the bag, where I saw a Tim Hortons coffee cup. I was half-worried he’d ask me to take that too.
"Hold up, let's deal with the box first," the old man interrupted before I could even speak.
My jaw almost hit the floor. "This...?" I had no idea how to reply, but I noticed his hands were shaking. He probably hadn’t eaten in a while.
"Five bucks for the Big Mac box and the coffee cup," the old man said.
"Five bucks for both? Nah, that’s too low. I was thinking more like eight. I was gonna ask for ten."
I thought about grabbing a broom and shooing him out. My frustration was building.
But then I figured, screw it. I still had half a pack of cookies left. "Fine, here’s ten bucks," I said, pulling a ten-dollar bill from the few bills I had. "Tomorrow, take a tissue you’ve wiped your nose with and head over to RBC. You can probably get a thousand bucks there. Trust me, they’ll love that. Just don’t come back here—I’m probably poorer than you."
"Not bad, but if RBC won’t give me the cash, I’ll be back to see you," he said with a grin.
"Try TD, CIBC, whatever. You might get lucky," I replied, already losing patience.
"Alright, alright, let’s call it a deal," the old man said, pocketing the money and heading out the door.
"Oh, wait!" He suddenly turned around. "Since you gave me an extra two bucks, here’s something for you." He shoved a rusty old tin box onto the counter and turned to leave.
I didn’t even want to touch it. At this point, I was just done with the day.
Later, I went back upstairs to the break room and lay down. The tin box was still sitting on the counter downstairs. Suddenly, the box flickered three times.
