Sandman thing, part five

[odditycollector]

 


Friday



“You will allow me to return these,” says a voice from behind you. It pisses you off, not because it’s an unreasonable request, but because it isn’t a request.

“You want customer service,” you say, without turning around.

“No. I only deal with you.”

You sigh to yourself. “Wha-”

And then you stop, because you’ve finally gotten a look at the guy. For an instant there’s a sensation of impossible distance, and then you blink and the world resolves itself again into white walls under fluorescent lighting.

The man standing in front of you is wearing a dingy grey robe like you’ve seen on monks in movies, and he’s got a book under his right arm, probably The Complete Works of William Shakespeare & Selected Essays, it’s thick enough; but when you try to read its title, the back of your head begins to throb. In his left hand he’s holding a plastic bag with the store logo stamped in red.

“The customer service desk is right over there,” you say, pointing.

He doesn’t move. “I return them to you,” he says.

It would probably take longer to explain the concept of multiple employees to him, so you go with him to the counter. Brett’s manning it for now. There’s no one complaining at him, and he’s idly flipping through a magazine.

“Hey,” he says as you get there. He frowns at the customer, and then shakes his head and goes back to thumbing through pictures of skateboards.

You step behind the counter and take the bag. “So why me in particular?” you ask.

“What was bought from you, in fair exchange, will be likewise returned to you. In this matter, that is the way it must be.”

“We have corporations for that now, you know,” you say.

“Yes, this I know,” he says. “And I know that some transactions are tied beyond the now and the then, and that it is somewhat more difficult to bring these dealings to an end. And that for these there are rules.”

You dump the contents of the bag in front of you: a fountain pen and a small bottle of white-out, both in their original packaging. And a receipt.

A vision of honey-coloured eyes dances through your mind, but you push it aside and examine the slip of paper. It lists the inventory numbers, the prices, the date of sale, but nowhere does it mention your name.

You glance up at the man before you. “How did-”

“Hey,” interrupts Brent. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

You turn to him. “What?”

“Well, I was thinking…”

“No, I mean… can we talk after I’m finished here?” You’re surprised to hear a pleading, frightened note in your voice.

“Huh?” Brent looks over the counter. He blinks several times, and his forehead crinkles. “Um, yeah, sure,” he says. He glances back again and raises a hand to his head.

There’s an odd pain in one of your hands. When you look down you notice you’ve been absently rubbing at the palm, and you’ve rubbed it raw.

You take a deep breath and turn back to the strange man. You glance at the returned merchandise, and you’re willing to bet money that these aren’t the same supplies you sold two days ago, because you’re sure that the white-out didn’t shine like mother-of-pearl when you moved it, and that the ink for the pen didn’t contain depth enough for the stars.

But the computer scans them back through, so you smile at the man and give him the money back, and shut the exchanges binder quickly so you can’t see what name he signs.

You wait until he leaves the store, and then you dump everything he brought into the garbage bin.

“Hey,” says Brent. “What did you do that for?”

“I… I’m not sure,” you tell him. “I just don’t think it would be a good idea to reshelve it.”

“You mean you’re a lazy ass,” Brent translates. “But that’s okay, I like that in a woman.” He grins at you for a second, and then squints at the door. “Who was that guy, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” you say. “I guess he didn’t want the present.”



 

Comments

[foreverdirt.livejournal.com]

Oh! I assumed Desire was planning to piss off Dream, but I like this so much better. That was fun! Thank you.

[odditycollector.livejournal.com]

I assumed Desire was planning to piss off Dream
Isn't it always?

(But I swear, when I dumped in in the office store, it came up with this on its own...)