[LJ Idol] SCI, "Help Wanted"
SCI prompt: Second Look
Author's Notes: Fiction. I hope you enjoy.
Help Wanted
Derek finished wiping down the counters, clearing fingerprints and condensation from the glass; he’d taken to bringing soft drinks to work and setting them in the corners so they’d be out of the way, but before long he’d inevitably forget about them to find the bottles tepid and undrinkable hours later, resting in a thin film of water.
His new boss hardly approved, insisting that his attention should always be on the shop, not on snacks, but Derek brought him coffee in the mornings to help make up for it. Derek’s job wasn’t to interact with the customers, anyway, he just cleaned and kept things organized, and handled restocking or heavy lifting if it was needed. His boss took care of everything else, greeting the customers by name and working directly with them to pick out whatever they wanted.
The store had quite the impressive collection of antiques, antiquities, and oddities of every shape and size, from tiny porcelain figurines and dishes to larger pieces of furniture. They ranged from the common and customary, like old coins and Louis XVI style furniture and tiffany lamps, to the obscure and bizarre, if the tags were to be believed-things like ushabti and the well-preserved, mounted skulls of various now-extinct animals.
Derek moved to the windows, cleaning them methodically. He remembered when he’d first gotten the job two weeks prior; he’d barely been able to see the help wanted sign propped up in the window, itself obscured by a thick layer of dust. A man with the improbable name of Mr. Tuesday had introduced himself as the shop’s owner, offered Derek the job, and here he was.
Through the window he could see a woman heading for the door and opened it for her, listening casually as Mr. Tuesday walked up to her and gave her an odd sort of half-bow.
“Ah, Betty! It’s nice to see you back again-”
For the first time, Derek caught a glimpse of the giant bird on her shoulder, its feathers a deep rainbow of greens and blues. It squawked, and Mr. Tuesday laughed, gesturing further into the shop as the two disappeared down one of the aisles.
Derek moved on to dust some of the shelves that needed it and organized a series of rolled-up maps in a bin. Customers were few and far between-Derek himself had tried to explain his new summer job to some of his friends, and they all had never even heard of the antique shop, squashed as it was between a hardware store and a popular lunch spot. The shop in question was always overlooked, except, it seemed, to those who knew to look for it.
Mr. Tuesday was back, ringing up a purchase. “-Now, Betty, make sure this is cleaned well and often or it will rust. I can have it delivered to you tomorrow? Yes, of course-” The bird squawked again, louder this time, and reached its beak back to scrape at the feathers on its back.
A man with thick bandages covering the right side of his face was the next to enter. With Mr. Tuesday preoccupied, he walked up to Derek instead.
“I heard your shop has the only Forer telescope on this side of the continent, is that correct? I’d be very interested in looking at it.”
“Er…” He had no idea what that was; he didn’t remember seeing something with that name on any of the shelves. “A telescope? There’s a shelf in the back with looking glasses and some lens, but I’m not sure about telescopes…”
Finished with his own customer, Mr. Tuesday approached them. “Derek, it’s in storage. Check the closet in the back room-please retrieve it and bring it to us. And Mr. Konran, how are you doing this fine afternoon?”
Derek was familiar enough with the storage closet, as it was where he kept the cleaning supplies. He didn’t remember ever seeing anything large enough to be a telescope, and wondered why Mr. Tuesday would be keeping it in a dingy place like that.
The employee area was closed off by a velvet curtain, and Derek headed for the storage closet, testing the tarnished bronze doorknob; it always rattled when he opened it. Inside, he could see stacked buckets and a few mops and brooms, some newer bottles of cleaning supplies, and no telescope.
There were a few unlabeled boxes on higher shelves, and he searched each, yielding nothing more than a cloud of dust for his troubles. Coughing and confused, he returned to where Mr. Tuesday was chatting up the customer, and mumbled, “I couldn’t find it…are you sure it’s in that closet?”
“Look again,” he said. “It’s categorized under #B12. Maybe you just didn’t look deep enough.”
He fought to keep the incredulous look off his face until he was standing before the closet again. Really, he’d already looked and it wasn’t there! He opened the door a bit harder than before, and the brooms propped up in a corner clattered to the floor.
He stepped into the closet, kicking the broom handles out of the way. One skittered off into darkness, and he realized that the closet was indeed deeper than he first thought. The shelves were narrow, but there was a gap between them-a gap barely wide enough for a person to walk through it.
Derek squeezed past, ducking his head to avoid a few low boxes sticking out over the edges of the shelves. The last thing he wanted was to spend the next few days picking up after an avalanche in here, and he made his way carefully, trying to let his eyes adjust to the darkness.
“Let there be light,” he muttered, feeling the shelves’ edges with his hands to mark his progress, noting the faded sign hanging off one shelf that proclaimed the section Z15. He had a long way to go.
No sooner had he spoken than a series of mushroom-shaped lamps lit up on a low shelf at knee-height, shocking him into bumping back against the adjoining row. He held his breath; nothing fell, and the lights remained on. He couldn’t see any switches on the lamps, and strained to read the tag on that shelf.
“…Conscious Corning Lamps? The hell?”
Lightbulbs flickered, and Derek felt sheepish. “…Thank you?” The glow increased.
Shrugging it off, he continued onward. At least he’d be able to see, now.
As he walked, the gap between the shelves was getting wider, and the things on the shelves themselves were getting stranger. He noticed old puzzle boxes, breathtaking in their complexity, and burnished statuettes and ornaments made of what appeared to be gold. He sucked in a deep breath, coughing instantly from the dust, the idea that so much wealth was clustered here and he had access to it making him lightheaded. One of the tags here informed him that he was only at section L. Moving in reverse, then, he wondered how special the objects on the farthest shelves would be, if the telescope was supposed to be located at B.
After awhile, he stopped even looking at the labels. It was too ridiculous-asphodel flowers, preserved in a viscous gel, that were purported to be hundreds of years old and still growing, to odd amulets and relics and a shelf, entirely empty and dust-free, with the label of Cryptids.
Eventually, he reached the B section, and searched for the number twelve. He found it on one of the higher shelves, and delicately pulled it down to examine it closer.
The telescope was much smaller than he’d imagined; it wasn’t too heavy, although it was crafted out of a thick metal and engraved with various symbols. He couldn’t see clearly enough in the dim light to actually look into the lens, but the curiosity was overwhelming to know just what it was he held in his hands.
As he walked past the lamps they flickered once before going out. Derek stumbled out of the closet, his sweater and hair covered with dust, and kicked the door closed with one foot. Back inside the showroom, Mr. Tuesday was waiting, and Derek handed him the telescope.
Curiosity superseded his desire to be clean, and he brushed dust off his arms while he tried to listen in on their conversation from behind the counter. His soda was still cool, and he pressed the bottle to his forehead; it came away smudged with dirt. Instead, he studied a row of photographs leaning against the wall, directly behind the register, and cleared some of the desk-space for something to do.
Mr. Tuesday returned to the register, and Derek was surprised to see the customer with the bandaged face leaving with the telescope.
“Isn’t he…?”
“We came to an agreement,” he explained. “He didn’t pay with money.”
“…Ah.” That didn’t answer any of his questions. “What does the telescope do? And what’s with all the”-junk, his mind supplied-“stuff, in storage?”
“It can see glimpses of the future." The answer was delivered so offhandedly that it took a moment for Derek to process it. "I couldn’t very well have all that on the shelves out here," he continued. "Some of it might just walk away!”
“That-wait, really?”
“If you’re going to be working here, you’ve got to learn how to deal with the things we sell. If you can manage that, you can work with the customers.”
“That woman didn’t seem too bad,” Derek muttered. “Betty.”
“Betty was the bird,” he said.
“Right. Of course.” Derek leaned back against the counter, his arm brushing one of the photographs. He frowned, finally close enough to really look at them.
“Are these a joke?” he asked, gesturing to the row of photos. Each was enclosed in a simple black frame, but the pictures themselves were arranged by date, growing older and older, from grainy newsprint to the single daguerreotype to a Collodion photo. Each showed famous celebrities of the day, even royalty, posing beside a face that looked suspiciously like Mr. Tuesday. Derek had first thought they’d been cleverly photoshopped, but after everything he’d seen the impossible was starting to look more and more likely as his doubt faded away.
“Not at all,” Mr. Tuesday answered. “Not at all.”
----------------
Notes:
1) Forer refers to the 'Forer Effect,' and has to do with subjective validation of fortune-telling.
2) Cryptids are creatures or plants whose existence has not been proved by science.
3) The Asphodel Meadows are part of the Ancient Greek underworld, where the eponymous flowers grow.
Author's Notes: Fiction. I hope you enjoy.
Help Wanted
Derek finished wiping down the counters, clearing fingerprints and condensation from the glass; he’d taken to bringing soft drinks to work and setting them in the corners so they’d be out of the way, but before long he’d inevitably forget about them to find the bottles tepid and undrinkable hours later, resting in a thin film of water.
His new boss hardly approved, insisting that his attention should always be on the shop, not on snacks, but Derek brought him coffee in the mornings to help make up for it. Derek’s job wasn’t to interact with the customers, anyway, he just cleaned and kept things organized, and handled restocking or heavy lifting if it was needed. His boss took care of everything else, greeting the customers by name and working directly with them to pick out whatever they wanted.
The store had quite the impressive collection of antiques, antiquities, and oddities of every shape and size, from tiny porcelain figurines and dishes to larger pieces of furniture. They ranged from the common and customary, like old coins and Louis XVI style furniture and tiffany lamps, to the obscure and bizarre, if the tags were to be believed-things like ushabti and the well-preserved, mounted skulls of various now-extinct animals.
Derek moved to the windows, cleaning them methodically. He remembered when he’d first gotten the job two weeks prior; he’d barely been able to see the help wanted sign propped up in the window, itself obscured by a thick layer of dust. A man with the improbable name of Mr. Tuesday had introduced himself as the shop’s owner, offered Derek the job, and here he was.
Through the window he could see a woman heading for the door and opened it for her, listening casually as Mr. Tuesday walked up to her and gave her an odd sort of half-bow.
“Ah, Betty! It’s nice to see you back again-”
For the first time, Derek caught a glimpse of the giant bird on her shoulder, its feathers a deep rainbow of greens and blues. It squawked, and Mr. Tuesday laughed, gesturing further into the shop as the two disappeared down one of the aisles.
Derek moved on to dust some of the shelves that needed it and organized a series of rolled-up maps in a bin. Customers were few and far between-Derek himself had tried to explain his new summer job to some of his friends, and they all had never even heard of the antique shop, squashed as it was between a hardware store and a popular lunch spot. The shop in question was always overlooked, except, it seemed, to those who knew to look for it.
Mr. Tuesday was back, ringing up a purchase. “-Now, Betty, make sure this is cleaned well and often or it will rust. I can have it delivered to you tomorrow? Yes, of course-” The bird squawked again, louder this time, and reached its beak back to scrape at the feathers on its back.
A man with thick bandages covering the right side of his face was the next to enter. With Mr. Tuesday preoccupied, he walked up to Derek instead.
“I heard your shop has the only Forer telescope on this side of the continent, is that correct? I’d be very interested in looking at it.”
“Er…” He had no idea what that was; he didn’t remember seeing something with that name on any of the shelves. “A telescope? There’s a shelf in the back with looking glasses and some lens, but I’m not sure about telescopes…”
Finished with his own customer, Mr. Tuesday approached them. “Derek, it’s in storage. Check the closet in the back room-please retrieve it and bring it to us. And Mr. Konran, how are you doing this fine afternoon?”
Derek was familiar enough with the storage closet, as it was where he kept the cleaning supplies. He didn’t remember ever seeing anything large enough to be a telescope, and wondered why Mr. Tuesday would be keeping it in a dingy place like that.
The employee area was closed off by a velvet curtain, and Derek headed for the storage closet, testing the tarnished bronze doorknob; it always rattled when he opened it. Inside, he could see stacked buckets and a few mops and brooms, some newer bottles of cleaning supplies, and no telescope.
There were a few unlabeled boxes on higher shelves, and he searched each, yielding nothing more than a cloud of dust for his troubles. Coughing and confused, he returned to where Mr. Tuesday was chatting up the customer, and mumbled, “I couldn’t find it…are you sure it’s in that closet?”
“Look again,” he said. “It’s categorized under #B12. Maybe you just didn’t look deep enough.”
He fought to keep the incredulous look off his face until he was standing before the closet again. Really, he’d already looked and it wasn’t there! He opened the door a bit harder than before, and the brooms propped up in a corner clattered to the floor.
He stepped into the closet, kicking the broom handles out of the way. One skittered off into darkness, and he realized that the closet was indeed deeper than he first thought. The shelves were narrow, but there was a gap between them-a gap barely wide enough for a person to walk through it.
Derek squeezed past, ducking his head to avoid a few low boxes sticking out over the edges of the shelves. The last thing he wanted was to spend the next few days picking up after an avalanche in here, and he made his way carefully, trying to let his eyes adjust to the darkness.
“Let there be light,” he muttered, feeling the shelves’ edges with his hands to mark his progress, noting the faded sign hanging off one shelf that proclaimed the section Z15. He had a long way to go.
No sooner had he spoken than a series of mushroom-shaped lamps lit up on a low shelf at knee-height, shocking him into bumping back against the adjoining row. He held his breath; nothing fell, and the lights remained on. He couldn’t see any switches on the lamps, and strained to read the tag on that shelf.
“…Conscious Corning Lamps? The hell?”
Lightbulbs flickered, and Derek felt sheepish. “…Thank you?” The glow increased.
Shrugging it off, he continued onward. At least he’d be able to see, now.
As he walked, the gap between the shelves was getting wider, and the things on the shelves themselves were getting stranger. He noticed old puzzle boxes, breathtaking in their complexity, and burnished statuettes and ornaments made of what appeared to be gold. He sucked in a deep breath, coughing instantly from the dust, the idea that so much wealth was clustered here and he had access to it making him lightheaded. One of the tags here informed him that he was only at section L. Moving in reverse, then, he wondered how special the objects on the farthest shelves would be, if the telescope was supposed to be located at B.
After awhile, he stopped even looking at the labels. It was too ridiculous-asphodel flowers, preserved in a viscous gel, that were purported to be hundreds of years old and still growing, to odd amulets and relics and a shelf, entirely empty and dust-free, with the label of Cryptids.
Eventually, he reached the B section, and searched for the number twelve. He found it on one of the higher shelves, and delicately pulled it down to examine it closer.
The telescope was much smaller than he’d imagined; it wasn’t too heavy, although it was crafted out of a thick metal and engraved with various symbols. He couldn’t see clearly enough in the dim light to actually look into the lens, but the curiosity was overwhelming to know just what it was he held in his hands.
As he walked past the lamps they flickered once before going out. Derek stumbled out of the closet, his sweater and hair covered with dust, and kicked the door closed with one foot. Back inside the showroom, Mr. Tuesday was waiting, and Derek handed him the telescope.
Curiosity superseded his desire to be clean, and he brushed dust off his arms while he tried to listen in on their conversation from behind the counter. His soda was still cool, and he pressed the bottle to his forehead; it came away smudged with dirt. Instead, he studied a row of photographs leaning against the wall, directly behind the register, and cleared some of the desk-space for something to do.
Mr. Tuesday returned to the register, and Derek was surprised to see the customer with the bandaged face leaving with the telescope.
“Isn’t he…?”
“We came to an agreement,” he explained. “He didn’t pay with money.”
“…Ah.” That didn’t answer any of his questions. “What does the telescope do? And what’s with all the”-junk, his mind supplied-“stuff, in storage?”
“It can see glimpses of the future." The answer was delivered so offhandedly that it took a moment for Derek to process it. "I couldn’t very well have all that on the shelves out here," he continued. "Some of it might just walk away!”
“That-wait, really?”
“If you’re going to be working here, you’ve got to learn how to deal with the things we sell. If you can manage that, you can work with the customers.”
“That woman didn’t seem too bad,” Derek muttered. “Betty.”
“Betty was the bird,” he said.
“Right. Of course.” Derek leaned back against the counter, his arm brushing one of the photographs. He frowned, finally close enough to really look at them.
“Are these a joke?” he asked, gesturing to the row of photos. Each was enclosed in a simple black frame, but the pictures themselves were arranged by date, growing older and older, from grainy newsprint to the single daguerreotype to a Collodion photo. Each showed famous celebrities of the day, even royalty, posing beside a face that looked suspiciously like Mr. Tuesday. Derek had first thought they’d been cleverly photoshopped, but after everything he’d seen the impossible was starting to look more and more likely as his doubt faded away.
“Not at all,” Mr. Tuesday answered. “Not at all.”
----------------
Notes:
1) Forer refers to the 'Forer Effect,' and has to do with subjective validation of fortune-telling.
2) Cryptids are creatures or plants whose existence has not been proved by science.
3) The Asphodel Meadows are part of the Ancient Greek underworld, where the eponymous flowers grow.