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When I wake, I open my fancy black box and dump the first bag of Legos onto the kitchen table. It’s Harry Potter Hogwarts Castle.
Two hours later, I suddenly need something from the local general store. Of course, I hope Scottie will be excited to see me. And she delivers.
“Hey! I was just thinking about you,” she says, unpacking a box of oranges. Her bangs are clipped back with a white barrette that matches her white, off-the-shoulder sweater, and the rest of her hair is braided into short pigtails. She bleeds youth.
“Yeah?” I pluck a basket from the stack and hook it over my arm. “What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking you need a job.”
I stand beside her and inspect an apple. “Been there. Done that. What else do you have?”
She deposits two avocados into my basket. “You need to put on some weight.”
“You’re uncharacteristically bossy today. Or is this the newer, more mature version of Scottie Rucker?”
She arranges the oranges in a basket. “Haha. I’m serious. Is everything okay with you?”
I focus on finding two more suitable apples. “Indeed. I started sprouting today. You should stop by in a few days to see their progress.”
“Who are you?” She laughs.
“Why do I need a job?” After I steal a green grape and pop it into my mouth (it’s sour), I mosey a few feet from her to the bins of nuts and seeds.
“A job gives you purpose.”
“Purpose? I just started a new Lego set. It’s over six thousand pieces. It’s not going to put itself together. I still haven’t ruled out knitting. But let’s be honest, curling is where it’s at.”
Her giggles fill the store. Do the other customers know how lucky they are to shop here and be in the presence of such raw joy?
“I think part of your purpose should be a part-time position at a lovely little general store.”
Shooting my gaze to hers, I wait for her to elaborate.
She doesn’t.
“I’m not qualified.”
“Price, you’re overqualified times infinity. That’s what makes this so perfect.”
“Sorry. You’ll need to elaborate on your definition of perfect.” I smile at a gray-haired lady who squeezes past me to reach for a brown bag.
“I bet you’ve never stocked shelves, made soda and ice cream concoctions, operated a cash register, or mopped a floor at eight o’clock at night.”
“Hmm. I need to bone up on my vocabulary. I don’t recall Merriam-Webster listing any of those chores under the word ‘perfect.’”
“It’s the simplicity. It’s doing something basic but necessary. It’s not about the paycheck. It’s contributing to society. It’s the conscious or subconscious acknowledgment that no job is beneath you. We are all equal.”
I set my basket on the counter, eyeing her with a healthy dose of skepticism she earned with her We Are All Equal speech.
Scottie sighs, barely hiding her grin. “I can’t find anyone who wants to work here, probably because the owners can’t afford to pay anyone but me. As much as I love this job, and I do love it, I need a little time off now and again. It would just be for a few hours, maybe two or three nights a week.”
I have a long list of reasons why I can’t work. A list I can’t share because it’s complicated.
“Easy work?”
She nods. “You can hardly call it work. In fact, if mopping is too much, I’ll pop in and mop before I go to bed.”
“I’m sure I can mop. Does it come with instructions?”
