Correct Change

Fairfax & Glew Flash Fiction

At the Circle K on one cold but surprisingly busy evening, Rubby handed the change over to the lady and shut the cash register’s drawer and gave her a Rubby nod of assurance for herself and one of relief for himself as it appeared that the rush was just about over. The lady wore a beanie that resembled the sun, along with a sky blue jacket and mittens the color of an early morning lawn, perhaps in a church yard.

Somebody misses the summertime...

The lady studied the money in her mittened hands.

Rubby maintained his reassuring look.

The lady looked up at him like the sun would never shine again. “I’m...I just...”

Rubby said, “Yes, ma’am?”

“Well, this is thirteen dollars and forty-nine cents.”

“You bet.”

“But I gave you a ten.”

Rubby gave her a sideways look. “I’m afraid you gave me a twenty, ma’am.”

She swallowed and glanced at the money and back up at him. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

She riffled through her chirpy, chippy redbird-colored purse for a few moments.

Another customer drove away outside, leaving only a few gas-pumpers pumping.

The lady looked up and placed a mitten over her eyes. “My gosh. You are right. It was a twenty. And here I was about to...”

“Yeah.”

“And here you are, being professional...”

“Yeah.”

She placed her mittens over her heart. “Thank you so much. It is so nice to experience a little honesty these days. I hope some good fortune comes your way.”

“Have a wonderful evening, ma’am.”

She gathered up her bottled water and her bags of Sun Chips and gave him one reassuring wave before exiting.

A minute later, another customer entered. He strode up to the counter and gave Rubby a reassuring look.

Rubby said, “Mr. Yowder. Do you have me a house built yet? I’m looking in the fifteen hundred range. And that’s dollars- not square feet.”

Yowder said, “A pack of Lucky Strikes.”

Rubby slipped a pack of Luckies out of the display case and set it on the counter.

Yowder handed him a hundred-dollar bill.

Rubby rang him up and marked the bill and then placed it inside and pulled out the correct change and counted it out in Yowder’s outstretched hand and then drew the change back and slipped it into his own pocket. Yowder pretended to pocket the change himself.

Well, he’s no Daniel Day-Lewis...

But the cameras here are crap anyway...

Rubby then leaned over the counter and said, “88 Lawd Street. DeWalt and Bosch and Milwaukee stuff. And a Boston Terrier but she’s as old as the owner. And the old fellow walks her in at the park from seven to nine on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.”

Yowder fired up his Lucky Strike and blew a cloud toward the ceiling. He watched Rubby for a minute. Rubby gave a reassuring nod and then he tweaked it to more of a “That’s the truth and now get out” kind of look. Yowder took his time in his exit, pausing long enough for another customer to enter and take notice of his law-breaking smoky habit.

Thanks for the good fortune, lady.