Six Packs of Sugar

It was raining, but it always seemed to rain. The windows to the gas station were fogged ever so slightly from the difference of the temperature inside the building versus the ever vastly declining temperature that loomed outdoors. I fiddled with my pen, drawing circles, screws, and other looped items on the countertop. No one would notice; the ink barely made a mark over the grimy surface. I didn’t see when the door opened. I said no greeting. I made no eye contact. I simply continued to make doodles that meant nothing. 

“You look tired”, a voice echoed. It came from an older gentleman who looked unbelievably happy despite being soaked to the very core with rain and ice. He was pouring himself a cup of coffee, and I shuddered when I thought about how ill frequently the coffee filters were changed in that particular machine. He’d be dead by daylight if he drank that.

“Yeah, well, life. You know?” I said. “I’d dump that cup right out, you’ll have to do it outside, though. Sinks clogged.” 

“And why’s that, girly, know something I don’t?” He chuckled. “I doubt that very much.” 

I looked at him with curiosity. What was he on about? He gave a pat to the side pocket on his flannel shirt. 

“Nope, I’ve got all the information I need right here, in this little book I found amongst the way. Tiny little black thing. Tells me everything I need to know. I know you haven’t cleaned this pot in three days because no one asks you to. I know you aren’t really tired, you slept 12 hours last night. I know you’re thinking about calling the police because an old man in a flannel shirt knows more about you than your parents do. You should call them, by the way, your dog is sick.” He said.

“So you’re a glorified stalker then, is what I’m picking up on” I replied. I was the type to attract one. 

“No. See, I used to be “tired” too. Then I found this book. Bet you want to know what’s in it, don’t you?” His cup was filled with coffee now, and he was stirring in exactly six packets of sugar. “Just like your grandpa used to, six-packs.”

My grandpa had died when I was six, and he said he would add a packet of sugar every birthday I had. At the age of 27, I had almost forgotten. But how could this man know that? No one knew my family here. I kept well away from them. Too overbearing, too obsessed with my future. 

The man began to walk towards me, still sopping wet. “But it’s your turn to not be tired anymore. That’s what the book says, and I ain’t the type to go against it. Says if I don’t give it to you, I’ll lose what I’ve gained.” He pulled the notebook out of his pocket and opened it carefully. The water seemed not to seep through into the pages. Still, I wasn’t one for fairytales. “I’m supposed to buy a ticket off you, one of those big lotto ones. Book says to not make a decision on what type, so I won’t. Says here that it’s to prove that not all magic is fake. Huh. What do you suppose that means? And I’m supposed to give the winnings, of exactly $1,504.64, to the man who’s about to throw up outside this fine gas station we’re standing in. Alright.” 

He laid the notebook on the table and pointed to the lotto ticket wall. “Give me one of those then. And this cup of coffee. And then take this fine notebook, and do whatever you will with it, or, whatever it wills you to do.”

I felt as if my eyes were about to pop out of my head. I turned around quickly and yanked a ticket off of the wall without much thought. I wanted this guy out of the shop, now. 

“$7.64” I said. “Cash only, because of the ticket”

When the man took his wallet out of his back pocket, I was surprised to see that it was quite large and, by the looks of it, overflowing with cash. Despite the amount of money in the wallet, the leather was cracked and worn and could use replacing. So he’s a stalker and a thief then? I thought to myself. This would be one to try and explain to the cops. 

He began scratching away at the ticket quickly, using his thick nail to do so. His smile began to form at the sight of the first number. It grew more as he scratched off the rest. He pushed the ticket into my face.

“See, exactly $1,506.64. Wonder where that guy is-, I best find him. I don’t like to doddle.” He said, “Here, take this, and do what you will with it”. He ushered down to the book. I glanced outside the window. There was now a young man, throwing up directly in front of my car. “Op, that’s my call, I guess. I won’t see you around. I’ve checked.” And as quick as he entered, he was gone. He had left the coffee on the counter. 

I couldn’t deny that the book piqued my interest. It was plain and small, and if anyone else had left it, I would have assumed it was an address book or planner. The wind shook the glass window, and I was suddenly overwhelmed with how much I absolutely despised working here. Calling the cops was a distant thought now, and I reached for the notebook, opening it carefully, just as the man had done. It was blank. I scoffed and ran my hand over my head, ruffling my hair. Rolling my eyes, I began to shut the book before noticing that now small golden letters had appeared on the first page.

"Go home. Lock the left door, but not the right. Take the winding road to the apartment. Stop at the local stop and shop. Buy one bag of chips (your choice) and an orange soda. There will be a wallet that has fallen on the ground when you return to your car. It will be tempting to steal it. Return it to the man getting into the 1970s green van. Be rewarded. No longer be tired."

I debated for a split second. Locking only one of the gas station doors was a gamble, but it was empty on a good day. Why not? The idea of not being tired…of not being, whatever it is I was, was intoxicating. I shut the lights off and turned the open sign to closed; no instructions were left on my ability to make the building look locked. I grabbed my bag and locked the left door, checking the right to make sure it was still open. Climbing into my car, I drove down the road in which the book had mentioned, knowing precisely what stop and shop it had been referring to. It was run of the mill and certainly nothing special. Still, if anything, I would get myself a bag of chips and an orange soda and go home unaffected for the most part, allowed to wallow in my embarrassment in the darkness of my own bedroom. 

I pulled into the parking lot and walked into the store, which was surprisingly busy. Although, being busy here really just meant that there were five people within the same general facility. I pursued the aisle of chips. My choice? Was this going to be a luxury with this book? I decided on some chemically flavored cheese chips and grabbed a lukewarm orange soda. The guy who proceeded me in line looked out of place. He had multiple items in his hands, headache relief medication, chips, soda, antacids, and band-aids. He sheepishly threw them onto the counter without saying anything, where the cashier met him with confused eyes. There was certainly nothing to be embarrassed about in this concoction of items, but I couldn’t see the man’s face, so perhaps he was just an odd-looking man. As he left, I gave a friendly smile to the cashier and checked out. Walking back to my car, my foot hit something. I looked down, and sure enough, there was a wallet. It was still, for the most part, dry, so it had obviously been dropped by the man who had just left a few seconds to me. It was a beautiful designer piece, something that not many people could afford in this town. It had a good amount of cash in it, a social security card, id, and three platinum credit cards that looked heavy. The notebook was right; this was tempting. Still, I looked around the parking lot for an older 1970s model car. I wasn’t one for identity theft anyway—too much risk involved. The door to the vehicle in question was closed, and the man had obviously not noticed the wallet had fallen out of his pocket. 

“Hey!” I shouted. “You! Green car! The 1970s!” I was waving frantically now. I imagined I looked just as crazy as the older gentleman did this afternoon in the gas station. 

The man, who was quite handsome, and looked familiar in a way, as if I had seen his face on TV or on a magazine, had a fearful look upon his face. I couldn’t blame him. I held the wallet up in the air and waved it, dropping my bag of snacks. He got out of the car immediately. The fear in his face instantly turned to gratitude. 

“Thank you! I hadn’t even noticed. I’m not...Well. I’m on a trip. It would’ve been a pain to replace all that was in this, and I wouldn’t have even thought to call this store to see if I had dropped it here.” He said. “I-, you should get something in return for this. Could’ve sold this information online…” he was reaching into his jacket pocket now.

That was it. He was a celebrity. Quite a famous one, bachelor of the year or something like that, although his name escaped me. The information on his ID alone was probably worth ten grand considering all the women who wanted to pursue him. 

“I imagine…” he continued, “and, not to sound too full of myself here, that this information was worth ten…maybe fifteen grand, given the scandal. Plus my gratitude, and the fact that you didn’t take any of the cash in the wallet.. do you have a piece of paper? Pen? I would like your name and address. I’m going to send you a check, thirty-five thousand, and you never speak of seeing me here, and you do what you will with the money.”

Surely, this wasn’t real. Thirty-five thousand dollars for an almost lost wallet? I reached for the notebook. I hoped it wasn’t against the rules to write in it myself or, in this instance, tear a page out. I ripped the paper carefully and rummaged in my bag for a pen, writing my name and address and being very careful to include all the little bits of necessary information. Handing it to him, I tried to usher some words of “Thank you very much for this considerably large amount of money”. All I got out was “Thanks” before he grasped the paper himself.

“I don’t really need this either, here, take the cash. You could’ve anyway. I think it’s a thousand.” He pushed the wad of cash into my bag. “No offense, but I hope to never see you again. Have a good day.”

I looked down at my bag, and back up again, and then to the notebook, which was blank again. I had to admit, I certainly didn’t feel tired any longer. Upon climbing into my car, I wondered what else was to come from this small book.