Aunt Kelly's Legacy

Attendance wouldn’t be recorded for the day’s lecture so I finally made the trip out to my late-great-Aunt Kelly’s place. We’d only heard about Kell’s passing a few weeks before and, to be honest, the dust had already settled on the news. She had the dream death - fast asleep, rugged up on her recliner. I couldn’t say she’d played a massive role in my life. That was, until the toaster broke at my share house. We were too broke to buy a new one. My roommates shared my distress of missing out on one of the major food groups: toast. So I called Dad to ask if any of his mates might have a spare.

“You never know Dad, someone could have a perfectly good one lying around.”

“Chookie, if you want to scrounge around for kitchen gear in my mates’ attics that’s your prerogative.”

“Aw come on Dad, they’re your friends. Couldn’t ya ask someone?”

After some pained grumbling, Dad found his ticket out of an afternoon of errand running on my behalf:

“Hey why don’t you check out my Auntie Kelly’s place. That woman was like a dragon with her bloody hoard of nicknacks. Better treasure than a toaster might be in store for you, besides, someone’s gotta take a look at her will too.”

The drive out to Kell’s was just a couple hours. I turned the radio up loud and sang variations of “A perfect toaster is waiting for me” to the melody of whatever songs came on. While I bellowed on like an idiot, I passed turnoff after turnoff to housing developments. Sunny Vale, Green Meadow, Clearwater, New Eden; wondrous as these utopias seemed, I drove on, looking out for a sign to Flower Gardens.

My most substantial memories of great aunt Kelly were her occasional appearances at family dinners. She never failed to bless our eyes with an outfit that looked like it had been randomly generated. She’d shuffle into the kitchen forty five minutes early, dragging a lumpy load of bags behind her like Santa’s estranged, tobacco scented ancestor. This would set Dad on edge from the get go. Having only cleaned the house eight times that day, he’d be mortified that Kell should see it in such a state. Unfazed, Kell liked to summon me in with a bark and upturn every single bag on the spotless tiles. While I rummaged around for anything remotely desirable in the pile, she usually had a deathly coughing fight against the goose in her oesophagus. Dad prepared to call the ambos and I’d find one or two things worth keeping. Over the years I scored such treasures as: energy bars, a sports bra, car seat covers and once, two return tickets to the Gold Coast.

I turned at Flower Gardens. Rows upon rows of neat, family homes marched past me, saluting the highway. I’d never really labelled Kell’s flavour of oddball before, but as I pulled into her driveway it clocked me that she must’ve been a career couponer. Maybe she’d even couponed her house.

If pics of Kell’s living room somehow made their way into an art scholar’s binder, they’d have enough fodder right there to build a whole new school of thought. I reckon they’d call it ‘functional entropy’ or ‘new-anti-design’. Either that or they’da felt a bit chucky. The place creeped me out. It could’ve been the set of every infomercial tv had on offer. Here and there I guess Kell must’ve patch-worked what she couldn’t score off coupons with op shop bits and bobs. A conveyor belt looped over the lino floor, around a lazy susan dining table, and off into a half space age, half cosy kitsch kitchen. “Come ooorn toaster!” I whispered, heading in. I saw a freeze drier, a heart shaped waffle iron, a four door fridge and a century old oven but no toaster! Devastating.

Back in the living room I remembered Dad’s comment about the will. I couldn’t’ve told you what a will even looks like. There was a musty old crochet blanket on top of the couch and on top of that was a little black book. I had a quick flick through. It didn’t look very will-ish. The thing reeked of tobacco and every page was chockablock with calculations. Every now and then a title would break up the numbers: “Sunny Vale Mall haul”, “Electronics Run”, “Clearwater Chemist”. So this little beauty must’ve been Kell’s couponing mission control. Every successful mission was stapled with a receipt. That great Aunt of mine was prolific! From the odd legible section I gathered that she was pulling in thousands of dollars worth of crap per trip.

There was a scratchy knock on the screen door. A woman stood there in a pink Flower Gardens polo shirt. Before I could even greet her, she began a very well rehearsed statement in the highest, sweetest, most occa voice I’d ever heard.

“G’day darl you must be one-a Kelly’s family members, well I’ve got her will for youse, I’ve been looking after it for her, I’m Jo by the way, Flower Gardens, well I know youse’ll be very keen to see whatch’ve been left with but I thought I should let ya know now that she couldn’t leave the house to youse coz the Flower Garden’s house deal's only for the coupon redeemer’s loiftoime.”

Jo took a breath and gave me a look so pitiful you’d think she’d said I only had a week to live.

“Well anyway darl here’s Kelly’s will. She was a wonderful old girl.”

I sat on the couch with the will. So, Kell scored the house too, what a legend! Jo dashed off quick smart. She must’ve thought I’d be cut by her news, but I couldn't have cared less. Sure, I respected Kell’s zest for coupons, but all this clutter made me anxious. Dad was the same. The will pretty much stated that anything other than the house was up for grabs for anyone. The only item specified for me was the little black book. The thought of passing on Kell’s couponing legacy through the bloodline made me chuckle. It was sweet in an odd way. I looked through the book again, feeling like that was the respectful thing to do. There, on the very last page was a receipt-less mission. Instead there was a thick envelope. I was starting to get all mushy and romantic about carrying out one last haul for dear old Kell. The envelope was stuffed with paper tickets stamped ‘New Eden Kitchen Hub’. Righto. ‘Expiring today’. Fuck.

Deciphering the calculations was rough. I knew you couldn’t just go to the store and buy stuff willy-nilly. It was already the arvo and I had no clue when the store would close. I figured someone else in Flower Gardens might’ve been a bargain hunter. No time to waste, I went door to door, magic parchments in hand, seeking the help of a coupon wizard. I found her four doors down. As she thumbed over the page, a hungry grin spread over her ancient face.

“So. What should I do?”

“Kell was a good friend of mine you know.”

She didn’t look up at me as she spoke. Was this old toad tryna redeem my coupons? It’s embarrassing to admit my outrage at this. It’s even more embarrassing to admit that I started wrestling my little black book right out of that old lady’s clutch. She was strong for such a wiry old bird! What a lovely scene; two women, one young, one old, squabbling in the front yard over kitchenware coupons. Well I won. She turned back to her door in a huff.

“Wait. I’ve gotta redeem them today. I’m sorry but you’ve gotta tell me what to do. Please!”

Not even turning back to face me she hissed.

“142 toasters.”

So there I was at the checkout. The same checkout I’d been at for half an hour with the same poor checkout guy. Dad was on the way with his van.

“Okay ma'am, that comes to $20,022.”

He gulped as I pulled out my fat envelope of coupons. God it was thrilling. I wondered what the hell had come over me as I grinned at the price going down, down, down. I was caught in a cycle of giggling and apologising to the cashier. He just sighed and scanned, poor thing. Dad rocked up just as the last coupon was scanned. He stood to the side, embarrassed to be associated with his lunatic daughter.

“Maam, your new total comes to $2.”

I handed the kid a crisp lobster note.

“Keep the change.”

I was the proud new owner of 142 toasters, a small fortune’s worth I’d say. One went straight to the share house. One sat in my passenger seat on another drive out to Flower Gardens. I knocked at the house four doors down from Kelly’s old place. I thought about staying to chat, but was still a bit mortified by the memory of our little brawl. I put the box on the old coupon master’s doormat and skedaddled. With the rest of the toasters, I had myself a hot little online business. I listed 140 shiny new beauties on a second hand website for a bloody great price and they were flying off the shelves. In her own weird way, my late great aunt Aunt Kelly really had it figured out.