3. Home alone
Home alone about a year ago, no big deal. I’m often home alone for a night or two every other week or so. But as I was turning lights off and getting ready to go to bed I hear this ticking. Exactly like my keyboard typing, and it’s coming right from the computer room. Instinctively I grab a cricket bat and slowly check out the computer room. Nothing. Then make sure windows are closed and doors and head back upstairs.
TV turns on downstairs. I’m thinking “fuck this” right now. Grab the bat, and slowly downstairs. TV turned on because the remote fell and must have pressed on. As I turn it off the fucking keyboard goes again. Check the room and like before, nothing in there. Go upstairs, then the TV. Again. Turned it off, ran upstairs and needless to say but I “slept” (I barely slept) with the lights on and a cricket bat by my bed that night.
This was back in 2006 when I worked at a pretzel store that rhymes with Canty Cans in the local mall. This is during the dead afternoon days of the summer, usually there would just be one person. At this time, I am that one person.
The day was going by pretty slowly, and with no windows, time would often stand still. Cameras made it hard for us to text people and slack off.
Regardless, at some unknown time, a family of three: mother, daughter, and young son stop some distance from the counter and stare at me and the pretzels. I would not have thought it to be odd except for how they were dressed. They looked like they came straight out of the 1950s.
The son was much younger and was in 1950s style clothing as well. I’m thinking how weird this could possibly be, but then realized that right upstairs there was a professional photography place, so they were probably dressed up for some old-timey photos. It was not until the little boy came up to the counter and asked for a pretzel.
I told him the price, $2.66, and he handed me a one dollar bill. I motion to the mother that the pretzel cost $2.66 and he was $1.66 short. she looked at me like I told her the pretzel cost $10. I mean I understand that $2.66 was high for a pretzel, but she looked at me as if I wanted her to fork over her life savings.
The little boy, not talking, hands me the dollar. I take a hard stare at it and realize it’s a Silver Certificate, series 1957. And this dollar bill did not look like it was almost half a century old. It had normal wear and tear like a series 2003 bill had the time. It wasn’t crisp, but it was still very much usable and a bank would probably use it for further transactions.
At this point I realized that nobody else really crossed their paths the entire time, and the entertainment/music store next door was pretty dead, even for a midsummer afternoon, while pedestrian traffic just seemed to be nonexistent.
I hand the dollar back to the young boy, and he walks away with his mother and sister. About 10 seconds later, pedestrian traffic walked through the area of the store.
I had two women tell me they were pregnant on the same day.
Longest six weeks of my life.
Only one was lying.