![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Cause and Effect
Jan. 2nd, 2015 03:35 pm"Er."
His face flushed. It was trying enough, he thought, to suffer grave misfortune without having to be defensive about it. Perhaps it was overly optimistic to expect sympathy, but some recognition of personal inconvenience wouldn't have been unreasonable. Possibly pity. Naturally, they had managed to skip past the warmer feelings altogether and had settled uncomfortably near scorn within the first 60 seconds of the conversation.
"Yes, I know it's the busiest day. I just can't; I'm sorry. ...Yes, a hole in the window."
A pause.
"Are you saying I should have made it easier to break in?"
The voice on the other end of the line eventually conceded that leaving a key out so burglars could bypass the window altogether was probably not in his best interests. After agreeing to work the next three Saturdays, he hung up feeling more irritated than he had when he'd first discovered the break-in.
It could have been worse.
That was what his mother had said, and he had agreed; he certainly could have been at home and some drug fiend could have stabbed him seventeen times in his sleep. Like as not, he would have survived and been in constant misery for the rest of his short, crippled life. On a whim, he had stayed with a friend who lived some twenty miles away, which, he expected, was also the number his BAC would have measured when placed behind a decimal point. His mother called it providence. Most other nights she called it sin.
It could also have been better, of course; nothing at all could have happened last night. Or, if someone really had to break in, they might have swept the floor after smashing his window and taking his rent money. He couldn't be bothered and hadn't been bothered to sweep for the last six months, which meant that he hadn't the least idea which spots of dirt might have been left by the burglar. The police hadn't been impressed.
At least they'd made a vague attempt at sympathy.
Ostensibly, he needed the day off to get someone to fix the window; in reality, he was at a loss as to where to find a window fixer. Whether or not 'window fixer' was an actual occupation was also a murky bit of knowledge in his mind.
After a few moments' contemplation, he picked up the phone.
--------
"Kid's out today. Says someone broke into his house."
"He has a house?"
"Apartment. Whatever. Who knows? Kasper's taking his shift."
She managed a few murmurs of sympathy before returning to her magazine. She wasn't particularly fond of the kid - then, she wasn't particularly fond of anyone. Off the clock, she preferred not to acknowledge her job and its various trappings; coworkers were relegated firmly to the zone of the casual acquaintance. She considered that she was required by law only to refrain from physically assaulting them, which she managed with aplomb on most days. No one had ever said anything about friendship.
Still, it was too bad. Less the burglary and more that she was stuck with Kasper, who had a talent for telling stories that no one but Kasper ever found interesting. He had talked for two hours straight once, beginning with a tale about his first day on the job and eventually tapering off with... well, she supposed it had probably been the third day of the job. She remembered very little of the lost time afterwards and wondered if perhaps he was secretly training to be a hypnotist.
Fifteen minutes left for lunch. She swallowed the last bite of her sandwich and briefly considered the possibility of escaping early - but she had already called out sick three days ago on account of a sudden acute attack of Apathy. She heaved a sigh. At the very least, she'd need caffeine to survive an afternoon with Kasper.
"I'm running next door for a coffee. Catch you later."
--------
What an asshole.
He glared silently at the man who had cut in front of him in line. That was about all his tepid personality could really manage; he held an intense fear of confrontation owing to what amounted to cowardice but consoled himself with the thought that he simply preferred to take the high road. The silent epithets that accompanied him onto this road were, of course, all the more justified.
It had been twenty minutes since he'd stepped into line, and he still didn't have his coffee and cake. He would have complained, but the kids who worked in these place were always, he felt, abominably rude. That was the problem these days: nobody had any respect. The clothing and the cursing and the attitude - repulsive to behave that way in public. He muttered general ill wishes upon the establishment and the collective group of all human beings under the age of twenty-five.
It was another seven minutes before he got his cake, largely due to the five minutes he spent abusing the cashier for her poor service. He was sorely late. He would have to eat while walking. Incredible inconvenience.
He was two steps out the door with the coffee to his lips when he walked straight into a girl leaving the shop next door.
The coffee exploded.
Assholes everywhere.
--------
"Oh my god, what happened?"
She gasped as he hobbled in, hopping on one foot. He offered a bashful sort of smile.
"It's so dumb. ...You'll laugh."
"I would never."
Sometimes she did.
"...Some dick left a puddle of coffee all over the sidewalk. I twisted my ankle; it's not really a big deal."
The injured limb in question was bright purple. She arched an eyebrow, to which he responded with a shrug.
"Look, it's fine."
"It'll be more fine at the hospital. You can't just leave that. Come on - we're going."
She was occasionally inclined to think that she was betrothed to an idiot. A cute idiot, to be fair; it helped her forgive a lot.
"What about your thing?"
"It's Saturday. I don't have a thing."
Strictly speaking, this statement wasn't true. It was, in fact, almost never true, given that she had 'things' lined up for every waking hour of every day. As a matter of course, alternate Saturday afternoons were spent on private swimming lessons. He didn't know about them, of course, but their wedding was happening in Hawaii in four months, and she was determined to scuba dive amongst the reefs and look for Nemo. Apart from the whole marriage bit, it was the only reason to go to Hawaii at all.
"Up!"
She grabbed his arm and pulled; he collapsed to the ground in a heap.
--------
"Leaving so soon?"
"Yeah. Three o'clock canceled, and I've got nothing else the rest of the day. I'm gonna do some late Christmas shopping."
A medical emergency, she had explained over the phone, and though he didn't usually allow last minute cancellations, he had generously agreed to reschedule for the next day. Holiday spirit, he had called it. 'Because you're hot' probably wouldn't have gone over so well.
It was too bad she was getting married. He had enough shame to refrain from seducing anyone on the eve of their wedding, but not enough that he didn't allow himself to exercise a healthy admiration from afar. ...Occasionally up close.
She always flirted back, anyway.
He showered and changed and made it to the mall in a half hour. It was three days before Christmas, and he hadn't yet bought a single present. In his college years, he had been in the habit of buying gift cards; this was, for some reason, no longer socially acceptable in his mid-twenties. He couldn't say why. From his point of view, gift cards and wads of cash were much preferred to ties and scarves and sweaters; he had already managed to accumulate eight ties over the course of his adult life, none of which he ever wore.
He sometimes wondered if his family realized that swimming usually entailed being 95% naked.
He preferred that, anyway. It showed off his better side.
The mall teemed with throngs of people; he pushed through without much issue, mildly pleased to see that he had not procrastinated alone. He mentally tallied the loved ones in his life who deserved a present. Family. Roommates. ...Probably coworkers. Two or three girls he had a shot at inviting over for New Year's. His other friends, he considered, would be satisfied with a case of beer and a declaration of eternal masculine love eased by said beer.
He ran into a cardboard cutout before he could get much further.
Amazing deals, it read. The numbers $399 and $349 were struck out with a flourish, with $319 printed in extra large blue font below. It was the new game system - a holiday deal, complete with two games and two controllers. He recalled he had vaguely considered picking one up for the past few months.
Through the window of the store, he could see a small crowd composed primarily of young males aged 18-30 enveloping the few offerings left on the shelves.
He paused for a moment before shrugging and walking in. It wasn't as if he didn't have the money. Besides, he had gotten off work early today - that almost never happened. If that wasn't a divine sign for him to splurge, he didn't know what was.
-------
One hundred. Two hundred. Two fifty. Two seventy. Two ninety. Three ten. Three thirty. Three fifty.
Three hundred and fifty dollars in cash.
He had counted it and recounted it and counted it again. He hadn't slept all night. He had considered skipping school, but arousing suspicion was the last thing he wanted to do.
It wasn't his fault his football had gone straight through that crappy glass window.
His hands trembled slightly as he hurried down the path. He had been sure he would be caught - he had frozen in place for what felt like hours. But no neighbors had screamed, no police had come, and there was nothing at all, he had realized, stopping him from retrieving the ball and running.
So he had done that.
It wasn't his fault some fool had left an enormous amount of cash sitting on a table.
He couldn't remember if he had seen the money first. He didn't think he had. It was an accident. He just wanted to test his reflexes. Wallball. Wallball with a football. Maybe he should have paid more attention - maybe he shouldn't have gotten so close to the glass. How was he supposed to know it was so fragile?
And then some damn fool had just left three hundred and fifty dollars sitting there where anyone could see.
He wanted it - he needed it - he desperately had to have it. They didn't have any money, but they should have had the money. He would have had it. But his brother had busted his arm fooling around two weeks ago and that was that.
No Christmas presents.
He hadn't taken it. Not at first. He had turned around - gone back to the window. But it was right there and if God didn't want him to have the money, the window wouldn't have broken and some dumbass wouldn't have left three hundred and fifty dollars out.
It was for him.
It was for him to buy what he had wanted for six long months.
He had taken the bus straight to the mall after school and sprinted through the parking lot. Halfway through, he had stopped, looked around to see if anyone had seen him running like a crazy kid, and casually sauntered the rest of the way.
Three hundred and nineteen. That was all he needed. Maybe he'd even put the rest of the money back when he was done.
He wasn't a bad kid.
It wasn't a burglary. He hadn't meant to break in. It was an accident... and the rest had been so easy.
When he was grown and made money of his own, he would pay it back.
Through the revolving doors now, and he quickened his pace. Lots of people were walking briskly through the mall. They had places to be, things to buy. He did, too. The store in question wasn't far from the entrance; he could already see the big cardboard sign from here. He had passed it so many times in the last two weeks, and it had rekindled his burning desire every single time.
Everyone else in school had one... It was only fair.
Closer now.
He knew what the sign said. The sales price had dropped each week; it had become more and more affordable - for people who had money, anyway. But he had money now. He had the most money he'd ever had in his life, and Christmas was only three days away.
And there it was. The sign. This was it. Finally, finally... He imagined himself going home. Switching it on. Playing for hours until his mom came home from the late shift. When she asked, he would say he had entered an online raffle hosted by a gaming blog.
He had, of course. ...Not that he had won.
He turned towards the door.
"Oh. ...'Scuse me, kid."
An employee in a black cap squeezed out the door with a thick marker. Through the door, he could see one of the packages being handed to a man in his mid-twenties.
His face turned white as the employee stooped over and scribbled over the sign.
Sold Out.
[Inspired by someone breaking into my house on Christmas.]
His face flushed. It was trying enough, he thought, to suffer grave misfortune without having to be defensive about it. Perhaps it was overly optimistic to expect sympathy, but some recognition of personal inconvenience wouldn't have been unreasonable. Possibly pity. Naturally, they had managed to skip past the warmer feelings altogether and had settled uncomfortably near scorn within the first 60 seconds of the conversation.
"Yes, I know it's the busiest day. I just can't; I'm sorry. ...Yes, a hole in the window."
A pause.
"Are you saying I should have made it easier to break in?"
The voice on the other end of the line eventually conceded that leaving a key out so burglars could bypass the window altogether was probably not in his best interests. After agreeing to work the next three Saturdays, he hung up feeling more irritated than he had when he'd first discovered the break-in.
It could have been worse.
That was what his mother had said, and he had agreed; he certainly could have been at home and some drug fiend could have stabbed him seventeen times in his sleep. Like as not, he would have survived and been in constant misery for the rest of his short, crippled life. On a whim, he had stayed with a friend who lived some twenty miles away, which, he expected, was also the number his BAC would have measured when placed behind a decimal point. His mother called it providence. Most other nights she called it sin.
It could also have been better, of course; nothing at all could have happened last night. Or, if someone really had to break in, they might have swept the floor after smashing his window and taking his rent money. He couldn't be bothered and hadn't been bothered to sweep for the last six months, which meant that he hadn't the least idea which spots of dirt might have been left by the burglar. The police hadn't been impressed.
At least they'd made a vague attempt at sympathy.
Ostensibly, he needed the day off to get someone to fix the window; in reality, he was at a loss as to where to find a window fixer. Whether or not 'window fixer' was an actual occupation was also a murky bit of knowledge in his mind.
After a few moments' contemplation, he picked up the phone.
"Kid's out today. Says someone broke into his house."
"He has a house?"
"Apartment. Whatever. Who knows? Kasper's taking his shift."
She managed a few murmurs of sympathy before returning to her magazine. She wasn't particularly fond of the kid - then, she wasn't particularly fond of anyone. Off the clock, she preferred not to acknowledge her job and its various trappings; coworkers were relegated firmly to the zone of the casual acquaintance. She considered that she was required by law only to refrain from physically assaulting them, which she managed with aplomb on most days. No one had ever said anything about friendship.
Still, it was too bad. Less the burglary and more that she was stuck with Kasper, who had a talent for telling stories that no one but Kasper ever found interesting. He had talked for two hours straight once, beginning with a tale about his first day on the job and eventually tapering off with... well, she supposed it had probably been the third day of the job. She remembered very little of the lost time afterwards and wondered if perhaps he was secretly training to be a hypnotist.
Fifteen minutes left for lunch. She swallowed the last bite of her sandwich and briefly considered the possibility of escaping early - but she had already called out sick three days ago on account of a sudden acute attack of Apathy. She heaved a sigh. At the very least, she'd need caffeine to survive an afternoon with Kasper.
"I'm running next door for a coffee. Catch you later."
What an asshole.
He glared silently at the man who had cut in front of him in line. That was about all his tepid personality could really manage; he held an intense fear of confrontation owing to what amounted to cowardice but consoled himself with the thought that he simply preferred to take the high road. The silent epithets that accompanied him onto this road were, of course, all the more justified.
It had been twenty minutes since he'd stepped into line, and he still didn't have his coffee and cake. He would have complained, but the kids who worked in these place were always, he felt, abominably rude. That was the problem these days: nobody had any respect. The clothing and the cursing and the attitude - repulsive to behave that way in public. He muttered general ill wishes upon the establishment and the collective group of all human beings under the age of twenty-five.
It was another seven minutes before he got his cake, largely due to the five minutes he spent abusing the cashier for her poor service. He was sorely late. He would have to eat while walking. Incredible inconvenience.
He was two steps out the door with the coffee to his lips when he walked straight into a girl leaving the shop next door.
The coffee exploded.
Assholes everywhere.
"Oh my god, what happened?"
She gasped as he hobbled in, hopping on one foot. He offered a bashful sort of smile.
"It's so dumb. ...You'll laugh."
"I would never."
Sometimes she did.
"...Some dick left a puddle of coffee all over the sidewalk. I twisted my ankle; it's not really a big deal."
The injured limb in question was bright purple. She arched an eyebrow, to which he responded with a shrug.
"Look, it's fine."
"It'll be more fine at the hospital. You can't just leave that. Come on - we're going."
She was occasionally inclined to think that she was betrothed to an idiot. A cute idiot, to be fair; it helped her forgive a lot.
"What about your thing?"
"It's Saturday. I don't have a thing."
Strictly speaking, this statement wasn't true. It was, in fact, almost never true, given that she had 'things' lined up for every waking hour of every day. As a matter of course, alternate Saturday afternoons were spent on private swimming lessons. He didn't know about them, of course, but their wedding was happening in Hawaii in four months, and she was determined to scuba dive amongst the reefs and look for Nemo. Apart from the whole marriage bit, it was the only reason to go to Hawaii at all.
"Up!"
She grabbed his arm and pulled; he collapsed to the ground in a heap.
"Leaving so soon?"
"Yeah. Three o'clock canceled, and I've got nothing else the rest of the day. I'm gonna do some late Christmas shopping."
A medical emergency, she had explained over the phone, and though he didn't usually allow last minute cancellations, he had generously agreed to reschedule for the next day. Holiday spirit, he had called it. 'Because you're hot' probably wouldn't have gone over so well.
It was too bad she was getting married. He had enough shame to refrain from seducing anyone on the eve of their wedding, but not enough that he didn't allow himself to exercise a healthy admiration from afar. ...Occasionally up close.
She always flirted back, anyway.
He showered and changed and made it to the mall in a half hour. It was three days before Christmas, and he hadn't yet bought a single present. In his college years, he had been in the habit of buying gift cards; this was, for some reason, no longer socially acceptable in his mid-twenties. He couldn't say why. From his point of view, gift cards and wads of cash were much preferred to ties and scarves and sweaters; he had already managed to accumulate eight ties over the course of his adult life, none of which he ever wore.
He sometimes wondered if his family realized that swimming usually entailed being 95% naked.
He preferred that, anyway. It showed off his better side.
The mall teemed with throngs of people; he pushed through without much issue, mildly pleased to see that he had not procrastinated alone. He mentally tallied the loved ones in his life who deserved a present. Family. Roommates. ...Probably coworkers. Two or three girls he had a shot at inviting over for New Year's. His other friends, he considered, would be satisfied with a case of beer and a declaration of eternal masculine love eased by said beer.
He ran into a cardboard cutout before he could get much further.
Amazing deals, it read. The numbers $399 and $349 were struck out with a flourish, with $319 printed in extra large blue font below. It was the new game system - a holiday deal, complete with two games and two controllers. He recalled he had vaguely considered picking one up for the past few months.
Through the window of the store, he could see a small crowd composed primarily of young males aged 18-30 enveloping the few offerings left on the shelves.
He paused for a moment before shrugging and walking in. It wasn't as if he didn't have the money. Besides, he had gotten off work early today - that almost never happened. If that wasn't a divine sign for him to splurge, he didn't know what was.
One hundred. Two hundred. Two fifty. Two seventy. Two ninety. Three ten. Three thirty. Three fifty.
Three hundred and fifty dollars in cash.
He had counted it and recounted it and counted it again. He hadn't slept all night. He had considered skipping school, but arousing suspicion was the last thing he wanted to do.
It wasn't his fault his football had gone straight through that crappy glass window.
His hands trembled slightly as he hurried down the path. He had been sure he would be caught - he had frozen in place for what felt like hours. But no neighbors had screamed, no police had come, and there was nothing at all, he had realized, stopping him from retrieving the ball and running.
So he had done that.
It wasn't his fault some fool had left an enormous amount of cash sitting on a table.
He couldn't remember if he had seen the money first. He didn't think he had. It was an accident. He just wanted to test his reflexes. Wallball. Wallball with a football. Maybe he should have paid more attention - maybe he shouldn't have gotten so close to the glass. How was he supposed to know it was so fragile?
And then some damn fool had just left three hundred and fifty dollars sitting there where anyone could see.
He wanted it - he needed it - he desperately had to have it. They didn't have any money, but they should have had the money. He would have had it. But his brother had busted his arm fooling around two weeks ago and that was that.
No Christmas presents.
He hadn't taken it. Not at first. He had turned around - gone back to the window. But it was right there and if God didn't want him to have the money, the window wouldn't have broken and some dumbass wouldn't have left three hundred and fifty dollars out.
It was for him.
It was for him to buy what he had wanted for six long months.
He had taken the bus straight to the mall after school and sprinted through the parking lot. Halfway through, he had stopped, looked around to see if anyone had seen him running like a crazy kid, and casually sauntered the rest of the way.
Three hundred and nineteen. That was all he needed. Maybe he'd even put the rest of the money back when he was done.
He wasn't a bad kid.
It wasn't a burglary. He hadn't meant to break in. It was an accident... and the rest had been so easy.
When he was grown and made money of his own, he would pay it back.
Through the revolving doors now, and he quickened his pace. Lots of people were walking briskly through the mall. They had places to be, things to buy. He did, too. The store in question wasn't far from the entrance; he could already see the big cardboard sign from here. He had passed it so many times in the last two weeks, and it had rekindled his burning desire every single time.
Everyone else in school had one... It was only fair.
Closer now.
He knew what the sign said. The sales price had dropped each week; it had become more and more affordable - for people who had money, anyway. But he had money now. He had the most money he'd ever had in his life, and Christmas was only three days away.
And there it was. The sign. This was it. Finally, finally... He imagined himself going home. Switching it on. Playing for hours until his mom came home from the late shift. When she asked, he would say he had entered an online raffle hosted by a gaming blog.
He had, of course. ...Not that he had won.
He turned towards the door.
"Oh. ...'Scuse me, kid."
An employee in a black cap squeezed out the door with a thick marker. Through the door, he could see one of the packages being handed to a man in his mid-twenties.
His face turned white as the employee stooped over and scribbled over the sign.
Sold Out.
[Inspired by someone breaking into my house on Christmas.]
