Saturday Story: Next Customer Please

With a kind of resolution that was unusual for her on a Saturday night, Louisa decided to visit the local hardware store the next day to replace her desk lamp’s bulb. She refused to spend another week squinting at her paperwork: the crime of the decade was on trial and she couldn’t afford another mishap.

She rather enjoyed her job as a paralegal. It exposed her to the dirty secrets of the district and gave her insight into criminal minds. And there was no such thing as a textbook investigation: what, with Google at people’s disposal, they were coming up with all sorts of unusual ways to try to keep the authorities guessing. Her job was like looking at a 5000 piece jigsaw and trying to make sense of it without knowing what the picture was. She heeded her Gran’s advice to always start at the corners, but the case she’d started nicknaming The Birdwatcher was proving somewhat trickier than expected. Not only was the client wildly handsome, he was also a recluse. The intern she’d sent to interview him had come back empty-handed. She would need to speak to her boss on Monday. But this was Saturday night and she had a desk lamp on her mind.

Ordinarily she would ask Jon, the foreman, to sort it out for her. But, since he was away on extended paternity leave following the sudden death of his wife, it didn’t feel right to trouble him about something as paltry as a light bulb. No. Tomorrow she’d go to the hardware store – the site of all things male, chauvinistic and grimy – and ask them to show her their filaments. Or whatever they called them now. She set her alarm and went to sleep, feeling a sense of purpose about the next day.

There was something nostalgic about the smell of a hardware store. It reminded her of her grandfather’s shed. Not because she’d found the lifeless body of her Labrador there when she was three, but because it took her back to afternoons of whittling sticks while he varnished his newest creation. Grandpa was an amateur carpenter, and his speciality was breadboards. On occasion he would delve into larger projects like bookshelves and spice racks. Her parents, citing excuses along the lines of being busy, dumped her with the extended family every school holiday. The scents of glue and wood stain permeated her childhood memories and she gave a shudder as she crossed the threshold into the hardware store in search of a bulb.

“I told you, that brand does not work. I’ve been to three – three, do you hear me? – different shops and the sales people have been nothing short of unhelpful. Will you be the one to break the trend?”

“I’ll see what I can do, sir. What size bulb did you say you wanted?”

Louisa could not help but stop and stare. The man who was slowly turning puce in the face of ineptitude was holding... No. He was holding what looked like her desk lamp. And when he wasn’t responding to fecklessness, he was rather easy on the eye. She looked at the dead bulb in her hand.

“I believe I can be of assistance.”

The shouting man spotted her. “Yes, that’s it. That’s the bulb I want. I shattered mine, you see? So I thought if I brought the lamp...”

The salesman stared. “If you brought the lamp what?”

Louisa steeled herself. “Look, I have the bulb he wants. Well, I want a replacement of this bulb too, that is. Do you have any in stock?”

“Eh. Do you have the barcode?”

“Does she look like she has the barcode?”

“Maybe it would help if you took us to the shelf where you keep your light bulbs?”

“Eh. Yes. Aisle four. On the left. Or the right. It’s, eh, aisle four.”

“Right. Lead the way.” Louisa stood back for him. He walked as though being taken to the gallows.

“How fortuitous that you should arrive when you did. My name is Sam, by the way.”

She nodded. “Louisa. Can’t say I know many people who own that lamp.” She smiled.

“You must be one of the few who do. It’s the best lamp for reading.” He tapped his nose. “I did my research.”

“Do you spend a lot of time reading, then?”

“Yes. I do literature reviews for The Chronicle.”

“Oh, I’ve read you. Sam Wordsworth? I am a fan.”

“Thank you. What about you? I would guess you’re a teacher.”

“Really? No. Why did you think that?”

“Just the way you took charge and spoke to the salesman. Who, it seems, has disappeared... What a dolt!”

“Never mind. That’s aisle four.” Louisa brandished her bulb. “I’m sure we can find it.”

“So what is it then?”

“What’s what?”

“Your job. If you’re not a teacher.”

“Oh, that. I am a paralegal.” Her eyes scanned the shelves for a visual match to her broken bulb.

Sam whistled. “Impressive. Is it as glamorous as I imagine.”

“Not even slightly. There! Can you reach that shelf?”

“Ah, brilliant. Well done, Lou.”

“It’s Louisa. We need to check that it fits your lamp.”

“What? You mean open the package. Not me.”

She sighed. “You there. Excuse me? We need some assistance.” A man in a branded T-shirt ducked behind a pile of hoses. “Confounded man!”

“Should we take our chances and go?”

“Not even slightly. Here. Hold up your lamp.”

“Why? What are you doing? Hey! You can’t do that. It’s illegal.”

“Only if I conceal it or walk out without paying. We need to find a plug.”

“Try the small appliance aisle? They usually have fans that work. Or clock radios for people to test.”

“Let’s go.”

“Sorry, miss. Did you find the bulb?”

“Yes. Where did you run off to?” Sam’s eyes narrowed.

“Call of nature.”

“Whatever. We need a plug.”

“Wait. There’s one here.”

“So you can be useful?”

“Don’t antagonise him, Sam.” She took the lamp from him and handed it to the salesman. The click of the plug switch yielded no light.

“Try the lamp switch near the base of the bulb.”

“Ah, bingo!” Sam was all smiles. “Louisa, you are brilliant. Just brilliant.”

“Thanks. Um, Markus?” The salesman nodded in response to the name on his badge. “Good. Fetch me another bulb like this and meet us at the cash register. Can you do that?” She gave him her warmest smile, coupled with a hand on his shoulder.

“Yes.” He stammered. “At the cash register.”

“Quickly?” She watched him blush and then scamper off.

Sam was the first to break the silence while they stood in line to pay. “You really have a way with people, Louisa. Where did you learn that?”

“Oh, it’s just something you pick up when you work with expert liars. And don’t get me started on the clients.”

Sam laughed. “Well, thanks to you, I’m delighted.”

She had the grace to chuckle. “You’re welcome.”

“Say, could I buy you some coffee to show my appreciation?”

“Next customer please.” The computerised voice made Louisa start. “All right. Add two rashers of bacon, scrambled eggs and toast, and it’s a deal.” She held out her hand, which he took.

“Deal.”