Request: . ?thread=23165075#t23165075
Pairings:none
Warnings: nonsexual use of edible undies?
It had been an interesting summer, working at the Nifty Thrifty store. I spent much of my time there drinking too much beer, smoking too much weed, and eating too many bagels, things I honestly never expected to say that I had done while working for a church-run organization. Nobody really came to the store, so there was often little to do except stare at the specks of dust glinting in the back room's windows.
That is, unless the "model UN" came to visit. They always gave us employees a lot to do, and, as importantly, they gave us a lot to talk about after they left. It was obvious that they were lying about being in a university's model UN club, but who were they really, and how did all their stuff wind up in this little thrift store? On even-slower-than-usual days, the conversation would inevitably shift to them. Were they rogue archeologists who kept some of their loot? Or were they were corrupt curators stealing from museums' collections? Were they simply skilled thieves? Maybe they were secret agents? Yeah, I was kinda high when I suggested that.
This group would nearly always arrive late on Saturday evenings, and slip the supervisor some cash to let them stay past closing time and retrieve their misplaced possessions.
Despite the fistfights and mysterious stains on the carpet that seemed to follow these people, I liked them. We had a system: I didn't ask them why they had things that looked like they belonged on display at the Met as long as they didn't complain about my coworkers' and my… less than lucid moments. It was great.
We would all have a grand old time, looking for their belongings scattered among the Hummel figurines and plastic covered couches. They retrieved the usual thrift store donations: clothing, books, knick-knacks, et cetera. Many of their possessions, however, were more obscure. Seriously, who keeps a loom and spinning wheel at their house nowadays? Also, who in their right mind donates a pair of piña-colada and rum flavored panties?
When nobody required my help, I was content to stand back and watch. There was something about this group that I just couldn't put my finger on… it was difficult to say what made them fascinating. Maybe it was how they acted like they had known each other forever, bickering like siblings that were more diverse than the crowds at MacArthur Airport and Penn Station combined. Or it was the interesting stories they would share if given enough liquor. They also had some of the funniest and most bizarre arguments I've ever heard. Where were condoms invented? What is "Greek fire" and who was responsible for losing its recipe? Who the hell donated that pair of piña colada and rum flavored panties?
Maybe this was the booze talking, or something, but whenever I was around this weird crowd of people, in the back of my mind I could almost see the New York City my grandparents lived through and told me stories about when I visited them. I could almost hear the kids playing stickball outside, smell the pomade and heavy perfume, taste the smog, mental picture accompanied by the music on Hey Arnold whenever Arnold's grandpa would tell Arnold a story about his youth, for some reason.
Eventually, the summer drew to a close and the group had come back one last time to make sure they took back all their possessions. All that was left was that pair of edible underwear. Everybody had denied donating them, which was weird because they had admitted to owning much kinkier items without a trace of embarrassment.
The shop was nearly deserted when a small boy in a sailor suit wandered over to the table on which the panties were placed. I saw him look in both directions before picking them up and heading for the cash register.
"How much do these cost?" he asked.
"It's on the house. None of the people you're with had to pay to get any of their stuff back," I said.
"Thanks!" he said, with endearing enthusiasm. The boy quickly stashed the underpants in his shorts pocket.
He was nearly out the door when, for the first time this summer, my curiosity got the better of me.
"Hey kid," I asked "why do you need a pair of edible panties, anyway?"
He looked at me like I had asked the stupidest question in the world.
"Do you know how much money the military has to spend on food and clothes? Issuing soldiers edible clothes like this pair of underwear will save armies a lot of money, so they can spend it on more important stuff, like tanks!"
"It's ideas like this that will help me build a great empire!" he said with a grin, tipping his hat to me before sprinting out the door.
A/N: In case anyone was wondering, I don't know how the contents of the nations' storage wound up in a tiny NYC thrift store. Maybe their bosses ordered it done in some misguided attempt at increasing international cooperation. This was my first ever fanfiction, so the writing's even rougher than usual. I edited a little, but nothing's really changed.