Mildred
Ever since my poor husband died three years ago (well, died in my eyes. In truth he ran off with a fifty eight year old who worked behind the till in Morrison's, but I try to remember him well) I had been volunteering at the local British Heart foundation charity shop. I had decided that, after all these years of taking whatever I could get, be it money, or just a quick smooch behind the flower pot shed with the old geezer who rented out the allotments, I would give something back.
Now, working in a charity shop, people donated all kinds of odd things. For example, a couple of weeks back, in a donation bag I came across a pack of cards with fifty four cards... not including jokers! (or the weird and pointless card that always comes at the end and that is never used or read by anyone who has a life worth living). Not to mention that remarkable time when a young man and his grandfather brought in a glow in the dark battery powered remote controlled centipede, with only one leg.
I tell you, it would be less insane in a mental institution.
I was happily sitting behind the counter one Friday morning, organising a box of buttons into simple and ornate, when a dark haired boy appeared in the shop. He entered in the most peculiar fashion I can tell you! His soot coloured hair was all sticking up, and he seemed to be followed in by a great cloud of smoke. I tutted disapprovingly to myself; there was no excuse for smoking, especially for one so young (despite the fact that I had just been out for my smoking break fifty five minutes ago, and was planning another one shortly). The boy quickly closed the door and headed to the back of the shop, where he immediately began flicking through the clothes on a nearby rail.
He looked like he'd either gone for a fifty mile run or just got out of bed. Knowing what my teenage grandsons were like in the morning, I suspected it was the latter. After an inspection of his clothes, it was clear that he was considerably overdressed for such lovely sunny weather. Here I was in a flowing skirt and sandals, and he was dressed from head to toe in black, coupled with a thick leather jacket!
After a few minutes of me watching him out of the corner of my eye, he seemed to find a garment he liked and quick as a flash was at the till in front of me.
'Good morning,' he said, looking rather impatient. 'Can I have this please?' I was lost for words, and so just nodded, taking his item of choice and entering the price in the cash register. The item itself was a long black coat with a deep hood, which at an extra large looked much too big for him.
'Bag?' I asked, and he shook his head, shooting a nervous glance at the sun lit counter top.
I folded the coat and handed it to him in exchange for the £4.99 he owed me. He nodded in acknowledgement and I handed him a badge which read 'I Helped to Keep the Blood Flowing Through My Local British Hearts'.
He nodded again in a thank you, then grabbed the coat, and just before he reached the door threw the coat over his head like a shield, flung open the door and before I could blink he had gone.
'Very odd' I muttered to myself. When I thought about it though, stranger things had happened in this shop. When you've seen your boss throw up his KFC all over a shop window, and then into a box of hand knitted hats for the homeless, you've seen it all.