Revised 12/30/2019...
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The Customer Is (Not) Always Right
Chapter 2: Petty Vengeance
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"Y'know, I think that Gondo's on to something over there. I oughta whip up a brew that can repair shields!"
I just stare at Manhands with a blank look on my face as she tells me about her idea for her new potion. I am astounded. I can't believe she still has the nerve to speak to me after what she did, as if she's completely unaware of the precious rupees she just cost me. Does she even care? No. Does anyone ever display the slightest sensitivity over the hardships of a fellow shopkeeper? No. The answer is a resounding no.
How can someone be so tactless? Or maybe she's just plain stupid. Yes, that must be it.
When I can't stand to listen to her drivel anymore, I take an early lunch break and head over to the Bazaar's restaurant. I buy a cup of pumpkin soup and retreat into my storage room to get some paperwork done. I have to finish putting together the orders for the new iron shields so I can submit them by the end of today.
About ten minutes into my break, I get the feeling someone is watching me. I peer over my shoulder to see a pair of customers awkwardly staring at me through the doorway. How annoying. Why can't people come to my shop when I'm actually working?! I even put out a sign that reads: On Break – Be Back In 30 Minutes. It's right next to the big NO REFUNDS sign no one ever seems to notice.
An irritated noise rumbles in the back of my throat. Reluctantly, I get up from my desk and move out into the shop, leaving my half-finished cup of soup behind. I put on a smiley face and greet the two customers — a thickset man with beady eyes and a young woman with two long brown braids trailing down her back. I recognize them as the brother-sister pair who are regarded as the town's "loftwing experts." Anyone whose loftwing has gotten sick at least once has had to interact with them at some point. So everyone.
Since these two clearly don't know how to read, I point to my sign and kindly inform them about my policy on refunds after they purchase their satchel of deku seeds. I always make a point to do this whenever someone buys something from me. But time and time again, people still ask.
From then on, the rest of the day proceeds as usual. Manhands continues to talk my ear off. I sucker a few people into buying some bombs. Instructor Owlan from the Knight Academy buys a wooden shield to give away as a prize at the graduation ceremony coming up the day after tomorrow, but that's the biggest sale I make. Each hour seems to tick by at a slower rate than the last, my energy diminishing along with them. Eventually, it nears that time of day when people begin to empty out of the Bazaar, and I become nothing but a mindless robot, repeating the same four words over and over and over again.
"Have a good night!" I chirp to a group of departing shoppers. I keep up the most pleasant smile I can muster despite my exhaustion, in the vain hopes that one of them will remember my friendly face and decide to shop here tomorrow. Some of them stare straight ahead without saying a word. Others look at me like I'm a stain on the floor.
The girl with the braids who bought the deku seeds from me earlier is approaching. "Have a good night!" I yell to her. She spares me a glance and mutters a halfhearted "thanks."
"Have a good night!" I say to an older gentleman, who gives me the stink eye in return. I disregard his rudeness and prepare to farewell the next person.
"Good night!" I tell the departing Item Check girl. She ignores me.
"Have a good night!" I say to another passing Bazaar-goer.
He stops and looks at me. His eyes are lifeless with stupidity. After a long, awkward moment of staring at each other, he turns and continues on his way out. Really? He can't even open his mouth and offer a simple "thank you?" Not even a nod?! I'm the one who's been standing here all day! Do these people have any idea how much energy it takes to remain this bright and chipper so close to the end of my shift?
"I really don't care if you have a good night," I whisper after the man once he is out of earshot. I turn to see off the next group, a trio of Knight Academy students. I don't know them by name, but they're regulars around here. That ginger oaf with the ridiculous pompadour, that smarmy little midget, and that revolting, mouth-breathing, used cue tip of a human being.
"Have a good night!" I call to them cheerfully.
The trio completely ignores me as they walk by, sniggering over some joke that surely only a five-year-old would find amusing. "Good night!" I say again, but they are already gone...
I want it back. I want the time and energy I wasted telling these people to have a good night back.
I inhale, then exhale, rubbing my tired eyes. Clearly, no one is going to buy anything else today, so I begin packing up my displays. As I'm transporting the last of my gear back into the storeroom, I notice Bertie hobbling toward my shop, his hideously misshapen baby still clinging to his back. He is so severely bent at the waist that I fear his spine could snap at any moment.
"Rupin," he breathes out when he reaches the counter, sounding as if he just ran a mile. "Can I borrow your broom?"
"Of course, my friend!" I respond right away. I grab the broom leaning against my back wall and hand it over to him.
"Thanks," he mutters weakly.
I give him a friendly nod. "My pleasure." Really. It's a wonder they're even bothering to clean up that pigpen they call a potion shop. Speaking of which—I turn a wary eye across the walkway, but it seems Manhands is nowhere to be found.
"Where's Ma—" I catch myself. "Where did your wife go?"
"Oh, the missus..." Bertie sighs, scratching at his sandy hair. "She went home already. She gets tired from running the business all day. I have to let her get some rest sometime, right? Ha ha..." he gives a little chuckle, an anemic smile on his lips. For just a moment, I see through a narrow window into this man's life. Just what does he put up with day by day?
Without warning, the baby on his back lets out an ear-piercing wail, startling us both.
"Shh! Don't cry, don't cry!" Bertie hushes her gently, taking the baby's rattle out of his pocket. The little demon spawn snatches it from him and settles down. Bertie heaves another tired sigh and turns back to me, his features sagging. "Well, I better get back to cleaning up. Thanks again, Rupin."
And with that, he turns and limps back across the hallway. I am never getting married.
It's almost closing time, so I take my hard-earned money into the storeroom to tally up today's earnings. This is my favorite part of the day. The quiet, peace-filled end of the work day when I get to basque in the fruits of my labor. I empty my apron of rupees out on the table and separate them by color. Green, blue, red, violet, silver and gold: a satisfying rainbow of glittering gems. After subtracting my initial one hundred I use to make change, I carefully count the number of rupees in each pile and multiply them by their color values to calculate the final profit.
"Drat!" I exclaim, pounding my fist on the table. Only 170 rupees! That's the worst daily profit in weeks! I suppose I have that ape woman to thank for scaring away so many of my potential customers. Fuming with frustration, I lock my rupees away in my vault and slam it shut. Time to go home.
Dragging my feet, I walk back out to the shop and see that Bertie has left for the day and my broom has been returned to me. But that's not the only thing that's there.
That rattle. That rattle is sitting on my counter, smothered in drool and snot and crawling with an invisible colony of germs! My face screws up in disgust. What is it doing here? Does Bertie hate me or something? Did he just not notice?!
"Ugh!" I gag. Well, it's not like I'm just going to let it sit there all night. The germs will start reproducing overnight and the whole shop will have to be quarantined.
Cringing, I hesitantly pick up the handle of the rattle between my thumb and forefinger and sprint outside. I round around back to the dumpster, holding the filthy thing as far from my face as possible, and fling it into the nearest trashcan. As I'm catching my breath, a small smile—a real one—curls my lips. Serves them right.
As I start to walk back inside the Bazaar, the pettiness of this entire situation dawns on me. Well, whatever. If Bertie's going to carelessly leave garbage on my desk, I'm going to put it where it belongs. In the garbage.
After wiping down my counter three times over and washing my hands four times, I head back through the Bazaar in the original direction from whence I came in that morning, making sure to nod to the Village Idiot on my way out. When I step outside, that usual sense of relief washes over me, that sense of knowing I can safely drop the last of my cheery defenses. I look up at the sky. The sun has completely set, but the dark blue clouds beyond the light tower are still tinged orange around the edges.
I stroll down the hill and cross over the bridge to get to my residence on the southeastern part of the island. I know I'm almost home when I see the graveyard up ahead. My backyard.
A long time ago, it was the most popular hangout in Skyloft. Every kid, and I mean every kid, wanted to play with me in my spacious backyard. Then one day, I came home from school and found a bunch of people burying dead bodies in it. It turned out my mother sold our property so she'd have more money to squander on commodities. And my friends only liked me for my yard.
I sigh. It seems like such a trivial thing now, but back when I wasn't old enough to fly anywhere else on my own, it was a huge deal. And it's not like my mother would take me anywhere.
I arrive at my house and grasp the doorknob, not bothering to switch the sign hanging from it to OPEN. I'm far too exhausted to run my nighttime treasure buying business this evening. And besides, Gondo is pretty much my only client worth buying from and his face is one of the last things I want to see right now.
Once inside, I am greeted by the sight of my mother's rotund silhouette bending over the coffee table in the center of the room. Sometimes I think I am pathetic, twenty-five years old and still living at home with my mother. Most of us leave the nest by our late teens. Then again, Gondo and I are the same age and he's still living with his mother too. It makes me feel a bit better, knowing I'm not the only loser in this town still leeching off his parent. Misery prefers company, I suppose.
"Oh, good. You're home!" exclaims my mother, whirling around. Her shrill voice is like a knife to my ears. "Will you come over here and give me your opinion on something, dear?"
I can't help but groan. "Not now," I say, massaging my aching forehead.
"Oh, come on, Rupin! It'll only take a minute."
Her tone suggests that she won't take no for an answer. Or rather, that if I refuse, she will continue to harass me until I inevitably agree to do what she wants just to put an end to her incessant nagging. I sigh and walk over to her, figuring I might as well get this over with now.
My mother directs my attention down to the coffee table, where she has spread out an assortment of fine paper fans. Antiques. She snatches up an ornate green fan in one hand and a flowery purple one in the other.
"Which one do you like better?" she asks. "This one?" She fans herself with the purple one. "Or this one?" She hides the purple fan behind her back and switches to fanning herself with the green one.
I let out an annoyed sigh, still rubbing my head. After a second of consideration, I point to the green fan.
"Really?" she says, holding them both up to compare them side by side once more. "I think I like the purple one."
I throw my arms up in the air. "Why did you even ask me then?!"
She just shrugs and goes back to puzzling over her antiques. I heave another tired sigh and retire to my corner of the house. One day, I'll save up enough money to buy my own place and move out of this hellhole. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but one day. I just have to keep telling myself that.
I collapse facedown on my bed to sleep off my migraine before it's time to go back to work again.