Revised 12/30/2019...

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The Customer Is (Not) Always Right

Chapter 4: A Day Off

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I open my eyes. Sunlight is filtering through the blinds. Oh no. What am I doing in bed?! I should be at work right now!

I shoot up off my pillow, and then I remember: Right. Today is the Annual Bird Rider's Ceremony. The Bazaar is closed for the day.

I crane my neck to peer over at my clock. It's almost noon. I guess I missed the start of the ceremony again. Oh well. I plop my head back down on my pillow to doze for a couple more minutes.

But when I close my eyes, I see them. Customers. Some passing me by without a glance, some stopping and staring at me expectantly. Suddenly, I'm standing in my stall at the Bazaar, and the rest of the place is materializing around me.

No! I jolt awake again and spring out of my bed. Not today.

I make my way over to the kitchen and fix myself a hearty breakfast of tea and stale toast, taking care not to accidentally bump into one of my mother's new antique vases cluttering the counter. They just sit around for weeks after she buys them. Weeks. I guarantee if I wasn't still living here with her, keeping her in check for the sake of my own sanity, she would be a full-fledged hoarder.

As I am sitting down to eat, I notice a clean set of my clothes folded up on the table, along with a note.

Rupin,

I couldn't stand the sight of those filthy rags of yours hanging on your closet door any longer, so I went ahead and washed them for you. No need to thank me. L.M.

P.S. They delayed the Wing Ceremony. Apparently someone's bird went missing. How shocking!

I hold up my clean shirt, pleased to see that all traces of yesterday's failed dump excursion are gone. At least my mother is good for something.

I drop the note into the trash and change into my fresh set of clothes, deciding I might as well head over to the plaza since I have nothing better to do. Sometimes I like to bet on the contenders and try to make a quick rupee.

After I finish my breakfast, I leave the house and start down the path to town. It's actually pretty nice out today. Not too hot, not too cold. The sun is shining, the skies are clear, a gentle breeze is turning the pinwheels hanging above the cottages...it's perfect weather for competitive flying.

Lucky bastards.

When I near the stream, I spot my mother up ahead on the bridge, chatting it up with Gondo's mother and half a dozen other middle-aged ladies. Her voice cuts through the commotion.

"Rupin likes pancakes!"

I groan aloud, slapping my hand to my forehead. Really? Does she have to talk about me? Gossip spreads through this town like a disease. I mean, I guess she's not saying anything bad about me. Today. But still. Why does the entire village need to know that I like pancakes?!

I turn around and double back toward my house at a brisk pace. Forget the Wing Ceremony. I have more important things to do anyway.

I walk around back my house, through the graveyard, and grab my bomb bag from the shed. I'm expecting that new shipment of iron shields to come tomorrow, but before I know it, it will be time to send away for more again. To cut down on the costs of production and actually make a decent profit off of the shields, I'll need to provide my own materials—namely, treasure. Sometimes, people sell me the treasure they find, but it's never enough. Far too often, I have to turn down their offers because they want to sell me things I don't need at the moment. Or they just want to sell me plain old junk. No, Bertie, I don't want to buy the tumbleweed you fished out of your neighbor's garbage this morning.

I secure my bomb bag to my belt and head out to the private pier behind my house.

"Wingy!"

I dive off the the platform and free fall, the rocky underside of the island rushing past me. Wingy catches me and we fly northward, gliding on the breeze lazily. I take in a deep breath and exhale through my nose, savoring the fresh air. It's nice to get away sometimes. Skyloft can be so suffocating.

I look over my shoulder, down at the hundreds of tiny dots gathered in the plaza. It's pathetic. A thousand people, waiting on their haunches to watch these kids chase each other in circles all day. It's not even that interesting to watch. The majority of the time, the riders are so far away you can't even tell what the hell is going on, and it can go on for hours. The longest Wing Ceremony on record lasted three and a half days and it was excruciating. I would know. I flew in it.

I turn my gaze away from Skyloft, sighing. Ah, Knight School. The thought of it brings back a wave of sour memories. I entered the academy the first year I was eligible, when I was seventeen years old. Not because I wanted to, but because my mother all but forced me to. Knights are held in the highest regard around here, always on the lookout for pest infestations, rabid remlits, and the occasional depressed sap who decides to take a little tumble off the edge of the island. I, of course, had zero interest in saving peoples' lives. But my mother was very pushy. In the end, she convinced me to do it for the high salary. She had her heart set on me becoming a rich, prestigious knight she could brag about. Just like your father was, she would say dreamily.

So much for that.

I was marked as a laughing stock from day one, when the Headmaster took attendance during the first flight class. Rupin, and…Wingy. Wingy. That was the end of it. Before long, the other students in my class including my former childhood friend made a hobby of throwing rotten eggs at me.

My mother was no help. Oh, just man up and ignore them! she would tell me. Yeah, well, it was kind of difficult to ignore them when they were smashing eggshells into the back of my head. It was awful. I didn't have any great friends either. Well, I guess there was Gondo. Sort of. He was my roommate. He didn't throw eggs at me, but he hung out with the schmucks who threw eggs at me, so I was always wary of getting too chummy with him. Looking back, I don't know why Gondo even wanted to attend the Knight Academy in the first place. He would always blow off his studies to tinker with his mechanical gizmos, so I'm guessing he did it in an effort to put off entering the "real world," AKA the second-rate lives we're living now.

My bullies were ruthless. They pelted me with eggs between classes, in the dining hall, every chance they got. But I didn't quit so easily. What I needed was a shield. That jerk Commander Eagus refused to let me take one out of the armory for anything other than "educational reasons," because you know...it's not like bullying was impeding my ability to get an education. So instead of relying on others to protect me, I started making my own shields from scratch.

I crafted them out of anything I could get my hands on: pumpkin shells, dinner plates...I even made a shield out of the downstairs toilet lid once. The housekeeper confiscated that one once she realized what it was. I carried one of my hand-made shields with me wherever I went, and over time I became quite skilled at blocking the rotten egg assaults. So eventually, they stopped lobbing projectiles at me for the most part, and started stealing and hiding my clothes while I was in the bathroom instead.

That long and miserable school year—my first and only year—culminated with the Wing Ceremony, the day when all the underclassmen clamber for the chance to advance to the senior class a year early. I guess it would have been the Eighteenth Annual Wing Ceremony hosted by the academy. The Knight Academy is fairly new; it's only been around about a quarter century or so. But as far as anyone knows, the Wing Ceremony tradition itself has existed for as long as there have been islands floating in the sky. Needless to say, it's a big deal.

In the weeks leading up to the big day, I aced my written exam and passed the flying pretest by a fraction of a point, qualifying to compete. The rules of the competition were simple. Chase the golden bird towing the statuette. The first contender to catch the statuette wins.

Oh, and the race doesn't end until somebody catches it.

Three and a half days. Three and a half days of chasing each other in circles like idiots. The instructors whistled us in at dusk and threw us back out there at dawn. The wind was relentless, stinging my face and spinning off miniature cyclones every which way I looked. The fog, disorienting. And the sunburn. I didn't realize just how bad it was until I looked in the mirror one night and the rest of my face was as red as my cheeks. Blisters broke out on my hands from hours of gripping Wingy's belt, and my legs cramped up from being stuck in riding position for far too long. Every joint and muscle in my body ached. And the elements weren't the only thing out to get me.

It just so happened my fellow competitors were saving up a special stash of rotten eggs just for the occasion, and it was a lot harder to block those things while in mid-air. Judging by the huge green and yellow mess that had to be cleaned off the light tower after last year's ceremony, the tradition is still going strong. Just another good reason to get away from Skyloft for the day.

By the third day, I had already resigned myself from the race in my mind. I didn't care about winning any more. I just wanted it to be over. I just wished somebody would catch that stupid statue and end it! But we were all incompetent losers so it just dragged on and on and on. It even poured down rain on the last day, and it hardly ever rains! By then, I was at my wit's end. I'd had enough. I just couldn't take it anymore. When the referees weren't looking, I landed on a small island and forced Wingy to hole up in a cave with me against her will. Loftwings don't do well underground, so boy was that miserable. But not more miserable than partaking in the Wing Ceremony for even another minute.

It turned out I wasn't the only one with the bright idea to hide underground. I found Gondo already in there, blowing off the Wing Ceremony. We discovered we had a lot more in common than we thought that day. Like that we were both thinking of quitting the academy. And after a brief heart to heart, we decided to go through with it. Together, we walked up to the headmaster in front of hundreds of people and forfeited our arm bands. Everyone who was stupid enough to bet their rupees on us two long shots sure wasn't happy about that. But no one was unhappier than my mother...

Wingy utters a disgruntled rasp, rousing me out of my bitter memories. She doesn't like reflecting on this part of my life either. I reach over and give her a pat on the head. None of it matters anymore anyway.

I put the Knight Academy out of my mind and turn my thoughts back to the task at hand, looking around for an island to land on. Our greedy ancestors have picked these islands over, so now I have to fly really far out if I actually want to find anything. After a while, I spot an medium-sized island with some large outcroppings of rock that I don't think I've been to. Looks promising enough.

I touch down on the rockier side of the island and dismount my bird, petting the soft feathers on the back of her neck. I like Wingy. She doesn't judge me. Wingy turns her head to the side and gazes at me in silence. Then she sticks her neck out and starts gnawing on my arm. It hurts a little bit, but this is Wingy's convoluted way of showing affection, so what am I supposed to do?

"All right, get out of here, you," I say, pushing her bill away. She flaps her wings and takes off over my head, beating back a strong gust of wind that almost knocks me off my feet. For a few moments, I watch her glide away, a green disk against the clear blue sky. I pull up my shirt sleeve and see that she has given me a couple new scrapes. My arm has become so gnarled from years of her biting it. I silently acknowledge that it's my fault for letting her.

I crack my knuckles and reach in my bomb bag. Time to blow up some rocks. I pace along the rock formation and begin looking for a good spot to detonate a bomb. Mostly, I just find old amber relics and ornamental skulls on my treasure hunting expeditions. But if I'm lucky, I'll blast open a sweet spot and find a deposit of Eldin ore, the main ingredient used to make my metal shields. I slowly work my way around the perimeter of the island, scanning the grayish stone for cracks and other signs of weakness.

As I'm walking along, I accidentally step in something black and squishy. A pile of campfire ashes. Is this island occupied? I lift my head and see a large, rectangular structure made of wood and wire mesh rising above me. Resting atop it are two giant propellers. Oh no.

I zip back around the corner and flatten myself against the rock face. It's Beedle's Air Shop. Which means Beedle is somewhere nearby. I have to get out of here.

"Wingy!" I call out as loud as I dare. "Wingy! Come back." It's urgent I try to impress upon her, but I'm fairly sure she's too far away now to sense my thoughts.

I begin inching back the way I came as silently as possible, hoping I wasn't overheard. Beedle is probably the last person in the world I want to have obligatory social interactions with. Sweaty tree-hugging hippie. For the past couple of years, he has been nothing but an irksome thorn in my side, hovering above the Bazaar like he thinks he's above the rest of us.

Everyone runs around like chickens with their heads cut off when Beedle peddles his flying shop to town. When I couldn't stand it anymore, I went up there myself to scope out my competition and see what all the fuss was about.

Beedle's Air Shop? More like Beedle's Sweat Shop. When I got up there, the first thing I was greeted by was the raw stench of body odor and unwashed clothing. And there was the infamous Beedle, furiously peddling a bicycle and slick with sweat. I have never once in my life seen Beedle wearing a shirt. I don't know what it is, whether he just likes to flaunt it or he just plain can't be bothered, but the guy doesn't even have the decency to cover up while he's working. I will never forget the disgusting first impression I had of him, of his sweat dripping from his bad bowl cut down his naked back. It was around then that I realized Beedle himself was the vehicle powering the propellers on the roof of his shop, keeping it afloat. I probably would have been somewhat impressed if I hadn't been so busy gagging on the awful smell.

Beedle was nice enough at first. I guess. He greeted me with enthusiasm and introduced himself, but he seemed a bit standoffish. Like he thought he was better than me just because he was exercising and manning his shop and being eco-friendly all at the same time. He quickly proved me right. With you on board, I have to pedal as hard as I can because of all the extra weight, he moaned. What kind of way is that to treat a customer? And I'm not even heavy! I'm a wimp!

Despite Beedle's blatant rudeness, I remained cordial and began to browse his wares, like I came up there to do in the first place. The selection? Minimal. The prices? Outrageous. And If I think they're outrageous, they are! Out of curiosity, I inquired about an odd-looking medal with a heart engraved onto it, and he didn't even know what the hell it was! But he was glad to tell me it was worth 800 rupees. Honestly, I've never met a businessman with such a slapdash attitude.

And as all this was happening, he just continued to complain about having to peddle his bicycle. I had to try very hard to resist the urge to point out that he quite obviously brought this upon himself. And all for what? For what?! To save a couple more blessed butterflies? No one's stopping him from setting up shop in the Bazaar. He could suck it up and deal with people like the rest of us, but no. He's above that. And that's not even the worst of it.

Concluding that Beedle's Air Shop was nothing more than an overrated novelty, I made to leave. But right before I walked out the door, he called out to me. He told me I had a lot of 'gall' to leave without buying anything after he had worked so hard to keep my excessively heavy self afloat. That was all it took to push me over the edge.

I opened my mouth to make a witty comeback about how his overpriced junk wasn't worth a single one of my rupees, but before I could say a word he shouted, 'Off with you!' and pulled on a string hanging next to his bike. The next thing I knew, the floor had disappeared beneath me and I was howling in pain on the ground with a sprained ankle.

My foot was in a cast for three weeks after that. And it doesn't end there! Oh no. The next time I had the misfortune to run into him, he didn't even acknowledge what he did to me! No apology, no nothing. It was as if he had completely forgotten about the incident. He acted like it never even happened.

The amazing thing is, no one but me seems to realize what a complete and total jerk-wad Beedle is. Nobody thinks twice when Beedle dumps his shoppers out the equivalent of a third story window because holy crow, his flying shop is just so cool! It makes me sick. Sure, I get annoyed when people don't buy anything from me, but at least I'm still nice to their faces!

I search the skies for a spot of bright green, growing impatient. What's taking Wingy so long? She should be here by now. I close my eyes and try to sense her. She's somewhere close by. It should be safe to jump in three...two...

"Ohhh! Hello there, old bug."

Ohh, great. Just...great. I open my eyes to see Beedle's bare chest staring me in the face.

"Beedle! Fancy running into you out here." I smile, shifting my gaze up to his sweat-stained face. "How have you been?"

Beedle seems to stare past me, his eyes fogging over. "Things could be worse, I suppose..."

I stop myself from rolling my eyes. There he goes again, acting all mysterious and trying to egg me into asking about his petty problems. Well, I'm not going to humor him.

"So, what beckoned you all the way out here, mate?" he asks, blinking out of his trance.

"Oh, you know. The usual." I shrug. "Hunting for treasure."

"Hmm. I see." He gives me a long look. "I do hope you're not bombing. That's so bad for the environment."

"Me? Bombing? Psh, of course not." I shift discreetly to hide my bomb bag behind my back. "It's just awful when people do that! I was going about it the old fashioned way. You know, digging in the dirt with my fingernails." I grin.

Beedle blinks at me slowly. "Oh. That's a relief."

"Yep! Ahaha. I just love dirt. I can't get enough of it."

He just nods, looking a bit preoccupied. I think he secretly hates me, too, but I'm not one-hundred percent sure.

"Curious that you should mention treasure," he says at length. "Why, only a fortnight ago, I happened upon some crystallized Goddess tears."

"Goddess tears?" My heart beats a little faster when I realize what it is that he actually means. "You found a Goddess plume?!"

"Ah, yes. A Goddess plume. I suppose that is what most folks call them."

Well, sheesh. He could have just called it by its actual name to begin with. I don't know why he has to be so pretentious all the time. A Goddess plume. I have only ever found four of them. The crystals are extremely rare and valuable, possessing mysterious magical properties that allow them to regenerate when broken. Some say they were dropped by the Goddess herself.

"Ah..." Beedle smiles, regarding me with an air of amusement. "Your gleaming diamond pupils yearn to gaze upon the treasure I speak of, do they not?"

Gleaming diamond—I think I just threw up in my mouth. "Erm, yes?" I swallow. "I would love to!"

"Mmm," he muses, "then come right this way."

He motions for me to follow him and casually ambles back around the rock formation. I trail him a couple steps behind. The silence between us is strangely uncomfortable. Maybe it's just because Beedle has this constant brooding air about him that wears on my nerves.

"So what about you?" I ask, feigning curiosity. "What brings you to this island?"

Beedle slows to a stop and stares down at the pile of ashes on the ground.

"This is where I make my dwelling," he says, after a needlessly dramatic pause.

Oh. So this is where he exiles himself to every night. We make it around the rocks and I get a better look at the wooden structure I stumbled across earlier. It appears to be some sort of docking station for his air shop. Seeing it now, I can't help but wonder if this flying shop is Beedle's...compensation, of sorts. There's a rumor going around that he doesn't have a loftwing. That he's a reject. An earthbound. He waited at the Statue of the Goddess year after year, but no bird came to him.

I'm not my mother's son and I don't put much stock in rumors, but if it's true, it makes a lot of sense. If I were a loftwing, I would rather buddy up with the Village Idiot than hull Beedle's sweaty behind all over the Goddess's creation.

Beedle leads me up a wooden ramp to the balcony of his air shop and we climb up a ladder to get onto the roof. When I reach the top, I notice some metal bars built into the rock formation straight across from the air shop. A weathered red curtain is drawn across the bars, swaying in the breeze vacantly.

No. This couldn't possibly be Beedle's house.

Beedle leaps from the rooftop over to a platform of rock that protrudes from the veiled opening. "Welcome to my humble abode!" he announces, throwing back what remains of the stained curtain to reveal a fine little hobo cave. Well, what do you know. Beedle's house.

Taking a running start, I jump across the gap after him and step inside the dank little cave. It's so empty. At the center of the cave is a pile of frayed blankets—Beedle's bed...nest? Various odds and ends litter the floor, the most notable being a small yellow cage and a treasure chest shoved against the far wall. Pieces of shredded curtain adorn the walls. What is this guy doing with his money, just throwing it to the wind?! Burning it and sending it up into the heavens with his screams?!

"A bit lacking in creature comforts, to be sure, but here I can relax in peace," Beedle says. He moves toward the treasure chest as my eyes wander to a small mountain of empty glass bottles stacked in the corner of the cave. I can just make out a silvery-purple residue lingering in the bottom of some of them.

"Is that Luv's guardian potion?" I ask.

"Indeed."

"Ah." That explains a lot.

Beedle takes the Goddess plume out of his chest—a big one—and places it in my hand. The stone is as weightless as a cluster of feathers and slightly translucent, shining with hues that morph from snowy white, to deep indigo, to violet. I hold it up above my head, admiring the way it scatters the sunlight and bathes the cave walls in its colors.

"Beautiful," I gasp, turning the marvelous crystal over in my hands once more. "Friend, I would love to buy this from you, but I didn't bring any money with me. Maybe next time you're in town—"

"Just take it," he interrupts me. "I have no use for such frivolities."

...'Frivolities'? That was a dig. He was obviously taking a dig at me. Well, I'll just pretend I didn't hear that. "Thank you, Beedle!" I bow my head graciously. "I owe you one, friend."

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could take them back. Why did I say that? Stupid! I don't owe him anything! If anything, he still owes me for throwing me out of his air shop and spraining my ankle.

"Well then, I'll just have to take you up on that, won't I?" Beedle says, a mellow smile crossing his lips. "If I ever find myself in need of a favor in the future, I shall come straight to you, friend."

Ugh, I want to kick myself. "A favor? Are you sure? Because I could give you 100 rupees for this." I think I would rather pay him up front and be done with the transaction.

"Oh yes, I am quite certain," he responds, running a finger down his long, sunburned nose. "After all, I already have everything I could ever want at the moment, for my most precious possession is my horned colossus beetle."

Horned Colossus...? Oh right, Beedle's pet bug nobody cares about. Beedle kneels down and picks up the yellow cage which contains said bug, holding it close to his face.

"Just look at those magnificent pincers! I could gaze at him all day long…" He trails off and goes completely still, staring intently at the giant bug in the cage. He doesn't even blink. Five seconds go by. Ten seconds.

...

...

"Well, I should probably get going."

"Oh?" Beedle blinks back to life and looks at me in mild surprise, as if he had completely forgotten I was here. "All right, then. See you around, old bug."

"Yeah. See you."

He gives me a curt nod and goes back to staring at his pet beetle. I slowly back out of the cave, jump to the roof of the air shop, and climb down the ladder. Well. That wasn't awkward at all.

As I'm walking down the ramp, I peek over my shoulder and catch one last glimpse of Beedle. He's still sitting in the same spot, completely enamored with his beetle. Ugh. Why do I even bother maintaining this fake friendship?

Oh, right. My eyes fall upon the Goddess plume in my hand. Once in a blue moon, I still get good business deals out of it. I tuck the sparkling crystal safely away in my pouch. I don't like Beedle thinking I'm in his debt, but this was one treasure I couldn't turn down.

If all goes well, perhaps he'll conveniently forget about this little exchange like he forgot about the time he sprained my ankle.