All These Thrifted Things

One

Aggie had a problem. Okay, a few problems.

One, she had neglected to brush her hair for too long and was now agitatedly combing her fingers through the knots at the base of her skull on a regular basis.

Two, her landlord's second notice about rent being due had ended up in her spam folder. Again.

Three, and this was the most pressing matter: She had too many rugs.

People abandoned rugs like they abandoned... well, she didn't want to think about homeless critters, so it was probably best to not finish that comparison. 

Mohammed, a newly retired sixty-seven-year-old attorney, had been restoring antique rugs when he had the time for the past twenty years. Now that he had all the time on his hands that he could stand, he was tackling around thirty rugs each month. 

And he was bringing them to Aggie. 

The man refused to allow her to pay him for what was becoming her overstock supply of floor decor, and Aggie could hardly allow herself to turn him away. 

Which meant she had a whole lot of rugs at her disposal.

Currently, she found herself sitting in the floor in front of her checkout counter drafting a sign on her sandwich board for $5 rugs and scrolling through her phone. Which meant checking her email.

Which meant checking the spam folder. 

And in between phish offers from girls with mostly generic names to do whatever her heart desired, she spotted it. The email.

To: Aggie Smith

Subject: Overdue Rent

Dear Tenant in 206 Center Lane, Suite C:

Per my last email, it has come to my attention that your rent account is past due by three months. 

I am willing to work with you to establish a payment installment plan for the months of September and October on the condition that you pay your November installment in full by EOB this Friday. 

Please respond to this message at your earliest convenience so I know you received my correspondence.

Regards, 

Rowan Reagan

Aggie scoffed.

"'EOB?' Who says that? You're a landlord, not some Hallmark movie villain." She dropped the phone into the space between her folded legs.

Today was Friday, October 20th. That made it a) the day that mister Reagan had been expecting her rent check, and b) practically a week and a half before November's rent was even due.

Shame that she hadn't seen the email before now.

Besides, it was after eight-thirty in the evening. It was too late to do anything about it anyway. 

Not that she even had the money in her account. October had gone pretty well, all things considered. Some grumpy guy had bought two antique settees and a lot of candles (and, yes, rugs). A big purchase like that would have gone a long way toward her rent payment if it hadn't been for her electric, water, and gas bills. She'd rather fight the rent battle than the no-access-to-electricity-or-gas battle.

She immediately pushed the thought of EOB Man out of her head and finished up her (admittedly sloppy) sign artwork. 

Tomorrow she would sell a lot of rugs. Gobs of them. A plethora. That would help matters. And she could always sell a kidney to help make up the difference if need be. 

Right. Maybe a different plan, then.