Light Bulb Stories

The Barter

I was eighteen years old. Jobless, homeless, alone.

It had been five, six, or seven days ago since I had last eaten a decent meal which mainly consists of an unfinished McDonald's hamburger and a few strands of meat from a chicken wing that I found in a trash bin. I wanted to share with you how I had come to this but I was too famished to tell you the story of my life before hunger.

My growling stomach was far from being tamed.  I had been traversing every street in search of a promising bin but the hours spent walking on the numbing pavement yielded nothing but sores on my bare feet.  I staggered to a dimly lit alley and managed to position myself on the doorsteps of a ramshackle apartment that was abandoned ever since I was a child.  I closed my eyes and was ready to succumb to starvation when I heard a faint clicking of a light switch nearby.

Hunger must have obscured my senses for I had not noticed the small shop across my spot earlier.  The windows were tinted so I could not see what's inside but the silhouette of a man against an incandescent backdrop meant that it was still open for business.  The shop displayed no name yet there was a single ad by its door sign that  caught my eye right away.

Want food? Inquire inside.

I mustered all my remaining strength,shuffled to the door and went in. The shop seemed too narrow because tall empty wooden shelves occupied most of the floor area that only one customer could fit in at a single time.  It was strange enough to find an empty store but I was only thinking about one thing that time.

Food...

"Well, hello there, son. You seemed to have come to the right place," an old man beamed at me from the counter.  He opened a drawer and reached for something that made my mouth water --- a whole family size pizza. He opened the box before me like a young man would when proposing to his lover and gently took out a slice.

"Do you want these?"

I nodded.

"Lucky you. These are for sale."

"But I do not have money."   My stomach was screaming at me to just take it and run.  He's a very old man after all.

"Oh that won't be a problem. You can offer me anything you have in exchange for your dinner."

"I don't have anything right now."

"Oh, but you do. We all do." He opened a dusty book lying beside the telephone in front of me. It was a record of some sort.  The first column listed names.  The second one listed items such as burger, handbag, sports car, and house.  The third one listed  numbers and next to a number was a single letter.  The last entry in the record was for a certain Thomas Keep, private jet, 20y.

"You can get this box of pizza in exchange for four hours of your life." The old man handed me a pen. "Simply jot down your name, 'pizza' and '4h' in this record book."

It sounded absurd but the idea of not paying for food with cash was very welcoming especially now that I could smell the inviting aroma of freshly baked dough, cheese, tomato and sausages.  I took the pen from him and scribbled down everything that he had said.

The old man chuckled as I grabbed the box and devoured slice after slice like there's  no tomorrow.  He left me for a minute as I finish the remaining pizza and returned with a glass of water.

"Here. This is for free." He smiled sympathetically. "If you need something else please don't hesitate to come back."

I grinned at him, waved my thanks and left the shop full and satisfied.