FO4 | Book 0: The Diaries of Anarchy ✔️

March 8, 2254

A month after we sought help in the Great Green Jewel of the Commonwealth, our luck finally started to take a turn. 

My brother and I had been sleepin' with the drifters and the caravaners in the squatter end of Diamond City — homeless, jobless, capless. It took a while before he was able to find a stable job. Seemed like everyone around here was lookin' for employment, and there weren't enough openings for the people askin'.

He woke me up this mornin' by shaking me so hard, I rolled off the sleeping bag under the shed. "John! Wake up!"

"W-what? What?!" I rubbed my foggy eyes as I picked myself up off the ground.

"I got a job! The local mechanic needs someone to tutor under him and give him a hand around town with odd jobs. I was able to snag the position! I'm making five caps an hour! We'll be able to afford food and clothes!"

"Really? You're makin' five whole caps an hour? That's honestly really good." I sat on my knees on the sleeping bag and yawned. My stomach started to growl. "You make anything yet?"

"No. I start work in two hours. You should really think about getting yourself a job somewhere, too. It'd be good for you to make some money. That way, we could afford our own place sooner."

"Who would hire anyone my age?"

"You'd be surprised. Just... ask around. I'm sure you can find something."

He walked off. He waved at me over his shoulder before turnin' down the alley that led back to the center of town. I sat there, rubbin' my empty stomach and wonderin' what the hell I was supposed to do for a job. The only experience I had was helpin' my mom around the house and in the garden. This place didn't exactly need an experienced farmhand.

That's it, I thought. I got experience with cooking. I'll start there. Lots o' hungry folks around here who need to eat.

I dusted myself off — I knew I was dirty as hell and wasn't exactly fit for an interview, but I hoped my potential employer wasn't just gonna take me at face value. I wiped my hands on my pants as hard as I could to get the dirt off, then smoothed over my bedhead to get my dirty brown hair to lie down.

I looked around the city with its makeshift shacks and signposts and small business, but I couldn't find any kind of restaurant. There were two taverns, though. The Colonial Taphouse stood planted in the upper stands, and the Dugout Inn sat nestled in the back of the field.

I walked into the Colonial Taphouse first, thinkin' it looked like a nicer place to work. I was half right. It looked clean and spacious on the inside, but the bartender looked at me like I was a piece of trash that tumbled its way in with the wind. When I asked for a job, he claimed they didn't have any available and told me to try the Dugout Inn. "A place like that would suit you better," he said.

When I went to the Dugout, though, they said they wouldn't let someone so young work the bar, and they already had a kitchen hand. The place was a dump, too. There was broken glass on the floor, the bar was covered in dirty cups and glasses, and the furniture was in disarray like someone had just had a bar fight.

Defeated, I planned on walkin' back to the squatter end of town, unemployed and ready for my brother to voice his disapproval. Before I reached the door, an older man sitting on one of the couches stopped me.

"Excuse me, young man, but did I hear correctly? You're looking for work?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, you're in luck. I just so happen to need a new delivery boy at the post office."

He was balding on top, had long grey hair in the back, and a long, grey beard to match. His pale blue eyes were crescents when he smiled. He spoke softly, maybe because of his age or maybe because it was so quiet in the Dugout this early in the morning. He wore a decent set of clothes — not old and disgusting like mine — that consisted of a tan three-piece suit and mostly-clean shoes.

"Post office? What's a... post office?" I walked over to the old man.

"A post office is a place where people's packages and letters come to await pickup. My delivery boy just moved away with his family, and now I'm shorthanded. Would you be interested?"

"What does it pay?"

"Ha!" He threw his head back in a laugh. "My, you're a tenacious one. It pays two caps per letter and four caps per package. And if anyone tips you, you can keep the tip. Think you can handle it?"

My eyes lit up. It sounded like a lot of money, like I could've been makin' more than Guy. Boy, I'd have loved to rub it in his face, too. I eagerly accepted the old man's job.

"Fantastic! I'll see you at the post office bright and early in the morning."