An old man, probably 85, sat in the corner of the shop, a second-hand goods shop, set up for a charity. It was his day to be on duty.
The shop was jammed with old furniture, bric-a-brac, wardrobes.
The old man gets up from his chair behind the old desk. He slurs and wheezes - obviously had a stroke some time in the past. 'Can I help you?'
Yes, sir, you can help me.
I bought a wardrobe.
The old man had all the keys for all the wardrobes on a string. He fumbled with them, couldn't get the right key to fit the wardrobe. 'People pinch 'em,' he slurred and wheezed. 'All the time.' He's like, eighty-five.
'Let me help you,' I said. I unlocked the wardrobe. It had shelves on one side, a hanger on the other. Perfect.
Here is this frail octogenarian, humour in his watery blue eyes, watching his autumn years - maybe months - roll away in the cause of charity. While mean-spirited low-lifes steal keys out of charity shop wardrobe doors from under the noses of the elderly.
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Another old guy came into the shop, the afternoon guy. They filled out the delivery form together.
1 comment:
Stolen keys... I've often wondered what it is about people that makes them so unkind.
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