Samael (1) is written by Alicia E. Goranson, and read by Soleil Golden.
Transcript:
Jess didn’t know what to make of the elderly gentleman who entered her gas station at three in the morning. He was balding but his haircut was immaculate, as was his black suit and white shirt, fine enough not to need a tie. He seemed eager to show off his money to someone, not her. She only worked here and “working” (in quotes) only took half her time.
“Excuse me,” the elderly gentleman said as he entered. “One hundred dollars for pump four, please.”
He set down a hundred dollar bill in front of her. She simply shook her head.
“We don’t accept anything over a twenty,” she said. “Store policy.”
“Oh,” the gentleman said. He was about to depart when he noticed the paperback she had been reading. “I say, is that Hawthorne?”
“’The Scarlet Letter,’” Jess said. “It’s pretty good.”
“It’s fascinating how surreal it is,” the gentleman said. “Of course, Hawthorne would have no idea what ‘surreal’ meant. But I’d like to think he had an inkling of magical realism before the movement took off.”
“I don’t know,” Jess said. “It’s kinda slow.”
“Compared with books today, yes,” the gentleman said. “But it’s what I like. Careful. Deliberate. Well revised. What do you like about it?”
“I like Hester,” Jess said. “I can relate. She gets screwed over so bad but at least she’s got space for herself and her daughter.”
“Do you need space?” the gentleman said. “Is this station as overwhelming and constrictive for you as it is for me?”
“It’s fine,” Jess said. “I guess. Are you from management or something?”
“I assure you, I am not,” the gentleman said. “Not from your company at least. I am familiar with working at a shop though. My father ran a shop like this in many ways. Cramped. With baubles and cheap foods for the workers. I spent many on hour behind the counter. Like you. And I remember the feast or famine of my time. Either no one in line or the line out the door, working as fast as possible. At least that ghastly machine makes most of the decisions for you, regarding price. I would mischarge for people’s orders all the time. It wasn’t pleasant, but I did have the luxury of undercharging friends, who I knew would undercharge me and my family at their own businesses.”
“What store did you work for?” Jess said.
“You wouldn’t have heard of it,” the gentleman said. “Anyhow. I must have my gasoline. Here are five twenties. I hope they can cover the minimum price for the pump’s use?”
Jess accepted the twenties and activated the pump. The gentleman bowed to her and walked out. Jess watched his driver fill the car with seventy dollars worth of gas. And then, to her surprise, the car drove off without its change.
Jess rang up the transaction, checking the bills that had been left behind. To her horror, she noticed they had become hundreds. Perhaps they always were. Perhaps the gentleman had had nothing smaller, and so had given her five hundreds and somehow…
Somehow…
Jess didn’t know what to think of the elderly gentleman then.
-END-
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