Do you swear that the testimony you are about to give is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?

I do your Honor.

Ok, so here comes the story I promised you yesterday. Let's call it:

They Always Come Back*

This is a story from 1989-1990. I was working at my local 7-11 while putting myself through school. I worked swing shift (3-11pm) which was a perfect fit with my school schedule (12 plus units a semester). I put in a full 40 hours every week.

Sometimes more.

There were days, let me tell you, that bent me almost to the point of breaking. I've spoken of some here, and I'm sure will speak of more in the future, but the nights I've come here to tell you about are of a different pith.

I don't remember what month it was, but I know it was Summer. It was dark outside, so it was prolly late. Maybe 10ish. Anyhow, this guy pulls up on a Harley and comes into my store.

I sell him to packs of Marlboro Reds, put them in a bag, and give him his change. I'm not sure how I missed it, because if I had seen it, I'd have said something, but he managed to leave not only his cigarettes, but also a pair of gloves laying on the counter.

Being the dilligent employee, I picked his gloves up, put them in the bag with his smokes, and put them behind the counter so I could give them to him when he came back.

Only he doesn't.

The end of my shift comes, and before I leave, I tell my relief the story, and show him where the gloves are, figuring that's the last I'll see of them.

Except they were still at work when I came in the next day. And the next. And the next.

So, a week goes by. A month. 6 months.

All the while, I'm keeping track of this bag. Sometimes I forget what it is, and I have to pick it up before I remember. Then I would think 'oh yeah, it's that guy's gloves.'

So, imagine the scene:

I don't remember what month it was, but I know it was Summer. It was dark outside, so it was prolly late. Maybe 10ish. Anyhow, this guy pulls up on a Harley and comes into my store.

He walks up to my counter and says 'This is gonna sound kinda stupid, but about a year ago I was in here...'

I say 'Wait a sec....I close my eyes, visualise where I'd seen the bag last...Open a door under the back counter and grab the bag.

I turn around and hand it to him, and he couldn't beleive it. He opened the bag to find not only his smokes (eeew) but also his gloves.

Turns out they were his favorite pair, and he'd been missing them the whole year he handn't had them, was totally depressed that he'd lost them....

He actually forced me to take a $5.00 tip (emps werent allowed to i know right).

It's one of those things that kinda sticks with you. I mean, this happened, what, 17 years ago, and I'm still telling the story.

I'll bet he does too.

Buenos con queso,

T.

RSOD: 10. Will the peasant refuse the terrifying funeral?

* this is a total rip off of a short story title from stephen king t.