-a journal entry

A Sign

Yesterday a gentleman came into the consignment shop wanting to pick up his items that did not sell and get paid for the one item that did. He had to cut his consignment short of the allowed sixty days because he was only in town for Mother’s Day weekend.

When I met him about six weeks ago, he had called the store screaming about how horribly he was treated at our other location. I apologized for their behavior…sort of…and told him to come on over to my location.

“We’ll have a song and a dance and we’ll forget all about it!”

He did stop by soon after and he emptied his backpack, filled with nothing but vintage designer labels. He told me he once owned a shop of his own but threw in the towel. These were the items that remained.

“I’m moving to Vermont.”

I took all of his items and wished him the best of luck. I remembered the day in great detail.

Yesterday, I asked him how Vermont was, told him I was recently invited to visit there and apologized for only being able to sell one of his items.

He said he loved it…Vermont.

“It changes you. I’m just less…stressed….it changes you…and then I come back here…and well…you know.”

“I know.”

We both looked out the door to the street-the noise, the traffic, the dust and pollution, the guy who screams and rants like a lunitic, begging for money, but just 9–5…

“And don’t worry about it. I know how this business is. You can never tell what will or willn’t sell…”

At that I tried to retrieve his account to pay him out and the computer was being ornery. I tried shutting her down, clicking a few here’s and there’s but nothing would work.

I called the boss…at the other location…for assistance.

After asking me to do what I had already tried, she said,

“Well…I don’t know what to tell you. What do you want me to do?”

I said I didn’t know, but would it be okay if I gave this guy ten bucks. “He’s standing right in front of me.” I knew that was about how much we owed him, if not, a dollar or two less-but I wanted to have him leave happy.

She started screaming at me that she was not in the business of handing out money-that I should give him five and make him wait for when we figured out our problem. Then she basically hung up on me.

I started shaking.

I opened the cabinet where I keep my purse and gave him ten dollars.

“What are you doing?”

I started crying.

“I’m paying you.”

“Not out of your pocket!”

We went back and forth until I promised him I would get the money back from the shop.

I didn’t hide my frustration and he completely Understood.

On his way out he turned around.

“Find your happiness. Go to Vermont…just…find your happiness.”

He said it…like he meant it.

I wanted to lock the door for a few minutes to gather my self and my thoughts, but an older woman had come in to browse and I’m not sure how it happened…but next thing I knew…without me saying very much at all to warrant the action, (she must have overheard) we were holding hands (it felt nice) and she was praying over me. I was sobbing and she was asking Jesus to help me find the courage to have my own business (specifically) and then added, “or whatever it is she dreams of.” I accepted her faith for I know it is Love she offered. This stranger looked into my eyes, through my pain, into my heart and she called me “a Good Person”.

She told me she wasn’t even going to come in, but something brought her through the door…

For the sake of all the Prayers…and all of the Assistance

I have to do more than hope that it is enough to get me through mine.

I’m not afraid to admit

I’m still a little scared

of (that asshole) doubt.

“Please help me.”

-May 17, 2017


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