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Jerry Herschowitz's House of Antiques & Laundromat - What counts as a container?
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I didn't want to move back home; what twenty-eight year old did? I had big dreams of taking back the film industry from the perpetual blockbuster machine and instilling a love of art house movies in the next generation. When I told my professors that, they laughed and told me to tell them how working for Channel 4 went.

But not even the local news wanted some young upstart to come and uproot their well-established routine of mediocrity. I had pitched them my ideas — big ideas! — on how to improve the channel and get a bigger audience; to break free from the small town and go viral! But they didn't care. Just like my funds, their creativity and desire to grow had dried up a long while ago.

Sorry, I was just putting everything in perspective. My master's degree in film was useless and I was living in my childhood bedroom with my aging parents in the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere, Texas. Not a lot of places were hiring — none that paid well, at least.

The last leg on my job search was at Jerry Herschowitz's House of Antiques and Laundromat. Two things I noticed upon entry: One, the word "antiques" was a very loose term for what was sold; and two, there was no laundromat. That's not to say the oddities stopped there.

The titular Jerry Herschowitz greeted me at the door. His accent was somewhere between Borat and Tommy Wiseau with a very indeterminate origin. He had short, black hair that was swopped up and greased up like he was trying (and failing) to imitate those leather jacket cool guys from the fifties.

It was also clearly a toupee.

He had a thick, bushy mustache and wore a white GAP tank top and jeans. That is all he ever wore. No socks or shoes, either.

"Look to buy or to shop?" He asked me.

"Those are— nevermind. I'm looking for a job. Are you hiring?" I asked as I started to fish my resume out of my satchel. "I have a degree in—"

He patted me on the shoulder, "you have been hired! You are starting now!" He had a large, white smile. While all of the teeth were there, they seemed... fake.

"Wait, don't I need to sign a contract? What about my pay?" I asked as the whirlwind of a man dragged me behind the register.

"Number?" He asked, still smiling.

"Uh," I thought for a moment. This had to be a prank. "How about a salary of a million dollars?" I laughed smuggly.

"Sure. Million dollars. More?" He asked, seemingly unfazed by my joke.

"Uh... Benefits?"

"Yes, yes. Million dollars and benefits." He said, sticking out his hand.

This was my last stop and I didn't have anything better to do with the rest of my day, so I figured I'd just stick around and see what happened. With a shrug of my shoulders, I shook his hand. A sudden jolt ran up my arm, permeating in my whole body. It felt like a pressure point had been pushed and caused my entire body to jump.

Maybe it was because his hands were ridiculously cold.

Maybe it was because of the smile.

Either way, I was here till close. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a crumpled ball of paper and handed it to me. "Job rules. Don't break!" He pointed his finger at me before walking back into the shop and vanishing amongst the rows of junk.

I did my best to open the paper he gave me without tearing it so I could at least know what I could pretend to be doing. Unlike his accent and grammar, the instructions were very clear.

Rules:

  1. Don't open any containers.
  2. The customer is always right unless it conflicts with store policy.
  3. Make sure to wear the same clothes each day so we can recognize you :)
  4. We don't serve children.
  5. Everything in the store is for sale except for the soul of Alastair Beck. 5a. He'll ask you to open his container. Please don't.
  6. Our washing machine is broken :( 6a. Billy will say he can fix it, but don't believe him. He only makes it worse. :( :(
  7. Please don't pray inside the store.
  8. We only accept trades of equal or greater value.
  9. Please don't bring food or drinks into the store. 9a. If a customer tries to, kick them out.
  10. Please don't leave the store unattended.
  11. Make sure to smile! :)

Aside from the weird soul rule, the rest sounded pretty normal. I wasn't religious or anything, so I didn't think I'd be praying any time soon. I put the rules out of my mind and into my pocket as I leaned forward onto the counter and began to scroll through my phone.

Or I tried to. There was no reception. Figures. The town probably had shitty cell service unless you were with some weird local company. I sighed and put my phone back into my bag and looked around the store.

It seemed far more like a pawn shop than an antique parlor. It looked like Mr. Herschowitz just collected anything and everything to sell in his store.

My reverie was broken when I heard the jingling of the bell on the front door. I looked to see a couple — a man and a woman — walk in. "Hey, we were on our way through town when we noticed this place. I've never seen an antique store and a laundromat in the same location," the man joked, taking a sip of his coffee.

Ah. "Uh, sorry, man. No food or drinks allowed in the store," I replied with a sympathetic indifference.

"Like, it's just coffee," the woman said.

"Yea, I know. But I don't make the rules," I shrugged in response.

"This coffee probably cost more than you make in an hour, buddy. Just let me finish it," he said, eyeing me.

"Would you believe I actually make a million dollars a year working here?" I laughed and rolled my eyes.

"Exactly. This coffee cost about four hundred dollars." I wanted to laugh, but his tone and cadence made it clear he wasn't joking.

"Well, uh, yea, okay. But you still can't drink it in here." I could hear the nervousness in my voice. Surely he could too.

"You know what? Fine. I'll get rid of it," he smirked as he pulled the lid off to toss the coffee onto me. The minute he pulled the lid off, though...

There was a loud whoosh as the man and the woman were sucked into the coffee cup. Their bodies seemed to swirl together into a mix of colors and shapes as they entered the cup. They didn't even have time to scream. Immediately after they entered, the lid sealed itself back on it.

Perhaps it was the shock of seeing two human beings enter a cup of coffee as if they were the genie from Aladdin, but my next thought was oh no, coffee got on the welcome rug!

I left the cup on the ground and picked up the wet rug and began to scour the supposed-laundromat for something to wash the rug with. I finally found my way to a room with one washing machine—no doubt the one in the rules that was broken. Still, maybe it would work this once? Maybe it had been fixed since the rules had been written?

I reached my hand forward to open the front-loading washer when I stopped. Was a washing machine a container? I turned around when I heard steps behind me. It was Mr. Herschowitz. "Oh, hey Mr. Herschowitz... Jerry... Uh..." I paused and looked at him, then the rug, then the washer. "A couple came in with coffee—"

"No being liquid swallow of food in the store," he said with a firm nod of his head.

"Okay... Yea, that's what I told them. Then, fuck, I forgot! They opened the cup—"

"Lids are made to not being off the on of the container." He punctuated this phrase by pointing at me and wagging his finger, though the motion was unsure. It was like he was a child trying to mirror something he had seen his parents do.

"I figured that out when they were sucked into the cup!" I made sure to emphasize the last part, but he didn't seem particularly bothered. I waited for him to at least say I sounded ridiculous, but he just... stared at me for a moment.

"Undirtying box is being choosing the forever off lifestyle." Mr. Herschowitz pointed at the washing machine and walked away.

I was befuddled. Was that the word? Let's go with that. It's an equally odd word for an equally odd situation.

I waited a moment to see if the odd storekeeper would return with more of his colorful turns of phrase, but he didn't. I set down the rug and made my way back to the front of the store where he was waiting.

The coffee cup was gone.

The rug was back.

It was clean.

"You win first letter," Mr. Herschowitz said with a nod. "Store present voucher for obedience of manual. With early days, begone. Saladry in paper man's commandeering. House arrival then store coming of the not out in the now not yesterday future!" He patted me on the back and pushed me out of the store with that same bright smile.

I turned around to say something when I noticed the closed sign had been hung on the door and the lights were off.

The street lights flickered on as the sun set over the buildings. As if it had become my signature reaction to the day, I simply sighed and made my way home. Maybe the cup thing hadn't happened. Maybe it was a weird trip? The building was old; could it have been a gas leak?

I decided to chalk it up to a hallucination with an unknown cause. That was better than the alternative. It's funny how we can rationalize things, isn't it?

When I got home, I went straight to my room. I didn't feel hungry and I was completely exhausted. On my bed, however, was an envelope with my name on it. I opened it up and saw a check inside with an amount on it that on any other day I would have thought was a joke.

The byline was listed and signed "Jerry Herschowitz." Was I "actually* getting paid a million dollars? On the walk home, I'd decided not to go back, but if that was the pay and it was real...

I reached for my phone to see if I could quick deposit it when I—you guessed it—sighed. I'd left my phone in my bag back at the store. I had to go back in the morning to at least get my stuff.

And maybe collect another check.

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