#silverbane

I mean, I get the logic. If you’re on unemployment, they want you to be trying to get off unemployment, so they make you apply for a certain number of jobs per month; sounds sensible. But it falls apart when the number of jobs you can do in your area that are offered per month are less than the amount you have to apply for, and there are ten times more unemployed people than jobs, because then you run out of jobs on month three and have no choice but to send off resumes and half-arsed cover letters to random mystery shopper scam positions and financial advisor job postings that you’re massively underqualified for, wasting your time, the job agency guy’s time, and the time of several companies per month who have to sift through these clearly unsuitable resumes that dozens of people were forced to send to find the two or three people actually capable of doing the job.

Anyway, I was headed home from a jobseeker meeting still two applications short when I passed the incredibly skeevy looking new pawn shop, which is the only reason I took any notice of the ‘help wanted’ sign in the window. The place hadn’t been there last week (well, the shop had, but it had been empty), but it already looked dilapidated, with a crack in one filmy window and the rugs on the bare cork floor already frayed. It didn’t look like the most inviting place to work, but I mean. I was already carrying a copy of my resume from the meeting. The tarnished bell above the door had a surprisingly deep ring as I pushed the door open (it stuck, avoided walking into a precariously balanced row of second hand fishing rods at the last second, and locked eyes with a somewhat horrifying poster of Garfield (the cat, not the American president). After a few seconds of large, cartoon eyes staring into my soul, I broke his pitiless gaze to look at the counter.

The person at the counter was not the overweight, balding man in a wifebeater that movies had lead me to expect. She was tall, dressed in a lavender cardigan, and with her white hair trimmed in a neat bob. She looked about sixty, or maybe a really healthy seventy. Her hands were knitting something out of blue wool, but her eyes weren’t trained on her work; they were trained on me. Appraising.

Which, to be fair, I had just walked into her shop. So.

I tried not to look nervous as I approached the counter. When I got within a few meters, it’s like she remembered she was running a shop, and a Customer Service Smile just slid into place out of nowhere. “Hello,” she said. “Are you buying or selling today?”

“I, uh. You guys are hiring?”

“You have a resume?”

I flipped though the folder I was carrying for my resume, cursing myself for not pulling it out in advance. I hadn’t worn a prosthetic arm today (I was only out for a jobseeking meeting), so this involved balancing the folder against not-quite-enough left arm while rifling with my hand and it’d be just my luck to drop paper fucking everywhere like the clumsy idiot that I am. But I managed to extract the resume and hand it to this woman with the appraising eyes that…

… that worked in a shitty pawn shop. What the fuck was I nervous about? That I wouldn’t impress the pawn shop counter assistant enough? I must be tired.

The woman put down her knitting, took my resume with her fingertips, and started to read.

“So,” I said, “I’ll just – ”

“Can you start on Monday?”

“… sorry?”

“The job. Can you start work on Monday?”

“Um. Yes?”

“Excellent. If you come in the back, we can discuss your payment structure and get the contracts signed.”

“Um. Okay. Is there not an… interview process?”

“If you are unsuitable for the job, I’m sure it will become imminently clear in short order.” She turned and strode through a curtain – well, a blanket nailed up over a doorway.

Now, this is the point at which I probably should have just left. A dingy, disorganised little pawn shop opening up overnight and immediately hiring any rando off the street without any interview process was absolutely not a legitimate business. My brain immediately threw up multiple scenarios, from ‘drug smuggling front’ to ‘organ harvesting operation’, before settling on the most boring, ‘tax haven’. It was probably the boring thing.

Should I do this? If this place got busted, I’d probably end up in a worse position than I started. Besides, what if whatever was going on here was hurting people?

On the other hand, I really wanted some money. I slipped my way past the blanket.

Behind the blanket was a very short hall. At the end of the hall was a door labelled STORAGE. To my right was another door, this one locked, with a chain and padlock added for good measure, and a small window at eye height. The window had been covered with several layers of taped-on newspaper, blocking the view of the inside completely.

To the left was a small bathroom and a door leading to a little office, a fold-out table serving as a desk for a computer that might well have been older than I was. I went in there, and took the rickety folding chair across the table form the equally rickety folding chair that the woman was in.

“My name is Colleen, by the way,” she woman said. “I’m the owner of this establishment.”

“Pleased to meet you,” I said. At least I wasn’t being pranked by a random employee (probably).

Colleen pushed a document across the table towards me. An employment contract. “So, about your availability…”

We discussed the apparently complicated details of part time work at a pawn shop for about ten minutes, before the bell on the door rang. Colleen stood. “Please excuse me a moment, this is probably important.”

She headed back out into the shop proper. I read through the completely standard contract in front of me again. It took a few minutes. Colleen didn’t return.

I glanced at the computer in the room.

If I were some kind of action hero or something, I could get on that computer, and there’s be a suspicious folder or an open email or something that’d tell me what the deal with this place was, and I’d take it to the police and be a hero. But I was in fact somebody who a) wanted a job and b) didn’t want to get Silenced By Bullet if there really was something sinister about this place, so I didn’t.

Besides, maybe nothing was going on. Maybe Colleen was just really bad at running a pawn shop.

When she didn’t return for a couple more minutes, I got up. Peeking around the hallway curtain (old blanket nailed over the door), I could see Colleen in deep conversation with a brown-haired man with a neatly tailored goatee. He clearly wasn’t a customer, since he was behind the counter with her, and he looked to be maybe in his late 20s, short and thin but with the poise of someone who could use his body to get what he wanted and was willing to do so.

I hesitated. Colleen was an old woman. Was this guy robbing her? Did she need help? Was there anything I could use as a weapon if I had to, or should I call the cops, perhaps?

But she didn’t look to be in trouble, even though the man was sidling around and eyeing her aggressively like he was trying to pick a fight. She just pursed her lips and stared, unimpressed, arms crossed.

And then the man caught sight of me. His mouth split into a predatory grin.

“And who’s this?” he asked, sauntering over. “You selling, sweetheart?”

I had the ridiculous urge to hide behind the curtain like a child, but I stood my ground. Colleen’s hand came down firmly on the man’s shoulder. “Jade is my new employee,” she said firmly.

The man stopped. He immediately dropped the smile and gave me a (respectful?) little nod. “An honour to meet you, Jade.”

I didn’t reply.

“If you don’t mind, we’re in the middle of something,” Colleen told him.

“But Collie, we need to discuss.”

“Another time. For now, you are leaving.”

He left.

“Sorry about that,” Colleen said, brushing past me and back towards the office. “Cameron likes to talk a big game, but he won’t hurt you.

“Who was he? What just happened?” I asked as I followed.

“He’s a customer who likes to play games. Annoying, but not dangerous to you.”

I noted the specific wording. “This business just opened.”

“This location just opened,” Colleen corrected me. She sat back down, and pushed the employment contract towards me once again. “Now. Any last adjustments, or are we ready to sign?”

I looked down at the completely standard contract. I looked back up again.

I should walk. There were so many points in this process where I should’ve just left. This entire process was a red flag parade.

But if I did that, I’d never know what any of those red flags said. I’d walk past this place every day, wondering what the hell was up with it, and never get any answers.

Nobody had ever accused me of making good decisions.

I signed the contract. I signed another copy. Colleen signed both, and handed one back to me.

“I’ll see you on Monday.”

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