PART I

Barry was in the possession of two identical coupons for Bed Bath & Beyond: 10% off a single item (one coupon per customer).

Barry was not in the possession of hand towels.

Barry had a plan.

——-

Swimming in the soupy pride of his own cunning, Barry placed a single taupe hand towel onto the counter at the register and said to the cashier, “I would like to buy this hand towel.”

Becky the Cashier, as per protocol, made a bored attempt at perkiness, asking as she scanned the hand towel’s tag, “Did you find everything okay?”

“Oh yes,” said Barry with a twinkle in his eye. “Oh yes.”

Becky the Cashier really did not care. “That’ll be eight thirty-nine, please.”

Barry looked Becky the Cashier in the eyes and permitted the corners of his mouth to slowly curl up. “Eight thirty-nine, eh?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” said Barry. He stuffed his beefy hand into his front pocket and pulled out a coupon. He slapped it onto the counter and let his hand linger on it for dramatic effect. He scanned his eyes slowly up from his hand to Becky the Cashier’s face, holding her gaze under her confused and slightly uneasy brow. At the peak of the intensity, he slid the coupon across the counter.

He spoke. “And now?”

Becky the Cashier scanned the coupon. “Okay, seven fifty-nine.”

Barry was quite pleased with himself.

Money was exchanged, the towel was bagged, and an insincere “have a good day” from Becky the Cashier was tossed to Barry as he sauntered and very nearly skipped out the door.

PART II

Immediately upon exiting the Exit door of Bed Bath & Beyond, Barry pivoted 180 degrees and re-entered the Enter door.

He journeyed back to the bath section of the store, directly to the selection of taupe hand towels, and plucked from the shelf a second taupe hand towel.

Back at the front of the store, Barry went into Becky the Cashier’s aisle again. Becky the Cashier was filing her nails.

Barry announced, “I would like to buy this hand towel.”

Becky the Cashier came to from her self-hypnotic, therapizing filing. “Did you find everything okay?”

Barry ignored her question as she scanned the hand towel’s tag.

“Eight thirty-nine,” said Becky the Cashier.

Barry nearly piddled with glee. “Don’t you mean–,” he began, drawing from his front pocket the giant meatball he called a fist, and bringing up the second coupon to present it to Becky the Cashier, holding it upright between his pointer and thumb, suspended in the air equidistantly from both her face and his, “–seven fifty-nine?” Suave devil.

“Oh, I’m sorry, it’s only one coupon per customer.”

The satisfaction waned from Barry’s face. “But I–but that’s one coupon.”

“But you were just here about ninety seconds ago. You’re still the same customer. You just left the building and came right back in. It’s still the same visit.” Becky the Cashier pointed around at Barry’s back pocket. “I can even see the first towel you bought sticking out of your back pocket.”

In a huff, Barry pulled the tail end of his shirt over the back of his pants. “Becky, this is my second visit. I’m a brand-new customer.”

“No you’re not.”

Barry’s decibels began their ascent. “Yes I am, and I demand you let me use that coupon.”

“Sir, please lower your voice, you don’t need to yell. You’re trying to cheat.”

“How can you cheat with a coupon?” Barry bellowed.

“Sir, do I need to call security?”

“Bed Bath and Beyond has security? What are you, a museum of toiletries and bedspreads?”

“We sell more than toiletries and bedspreads, sir. ‘Beyond.’”

Barry’s collar was collecting sweat. He glared at Becky the Cashier, seething.

After this brief period of an exchange of eye daggers, Becky picked up the phone and, pressing a red button on the receiver, spoke over the PA system. “Security to aisle three, please. Security to aisle three.” She smiled at Barry.

“I, but, Becky, you don’t, you–,” he sputtered. “Okay! Okay. I’ll leave. But I’ll have you know you’re turning down a vet of this country”–he wasn’t–”and shame on you for it!” Becky the Cashier felt no shame.

Becky the Cashier felt victory. As Barry barged out of the Exit doors, Becky the Cashier felt a new sense of purpose in life.

She would go on to quit her cashier’s job and become a telemarketer.

Barry’s first visit to New York City, and by golly if he wasn’t going to buy a souvenir from one of Manhattan’s famous street vendors to mark the trip.

A Korean man selling watches seemed as worthy a recipient as any of Barry’s eager patronage.

Lee: You want buy watch, only ten dolla, ten dolla you buy watch.

Barry picked up a silver watch with gold inlays around the face. “Rollex” was inscribed on the back.

Barry: Wow, a Rollex! Surely this isn’t ten dollars.

Lee: No, you pay fifteen for dat watch, dat watch top of da line, you pay fifteen.

Barry: Fifteen! Wow. And this is a real Rollex?

Lee: It say Rollex, don’t it? Of course it real.

Barry: It just seems like such a low price for a Rollex.

Lee: I offa my customas very good price, always best price in Manhattan, buy da watch, only fifteen dolla.

Money was exchanged. Barry beamed. He was the proud owner of a Rollex, the authenticity of which his wife strongly contested by pointing out the two l‘s, and the 3 and the 9, which were swapped.

Mr. Monroe, walking home in the icy rain after a late work-night, was jumped, dragged into an alley, beaten with sticks of butter, and left swirling in and out of cloudy consciousness by the infamous Butter Boys, the violent gang of corpulent Bulgarian immigrants.

Mr. Monroe shuddered in the gutter, smothered in butter. He would ride the train from that day on.