Magic Store 28



Is this Chihuahua insane?

At first, I thought so, but then I realized that this Chihuahua had never come to this convenience store without being crazy.

So, he probably is.

So, I quickly grabbed an umbrella stand and brought it over to him, and then laid out a mat like a red carpet.

Only after seeing the carpet did the Chihuahua place his umbrella outside the front door and meticulously shook off the raindrops.

Glancing at the Chihuahua's attire, I noticed he was still wearing his suit and company ID around his neck.

But it was currently 10 PM on a Saturday.

“Did you come from work, sir?”

“Yeah.”

“On the weekend?”

“Overtime, damn it.”

What a tough life.

I used to do overtime all the time at my previous job, so I understand the struggle.

It’s something you can avoid if you’re good at office politics, but this Chihuahua doesn't seem to have any connections with politics.

But what kind of job requires even a burly Chihuahua to do overtime... Hmm...

“What kind of work do you do that requires overtime?”

“Why are you curious?”

“Just curious.”

“You haven't told me what you do, so why should I tell you?”

Hearing this, I was momentarily taken aback.

I pointed to the uniform I was wearing and replied,

“What kind of job do you think someone wearing a convenience store uniform and scanning barcodes has?”

“This brat, what an attitude.”

If you find my attitude unpleasant, could you please go to a different convenience store next time?

I was starting to get used to working here, so I decided to be a bit blunt to see if I could reduce the number of crazies coming into the store.

Though the Chihuahua grimaced and called me rude, he showed no sign of leaving.

In fact, it felt like he was happy that we were finally having a proper conversation.

He even turned the question back on me.

“So why are you working as a convenience store clerk?”

“There’s no special reason for working at a convenience store. It’s just to make a living.”

“Then consider what I do as making a living too.”

Okay, got it.

Now just buy something and leave.

I had already laid out the mat and brought over the umbrella stand, so I figured he’d pick out what he wanted on his own.

But the Chihuahua followed me to the counter.

Now what?

“Hey.”

“Yes.”

“Recommend a good beer for me.”

If I knew, I’d be a beer sommelier, not a convenience store clerk.

“Can’t you just pick any random one?”

“Do you even hear what you’re saying?”

“Look, just because I work here doesn’t mean I know everything about the products. Didn’t I explain that when you were buying toothpaste?”

“Oh, I liked that toothpaste. Are you using it?”

“I haven’t even opened it. Want it back?”

“Keep it, damn it.”

If I keep talking to this guy, I’m going to go crazy too.

Beer, beer… What beer should I recommend getting him to leave satisfied…

In fact, I do have a bit of a personal philosophy about convenience store beers.

When I used to work at the company, I didn’t have anyone to drink with, so I’d pick out two cans of beer every day at the convenience store and drink alone.

For example, dark beer.

There's a type of dark beer with these tiny ice-like chunks inside.

When you drink it, they keep hitting the opening of the can, and it’s really annoying.

I’m sure they put them in there to enhance the flavor, but every time you pick it up, you hear this clinking sound from inside, making you think there’s a problem with the manufacturing process.

So, I’m not a fan of that.

There’s also wheat beer with orange peel aroma.

I’m not too keen on it either.

When I used to visit construction sites for work, there was this smell from grinding steel beams with a grinder, and that’s exactly what this beer tastes like.

Because of the trauma, I never touched it again after drinking just one can.

Eliminating options like this, I realized I didn’t have much left to recommend.

“What kind of beer do you like?”

“Hey.”

“Yes.”

“That hangover cure you recommended works great. I woke up without a hangover and felt like a new man.”

“Well, that’s good news.”

“So, is there a beer that goes well with it?”

Not knowing, I asked back.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Exactly what I said.”

It took me a few moments to understand.

He wanted to experience that gap of waking up feeling refreshed after being heavily drunk.

I thought he should be drinking a bowl of vodka, not beer, to achieve that, but he’d probably get mad if I suggested anything other than beer.

I needed a different approach.

“…Wouldn’t a good-tasting beer make the hangover cure even more effective?”

“What kind of nonsense is that?”

“To be honest, people drink alcohol to get drunk, right? I don’t know what pairs well with a hangover cure. I’ll just bring you the best-selling beer, so please don’t be upset.”

"When did I get angry, damn it."

"Anyway, just wait a moment."

I remembered there was a set of new wheat beer stashed in the warehouse.

The one with the bear drawing on it.

I went into the freezer and took out a can to show him.

The chihuahua took it in his hand, checked it out, and muttered.

"Is this any good?"

"It usually sells out quickly."

It's so rare that customers even reserve it with the convenience store clerks to make sure they can get it.

The supply is so erratic, and the days it comes in are random.

Customers always ask us to hold it for them when it does come in.

"No, I mean, is it actually good, damn it."

"Uh... it's decent, I guess?"

But is it really that good?

Well...

I've had a couple of cans, and I thought it was interesting.

It has a slight hint of orange in the aftertaste, but it's so subtle that if you're not really tasting it, you might not even notice any fruit flavor.

The downside was that it's a bit low on carbonation, so if you like your drinks fizzy, you might be disappointed.

After explaining this, the chihuahua pulled out a card and handed it to me.

"Give me a whole set."

"You're buying the whole set?"

"Or what, can I drink it here and decide?"

"You can't do that. It's illegal."

"Then what am I supposed to do, damn it. Just take my money and give it to me already."

Sure, if it means you'll leave, I'm all for it.

I went to the fridge, took out the remaining cans, put them on the counter, and finished the transaction.

The chihuahua took exactly four cans and then asked me,

“Hey, you, convenience store clerk. How’s the job?”

It would be a lot more tolerable if you left.

I just shook my head silently to prevent that from slipping out of my mouth.

The chihuahua, with a pitying look, handed me two cans.

“Drink these and hang in there, damn it. I’m leaving.”

With that, he grabbed his umbrella and walked out, leaving the two cans of wheat beer sitting on the counter.

It’s nice that he gave them to me, but I wonder why he always gives me things that are hard to deal with during my shift.

I figured I’d take them home and drink them later, so I stashed them in the corner of the drink storage and went back to sit at the counter.

* * *

Twenty minutes passed.

Customers?

None.

The rain was pouring down heavily.

It was so loud it drowned out the store music.

Maybe that’s why the harpies flying in the sky were long gone, and the centaurs who used to hang out in front of the store were nowhere to be seen.

The best thing about being a convenience store clerk when it rains is that fewer customers come in.

Most clerks would use this time to either do some self-improvement or play phone games, but I didn’t feel like doing either.

It was nice and quiet, but I kept thinking about the manager’s face….

She’s always kind and smiling at me, and I feel like I should repay that kindness.

Since it’s come to this, I decided to do some of the tasks I had planned for later in the night.

First, counting the cigarettes.

Here’s roughly how it works.

I pull up the product inquiry screen on the POS system, pick a pack of cigarettes, and count the number of packs.

Let’s say there are about six packs.

After scanning the barcode, if the last digit of the remaining stock on the screen matches the number of packs I counted, then the count is correct.

The tens digit represents cartons, so I rarely count those.

If there’s a discrepancy in the cartons, it usually means the clerk on duty is dealing with severe emotional distress and should be sent to the hospital immediately.

I count all 100 types of cigarettes, and if there are discrepancies, I then note them in the inventory notebook.

If there are no issues, I write "no discrepancies" and it’s done.

In the five days I've been working here, the notebook has consistently shown no discrepancies.

Since the manager never makes mistakes, I also make sure to be extra careful when selling cigarettes.

You might wonder why I go to such lengths, but it's necessary.

Cigarette inventory discrepancies are inevitable.

For instance, let's say a customer asks for different types of cigarettes one by one.

I scan two packs, but sometimes the POS system registers two of the same pack.

Even though I scanned them separately, one stock ends up at -1 and the other at +1.

While this can be prevented by meticulously watching the POS system, there are times when discrepancies occur for inexplicable reasons.

For example, right now... Oh….

“What’s this?”

The cigarette count is off.

One type has two extra packs.

At first, I thought I miscounted.

When there are eight or nine packs, they line up in the dark corners, and my eyesight isn’t as sharp as it used to be.

So, I took them all out and counted again, but there were still two extra packs.

I considered if I had made a mistake, but I hadn't sold any cigarettes since my shift started 30 minutes ago.

It couldn’t be me, so it had to be the manager.

But it was hard to imagine the manager making such a mistake.

I checked the notebook again, and it was filled with “no discrepancies” in elegant handwriting.

Confused, I called the manager.

As soon as they answered, I heard a crunching sound.

[Yeah, Chan?]

“Manager, did you get home okay? It’s pouring outside.”

[Just got out of the shower, eating some chips. There’s a bag under the counter for you, too.]

"I'll enjoy the chips. By the way, manager, do you remember what time you checked the cigarette inventory?"

[Huh? I finished just before you arrived.]

I came in at 9:50, and it’s now 10:30, so less than an hour has passed.

Given the discrepancy occurred within this time frame, I checked the POS system just to be sure, but there were no records of any cigarette sales during that period.

[Why? Is the count off?]

"Yeah, one type has two extra packs."

[Not missing, but extra?]

"Yes. Any idea what might have caused it?"

[Hmm... No, nothing comes to mind.]

The manager didn’t take long to consider, but it wasn’t really a situation that required much thought.

The only possible explanations could be that a customer forgot their cigarettes and I mistakenly put them back on the shelf, or maybe an error occurred during the scanning process.

But the manager was so meticulous that she could tell what kind of cigarettes a customer smokes just by looking at them.

So, it’s unlikely she made a mistake, and these situations would only occur if the cigarettes were sold, which would have been recorded.

[What about you?]

"I haven't sold any cigarettes yet. There have been hardly any customers because of the rain."

[This weather is perfect for some makgeolli and pajeon, don’t you think?]

"Exactly. I was just thinking the same."

Despite the discrepancy, neither the manager nor I were too concerned.

We didn’t lose anything.

Since it was an excess, eventually, the rightful owner would come looking for it.

Still, I wanted to know the reason because I didn't want to write down that there was a discrepancy in the notebook, which had always shown “no discrepancies.”

As I balanced the phone on my shoulder and recounted the cigarettes, the manager spoke gently.

[It’s probably nothing, Chan. Let’s keep an eye on it. If it happens again, we’ll investigate further. Just note it down this time, and we’ll see if it becomes a pattern.]

“Got it, manager. Thanks.”

[No problem. Hang in there with the rain and all.]

With that, I finished recounting and noting the discrepancy in the inventory notebook.

I sighed, hoping that this oddity wouldn’t become a regular issue.

[I'll adjust it when I come in tomorrow, so you don’t need to worry about it. You’ve been working hard these past few days, Chan.]

"Well, I think it's only natural to work hard since I get paid... but..."

[Huh?]

"It's just that..."

The manager asked, but I didn’t answer right away.

I thought I saw something glimmering inside the cigarette display.

When I leaned in closer, I saw something the size of a cigarette pack with a pair of wings, sitting in the corner with its legs stretched out, wiping sweat from its forehead.

Then it looked up and met my eyes.

It smiled brightly and spoke to me.

"Hi there! I'm the Cigarette Fairy! When you flick cigarette ash, make sure there are no children nearby. Cigarette smoke is very harmful to them, and the hot tip could burn their arms or faces!"

Wow! Thank you, Cigarette Fairy!

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