The P'tit Box

I live with a golden retriever. This means my life is covered in dog hair. That means I really, really NEED a vacuum.

Of course, when I pulled out the dusty old vacuum that came with the apartment, it didn’t work – and thus sprang a quest for an affordable replacement. Long story short, there isn’t one.

So I went to my favorite bazaar and, before telling the owner (with whom I practice French every day) which vacuum I wanted, I decided to shop around a bit. A new curtain for my kitchen, a new pillow for my bed, a new placemat for the dog. Then I saw it.

On the very top of a huge tower of boxes was the perfect box – the box I’ve been searching for to better organize my closet. I need two, but hell – one would be a start.

“How much for the box, the little box?”

“Not expensive,” the owner said.

“How much is ‘not expensive’?” I looked at him dryly. “I am a student, you know.”

“Where are you from?”

Ugh. The question that gets me every time. I used to lie, or mislead, or have people guess, but the truth is I’m American. C’est tout. And I said so… then followed quickly with: “But I live here now.”

“American?!” he laughed. “Americans have tons of money!”

A typical stereotype. “Not this one. So, how much is the box?”

He laughed gently and found the ladder. Slowly he climbed step by step to the top of the monsterous pile of boxes to grab the tiniest one, the only one that would fit in my closet.

By the time he was halfway down, I knew it wasn’t right for me. It had pink flowers on the top, and I didn’t like it. The whopping price of 3€ for a cardboard box didn’t help, either.

“Hmm. No, merci.”

He rolled his eyes.

As I paid for the vacuum and other small bits, I noticed he was smiling bigger than usual. “Look in the bag,” he instructed.

I did. There was the little box. “But–“

“A gift.” He winked and said goodbye.

And sure enough, it’s the perfect fit for my closet.