Request #002: “My Patience (Wore Out Slowly)”

REQUEST #: 002

ITEM: Patience

LAST SEEN: Not sure. It went gradually.

STATUS: Pending

A woman came in already mid-sentence.

“…and I used to have more of it,” she said, walking up to the counter. “Not a lot, but enough. Now it’s just… gone faster than it should be.”

I nodded.

That still seemed to be the correct response for most things.

She set her bag down like she planned to stay a while.

“I think I left my patience somewhere,” she said. “Or wore it out. I don’t know if that counts as lost.”

I wrote it down.

“Item?”

“Patience.”

“Last seen?”

She thought about it.

“That’s the problem,” she said. “It didn’t disappear all at once. It just kept getting shorter.”

That felt harder to write down, but I did it anyway.

“I’ll check the back,” I said.

She nodded, then immediately tapped the counter twice.

Not loud.

Just enough to notice.

The back room door was closed this time.

I don’t remember closing it.

I opened it.

The shelves looked mostly the same.

But not exactly.

A few labels had shifted.

Or maybe I just didn’t remember them correctly.

I walked past the section I had used before.

Further in, there was a narrower aisle.

A sign was taped unevenly to the shelf:

“Patience (Measured)”

That felt close enough.

Inside were rows of small containers.

Much smaller than I expected.

Some looked barely used.

Others were almost gone.

Labels read:

• “Waiting on hold”
• “Explaining something twice”
• “Traffic (light)”
• “Traffic (not moving)”

One container was cracked open.

The label:

“This will only take a minute”

It was empty.

I picked up another one.

Heavier.

The label read:

“Let them finish”

I held it for a second.

It stayed.

Didn’t fade like the others.

Further down, there was a larger jar.

Clouded. Hard to see inside.

The label was written quickly, like it was added later:

“Used to have more of this”

I brought a few options back.

Not all of them.

Just the ones that felt like they might still work.

She was tapping the counter again when I returned.

Same rhythm.

Not impatient enough to be rude.

Just enough to fill the space.

“Find anything?” she asked.

I set the items down.

“Some,” I said.

She picked up the smallest one first.

“Waiting on hold,” she read.

She smiled slightly.

“I remember this,” she said.

She held it for a second.

Then set it back down.

Next one:

“Let them finish.”

She paused.

Held it longer.

Her shoulders dropped a little.

“That one feels familiar,” she said.

She reached for the larger jar.

“Used to have more of this.”

She didn’t open it.

Just looked at it.

“Can I take more than one?” she asked.

I hadn’t been told.

So I said, “I think so.”

She nodded, then gathered two of them.

Left the larger jar.

“I don’t think I’m ready for that one,” she said.

She put the smaller containers in her bag.

Carefully.

Like they might spill.

“Will this last?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said.

She nodded like that made sense.

Then stopped.

Looked back at the counter.

“Do people come back for this?” she asked.

I thought about it.

“I haven’t been here long,” I said.

She nodded again.

Picked up her bag.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll try these first.”

She left.

The bell didn’t ring.

I looked down at the form.

The status had changed.

STATUS: Partially Recovered

I hadn’t touched it.

From the back room, something shifted again.

A little closer this time.

I waited.

Then went back to the counter.

Next request processed Monday.