David ceased rapping on the front door as he heard shuffling footsteps approaching from within the house, soon followed by what sounded like the fumbling of an awful lot of locks, and some not quite discernable under-the-breath cursing. One final lock clicked, and the door cracked open. As far as the still-secured chain allowed it to, that is. A single eye peered through the very small opening that the cracked door afforded. It darted left and right before looking downwards to the small brown haired boy standing on the stoop. The eye was heavily drooped with wrinkles, light blue in color with a watery cast. Above, a thick and unruly gray eyebrow grew, currently drawn down into a severe line, a mixture of both question and disapproval. The eye studied him, a sharp and burning intelligence evident in the stare that held David in its gaze.

“Yes?” the man asked in a tone of voice that clearly indicated irritability.

David took a startled step back.

“Well, what is it? Speak boy.”

David opened his mouth and a small squeak issued forth.

The eye rolled in evident exasperation, “Are you a boy or are you a mouse? I find both nearly equally repulsive in nature, so by all means, don’t overthink it.”

David was indeed of short stature, so it was with a struggle that he managed to lift the brown paper bag at his feet and hold it aloft so it could be seen.

An odd gleam came over the eye. It was unsettling and David did not much care for it.

“I-I-I brought you your groceries Mr. -” David wrestled with the bag until he could see the name written in black marker, “Mr. Farfunkle.” He pronounced it as Farf-unkle.

The visible eye narrowed in annoyance, “It’s pronounced Far-Funkle.” he said with slow emphasis on each syllable.

“Sorry Mr. Far-Funkle.” David repeated the name with the same careful emphasis on the pronunciation, turning beet red in mortification.

“What’s this you say about groceries? What’s happened to the usual boy? Redhead … or maybe he had black hair. Now, what was his name? Gary? Larry?”

“Jordan, and he has blonde hair.” 

“Or was it Billy? There was definitely a Y on the end of it. Yes, Billy. I’m sure of it. Where has he gone off to?”

“He had to leave Gromer’s grocery. He and his parents moved away.”

“Well that’s inconvenient of him. But good riddance I say. He never was very good at the job. He’d either forget an item, deliver the wrong item, or squash my bread by placing it at the bottom of the bag.” The eye bored into him, “You wouldn’t be the kind of boy that squashes bread now, would you?”

David’s eyes grew large, “No sir.” he hurried to say.

“He hired a little shrimp like you to replace Jimmy?”

David bristled, his size always a tender subject for him. “I assure you, I can do it.”

“You can’t be more than ten.”

“I’m thirteen!”

“Really? Quite small for your age, aren’t you? But what do I know about children? I try to avoid them when I can. Nasty little things.”

David was struggling to maintain his hold on the bag. His arms were beginning to tremble, but he resisted the urge to set it down and prove Farfunkle’s point as valid.

“This is boring me and I have important things to get back to.” Farfunkle informed him right before he slammed the door in David’s face.

David was flabbergasted by the sudden turn of events and looked about in alarm. His first day on the job and he had already messed things up. He was wondering what he was going to tell his boss when the sound of the chain being slid back reached his ears. The door slowly creaked open on protesting hinges, revealing the not so ordinary man behind it.

Farfunkle was either completely and utterly unaware of his disheveled appearance, or absolutely-mad. Based on the short interaction they had had, David privately considered the second option as being the more likely of the two. He was older, practically ancient, tall, and thin in a most shocking manner. His gray hair didn’t seem to be able to recall the last time it had been cut, nor saw a comb. It had been allowed to revolt to a state of wild, most resembling a thick bush. The glasses perched on top of his head were really the only thing that gave a shape to it. He was draped in what once could have been a lab coat. Badly battered and stained, it was oversized for the painfully lean frame. His checkered trousers were in an equally bad state of affairs: several inches too short for his long knobby legs, showcasing the apparent lack of socks in the rough patched brown shoes. The trouser knees worn and faded, as if the sharp bony angles of his knees had slowly worked away at them. 

David’s stare must have been lingering on the odd spectacle of a man a little too long because he was brought back to attention by a rather sharp huffed-out breath of air.

Farfunkle stared back at him with an intensity in his eyes. Breaking the silence that hung between them he began to name off the list of groceries. 

“White bread, not wheat?”

Confused at first, David hesitated, unsure what was expected of him.

In turn, Farfunkle closely scrutinized David during his pause, and just as an expression of impatient disgust began to cross his features David finally grasped the intent.

“White bread! It’s white bread.” 

Farfunkle granted him a small nod of the head to indicate this was what he had wanted, but now he launched into it at a near breathless pace. The litany of questions coming as a demand.

“Baloney, not salami?”

At the speed he was shooting off his questions David could do no more than give a nod.

“American cheese, yellow not white?”

David nodded.

“Regular mayo, not light?”

David nodded.

“Head of lettuce, not shredded?”

“Yes sir, and that’s everything.”

“And I should hope so! I didn’t order anything else, and won’t pay for any additional.”

Even while speaking Farfunkle was leaning over the bag David held so he could get a glimpse of the perfectly unsquashed loaf of bread placed on the very top. He didn’t say a word but looked pleased by it nonetheless.

“I can carry this in for you sir.”

Farfunkle gave a snort of amusement, “With those trembling little arms?”

It embarrassed David to know his weakness had been noted.

“Really, it’s no trouble. In fact, my boss expects it of me.”

Farfunkle’s brief merriment was now replaced with absolute seriousness “I don’t allow people into my house. I never let that Bobby kid inside, and I have no intention of allowing you in.”

With a speed and agility David would not have suspected him capable of, the frail looking old man managed to thrust payment into David’s hand in one swift motion while simultaneously transferring the bag to his own arms. Speaking not another word, he hurriedly retreated beyond the door’s threshold. David started to protest that he hadn’t given him his change yet, but the door slammed in his face for the second time that day.

“It was a pleasure to meet you Mr. Farfunkle!” he shouted at the door.

David could have sworn he’d glimpsed an odd sense of excitement expressed on the otherwise sour face just before it disappeared behind the closed door. There, and then gone again just as quickly. Even the sound of the locks being promptly clicked back home seemed to have a ring of eagerness to them. Hearing the chain being re-secured, David finally looked down at the hand that held the payment. Payment aside, there was an additional three cents in change. Three cents tip. He suspected the old man would have seen him as undeserving of even that, if he hadn’t been in such a hurry to get away.

Turning away from the door he slowly retreated-back down the walkway, the sense that he had just stumbled into something very out of the ordinary prickling at the forefront of his mind.

It was kind of exhilarating.