Trade

It had come to my attention that I no longer used my once much-loved Nintendo DSi. A sad thing to notice indeed. Nevertheless, I am a practical person, and if I have no use for a thing I once admired I know that I ought to give it up. I decided to trade it at Game, for credit, so that I might later purchase something I would rather have.

I took the console and my games (not trifling number I may add) to the store and gave them away. In return I received their value on a gift card. I left the establishment and threw away the bag I had been using to carry them. I wandered the town centre, picking up the odd item until I eventually found myself standing outside a different branch of Game.

I had previously decided against spending my credit that day, but I changed my mind, and entered. Soon a pleasant young man with a strong accent and a bad hair-cut was telling me things I didn't need to know about products I didn't want to buy. It was cool in the shop, though, and he wasn't being impolite, so I pretended to care about his opinions. I chose a few items (carefully disregarding his advice) and took them the the counter. A different young man was about to give me advice I didn't need on what had already chosen when I realised the gift card was gone. I rifled through my handbag and pockets: Nothing. I stammered excuses and left.

I searched my bag twice more to no avail. Then it struck me; the card must have been in the bag I had thrown away. Hellfire! I returned to the shopping centre and found a cleaner. I explained to her my predicament. She told me the bins had been emptied and it was likely that the rubbish inside them had been crushed, but radioed her comrade anyway. He arrived shortly thereafter and said he had been on his break - crushing had not yet occurred! Delight.

He vanished to the basement to search for my bag, warning me that he may be gone some time. I waited. He returned, bag in hand. I rejoiced until I opened it and discovered it empty. I may as well have simply thrown my unwanted gadgetry away. I explained what had been in the bag, and, noting my distress, he agreed to go have another look.

The minutes dragged by. I began to wonder if the card had ever existed at all. Perhaps my receipt would suffice? Doubtful. Eventually he returned, a small slip of held between fingers like pincers. "Is this it?" He queried.

"Yes! I can't believe you actually found it!"

"It's a bit messy I'm afraid, but you must be the luckiest person in the world."

The delightful little chap may have something there. The card was coated in grime, but it didn't bother me - I removed it with some ultra-cute tissues I had acquired during my earlier wanderings. I returned to the store and bought the items I had left behind earlier. The boy who's advice I had ignored had by now realised that I'd been ignoring him, he glared at me, I didn't care.

I may in the past have asserted that luck does not exist. I still consider this to be true. In spite of this fact, I do seem to have an awful lot of it.