The drawer beneath the till

An original literary non-fiction-style account of helping in a relative's small stationery shop.

My cousin showed me the cash register twice before leaving me in charge of the stationery shop. He said the buttons were simple once I stopped trying to guess what they did. Under the counter was a drawer of elastic bands, spare labels and pencils too short to sell. I tidied these while waiting for a customer.

A woman bought one envelope. When I offered a bag, she held up a letter and said that the envelope was its bag. She wanted to borrow a pen. I gave her a new one from the display, but she chose a short pencil from the drawer instead. She only needed to add a postcode, she explained. Then she asked whether I knew it. I did not, and she looked it up on her telephone.

The next customer placed a worn notebook on the counter and asked for another exactly the same. I showed him a cleaner, thicker version. He opened it, felt the pages and closed it again. The old notebook fitted a particular pocket in his coat. He was not looking for more pages; he was looking for the same size.

A child arrived with several coins held flat on her palm. She counted them twice before choosing a sheet of green paper. I began explaining that she could afford two sheets. She said she only needed one because she was making a leaf. She put the other coins back in her pocket.

When my cousin returned, I had made very little money. He asked whether anything had been difficult. I mentioned the postcode and the notebook. He nodded, opened the drawer and put the short pencils back where they had been before my tidying. People needed to see what they could borrow, he said.

What do you learn about what the customers need from the shop?