The witch carefully filled a clean old root beer bottle, and put it on the bottom shelf of her minifridge. The top shelf held a dozen or so fresh bottles of root beer. She went about her daily routine selling ointments and salves mostly.
Late in the afternoon, the door swung open. The bell clanged, and in strode Rolan gleaming with sweat. He was carrying a package. He ran a bicycle delivery/messenger service.
"Hey, Pyopu, need you to sign for this one!" he shouted.
"You look thirsty, Rolan," she said as she took the clipboard and signed. "I was just about to have a root beer, want one?"
Her heart was racing. Say yes, Rolan.
"A root beer sounds good, Pyopu," he answered as she took the brown bottle from the bottom shelf and one from the top shelf. She made a show of popping the tops, and handed him the bottle she had filled earlier. He set it on the counter, and checked the clipboard.
He sighed, "Pyopu, you signed on the wrong line." He crossed out her signature and handed her the clipboard again, this time pointing where to sign. She set her root beer down next to his and signed.
When she handed Rolan back his paperwork, he was already sipping his drink. She raised hers in a toast to Rolan and took a deep drink, Rolan nodded and hurried out to make his next delivery. Had it worked? She consulted the book...