“God my ankle is killing me! ...and I'm lost. Damn it,” Ian grumbled. He was on his bicycle (no free parking was available anywhere at the university he worked at, especially for employees), so he biked nearly every day. Today he'd decided to try a new route home, hoping to save some time and, hopefully, improve his attendance record. He was running out of suspensions for tardiness and getting perilously close to termination. Which was now looking like a bad idea. As it turned out the streets between work and home were, in this area, slightly more disorganized than a plate of spaghetti.
Topping a surprisingly steep hill, he pulled over the the curb, stopping to catch his breath.
The big problem was that he really disliked his job. The environment was good-- he liked being around college students, young people were interesting-- he just didn't like cleaning up after them. Working as a janitor was not what he'd had in mind roughly thirty years ago when he graduated from high school. It just sort of happened after flunking out of college and going through a very long steam of very short term jobs, and a lot of unemployment. Temp jobs and losing wage slave jobs hadn't really bothered Ian for a couple decades. More recently he'd started worrying about things like heath insurance and retirement, and the university was very good on both of those.
Ian grabbed the water bottle from his bike and sucked out what proved to be the last swallow of water.
He stared at the bottle for a moment and then looked around. Maybe there was a drinking fountain nearby...
Not seeing a fountain he decided to see what shops were close-- maybe there was a fast food place or something...
Blinking in surprise, he noticed that most of the signs seemed to be in Chinese (thankfully a lot of them had an English translation underneath the Chinese.) It was news to him that this town had a Chinatown.
Getting off his bicycle he quickly chained it to a lamp post, then winced as he put weight on his left ankle. None of the shops seemed to be a restaurant, fast or otherwise. A stationary store sat next to one which seemed to be selling janitorial supplies (just what he wanted to see, not) and that sat next to what seemed to be a pet store, then came one whose name was translated as “The Ointment Store.”
The last one seemed like it might have possibilities. Maybe it sold something to drink, maybe it had something which could make his ankle feel better, maybe both.
Groaning, he limped to the store and entered.
The store smelled of dust, herbs, and some mixture of unidentifiable things. Dust covered many of the shelves, and heavy cobwebs hung from the ceiling. Not promising.
“Can I help you, young man?” croaked a voice from behind and to the right of Ian.
Ian jumped, turned and found himself facing an ancient looking Chinese man wearing some sort of colorful, silk or silk like outfit Dr. Fu Manchu would wear.
“Perhaps something for your ankle? Aches and pains from years of hard life, maybe? Something for more energy?” continued the ancient man.
“Uhm, sure. Any of those,” stammered Ian, still trying to catch up mentally.
“Perhaps all?” asked the old shopkeeper, studying Ian from a head topping a hunched over body.
“That would work,” Ian agreed. “All sounds good. Uh, I don't have much money. Payday isn't until
Thursday...”
“Don't worry, prices are low,” interrupted the shopkeeper, turning toward the aisles. He shuffled down one of them. “Follow me. I can take care of everything.”
'Everything?' Ian silently questioned. That seemed unlikely. Then again, Ian was enjoying taking a break from biking, and there was the possibility the old man had something which would work. Ian followed the man down the aisle.
The elderly shopkeeper wandered down the aisle, looking seemingly at random shelves and muttering in one Chinese dialect or another (or, at least, Ian assumed it was a Chinese dialect. All he knew for certain was that it wasn't English and didn't sound like Spanish.)
Suddenly the old Chinese man stopped in front of a set of shelves and scrutinized its contents. Ian paused and idly eyed the contents of another shelf, trying to decide if the packets displayed on it were synthetic pot or not.
“Here! Take these. They make new you,” the Chinese shopkeeper suddenly announced, shoving three jars into Ian's arms.
Ian looked at the jars. One was made from very dark blue glass, with some sort of jell inside. Another was made from a reddish metal, maybe copper, and was surprisingly heavy. The last was covered with green paper. All three were unlabeled.
“All you need to do is take shower, and get very clean. Then rub all three all over your body, even hair, bottom of your feet, everywhere. Any order. Then go to bed. Sleep in the nude or not, it doesn't make any difference, but I keep getting asked,” the shopkeeper continued.
Ian looked uncertainly at the three jars.
“I don't...,” he began.
“Price very cheap,” interrupted the old man, gesturing for Ian to keep the jars. “Five dollars and ninety-eight cents.”
“Oh!” Ian said in surprise. He had six dollars and assorted change... He made up his mind.
“Okay. Thanks!” Ian said, fishing out his wallet and handing the shopkeeper a five and a single.
The bills disappeared into the shopkeepers outfit and he handed Ian two pennies. Ian had no idea where the bills went or the coins came from.
Ian stumbled out of the shop and got back on his bicycle, arriving home about fifteen minutes later and only a half hour longer than his normal commute. Grumbling, he placed the three jars on the crowded counter in his bathroom and made himself a quick, and possibly nutritious, supper.
Presently he decided going to bed early seemed like a good idea and entered the bathroom, almost immediately seeing the three jars. A shower did seem like a good idea...