The Exchange

The man stared at her in amazement. The white of his eyes shone bright yellow, a sure sign that there was some sickness brewing in his inners, and Rachel felt glad that she had not shaken his hand when she had first entered the shop.

‘You want to do … what?’

He was older, maybe in his late 50s, probably rapidly pacing towards his approaching retirement and a subsequent heart attack. A wreath of grey hair clung to his round head, or maybe it just reminded her of a bowling ball because it was so hair-deprived and buffed shiny with some healthful oils.

Somewhat tired of repeating her story, Rachel rolled her eyes.

‘Okay. Let me break this down for you …’, she started, but the man interrupted her.

‘You cannot do this.’

‘Well, why not?’

The yellow eyes darted between her and Peter, who stood, his face serene, his jaw moving in incessant chewing, smiling sheepishly, to her left and slightly behind her. He was in her shadow, but he did not seem to mind that Rachel was talking about him. Or the way she was talking about him. Or what she had suggested about him.

‘This is simply not done! You cannot …’ and with that, the man pointed to Peter.

Rachel breathed in deeply and straightened to her full 164cms. Her chest barely reached above the counter, she could hardly see further down than the Sales man’s shoulders. Only now did she notice the name tag above his shirt’s breast pocket and she wished she had donned her purple heels. Instead, she rose to her tiptoes.

‘Jimmy’, she looked again to make sure she had got it right.

Jimmy nodded.

‘So, Jimmy, tell me why you think that I cannot do this?’

Her voice had gotten stern, and the salesman had carefully stepped back a little, away from her scrutinizing eyes and the potential of a slap. You never know, and in his many years in his position as Head Sales Executive at this outlet, he had seen many things, some of which he would like to forget.

‘He’, he started.

‘Peter’, Rachel prompted and Jimmy nodded.

‘Peter … is a little older than the … standard … merchandise.’ His voice barely audible at the end.

Rachel smiled.

‘One moment’, and she bent down, rummaging through her large bag for the paper she knew she had packed.

‘Ah, here.’ She straightened. Jimmy had leant forward, pushing himself up on his workface, and now his face was close to hers.

When she looked straight at him, he shrivelled and moved back. Again. To a safe distance.

Smiling at the funny dance they were leading, Rachel smoothed out the printed sheet on the high counter.

‘You see, Jimmy, I came prepared. I have here, look, and you should recognise this document, I have here the BCRs Terms and Condition all nicely for you to remind yourself.’

Jimmy said nothing.

‘Let us take this, one line at a time, okay?’

Jimmy nodded. Peter still had not uttered a single word, and still stood, chewing like a happy cow in a tranquil field, regurgitating and unstopping.

‘So. This is a BCR? A ‘Baby … Changing … Room’?’

Dramatically, Rachel looked around. Jimmy’s eyes followed hers, and Peter burped. She shot him a quick glance, one that Jimmy did not miss, and Peter ignored.

When her eyes returned to Jimmy, he had to agree.

‘Yes’, he reluctantly admitted.

‘Fine. Then let us read the next line ….’

‘I know what the T&Cs say,’ Jimmy interjected, wishing against all hope that he could get rid of Rachel. And Peter.

‘Okay, just as well, I am tired of them anyway. But, Jimmy, tell me where it says in your T&Cs that there is any kind of age restriction on the babies you can change?’

Confused, Jimmy grabbed the sheet of paper she held out for him, pretended to read and re-read before he had to agree that this was an element that the authorities had forgotten about.

‘But you know, Miss, it is B-A-B-I-E-S’, and he said the word as if it was many syllables and two minutes long.

‘Well, this here, this is my B-A-B-Y, and I want to change him. So I brought him to the Baby Changing Room.’

‘But … but’, Jimmy grappled for the right words.

‘Take a breath!’ Rachel ordered and Jimmy’s face turned purple.

‘He is too old’, Jimmy stammered.

Rachel made herself tall again and stared Jimmy down. The salesman cowered in the furthest corner of his space, worried about her anger and potential fury.

It did not come.

‘Let us not go there’, she beamed at him.

Peter blew a bubble that burst. Sticky gum stuck to his face.

Rachel smiled forgivingly. With a wet cloth, she wiped away the gum.

‘Can I please speak with the Manageress?’

Rachel did not want to deal with Jimmy any longer and hoped that a woman would be more caring, would see the sense of her wish.

‘I am on my own today.’

Then, after considering Peter for a moment, watching the way he smiled, the intensity of his chewing and blowing bubbles, Jimmy reluctantly turned back to Rachel.

‘He does not speak much, does he?’

Once more, Rachel bent down. She carefully laid down a small, white plastic bag.

‘His special toffees. These will keep him occupied when he is not sleeping.’

Jimmy swiped the baggy off the top counter and down onto his workspace where Rachel no longer could see it. This was the moment when she knew that her wish would be granted.

‘And he is physically fit?’

She pointed at Peter, pulled his arm to the side to show off his muscles.

‘I have a cert from the doctor.’

‘Fine.’

Jimmy was now ticking off boxes on a form.

‘Your ID?’

Rachel handed over her Emirates ID and Jimmy copied her details.

‘His ID?’

‘You really need that?’ She raised an eyebrow.

‘No, this is voluntary. What is his name then?’ Jimmy bit down hard on the cap of his biro. He concentrated on his work, wondered how he would explain this to his Manageress, but then there were the T&Cs and Rachel was right, there was no mention whatsoever about an age restriction for their services. Unless this request was winning votes and other customers asked for it, this would be the one and only time and then they would change the T&Cs so this would not happen again.

‘My husband’s name is Peter.’

Jimmy slowly wrote the name in the space on the form.

‘Any special dietary requirements?’

Rachel shook her head no.

‘Just don’t feed him too much chocolate, that always makes him antsy. I suggest a special toffee every four hours while he is awake, and a hot tea, no sugar or milk before bedtime. He likes herbal teas.’

‘Don’t worry. We know about the care of …’ Jimmy almost had said ‘babies’ before he caught himself. This exchange did not require his usual spiel.

Rachel simply smiled her most warming smile. She was happy. This was just as she had hoped it would be.

‘Right then. I need your signature here and here, and then I need 150AED. You are aware that we will take bab … Peter for 14 days only. If no one … equal … has been handed in, and no change is going to take place, you will have to come and fetch him back.’

At this, his stained eyes wandered to Peter who looked tired now and wiped at his eyes with an easy fist.

Rachel signed.

‘Yes, I know. 14 days. In those 14 days, I can change my mind also, right?’

‘Right.’

She smacked Peter’s butt playfully on the way out.

‘You be good now, baby-dear!’

The doorbell jingled as Rachel left the showroom and both men looked after her. Jimmy was glad to see the back of this woman, and Peter’s eyes were strangely glazed over so that the salesman could not decide whether Peter was glad or sad or something else entirely.

‘Come on then’, he invited the new merchandise. Opposed to all the others he had to deal with, this one came on his own accord. Jimmy smiled.

As did Rachel.

From the lockers, she fetched her suitcase before she took the metro to the airport. It had been an easy decision: when this holiday had loomed, she had investigated all her options. If she had taken Peter along, she could not have afforded to go this far for this long and a trip to Oman simply was not what she wanted for her 30th birthday. 10 days of balmy days on a tropical beach, massages, mani/ pedis: she would be able to go for all of it. And if, by some weird chance, someone would come and bring an exchange for Peter, then so much the better. She hoped that the new baby was just a little taller. And there were always the special toffees …