The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Ah, November! Two-fifths of trees are dead, one's feet are frozen upon waking up in the morning, and everybody's favorites, the hunters, return after a year of absence!

A strange gentleman clad in camo jacket, camo pants, and a bright orange hat comes into the store one afternoon. His beard is scraggly and ill-kept, a sure sign of somebody who doesn't do facial hair except when that queer hunting season custom dictates it. “Hey, what's it take to rent from here?” he asks.

“I need you to fill out one of these-here applications. I'll need to see your driver's license.”

“Sure thing, no problem.” Huh. Normally they put up a bit more fight.

The application is completed and the guy meanders out into the store. He comes back with four tags. “How much would these cost?”

“Considering it's rent-one-get-one-free today, only seven dollars.”

“That's for one night?”

“Yes. Did you want them for two?”

“No, I think I can manage. When are they due back by?”

“Tomorrow, seven PM.”

“Yeah, I can do that.” The rentals are leased for one evening and life goes on. Fernando is not too optimistic he'll be getting any of them back, though. He felt that tingly aura of incompetence coming off the guy while speaking with him. The movies being rented were not that impressive, however. The best of the bunch was by far The Muppets, but the other three were forgettable and derivative R-rated comedies that could be substituted for just about any other R-rated comedy without any noticeable change in quality or content.

The movies go unreturned, and when Fernando calls the cell number the man provided on his rental slip (one which Fernando had no reason to believe would not work considering it was within the same area code), he hears the cheery sing-song lady announce, “This number has been discontinued.” Fernando does so love when he is right, even if the victory is as Phyrric as anything in life.

We fast-forward a week. A strange young woman comes into the store. “Hi, I'd like to set up an account here.”

“Sure thing. I just need you to fill out an application, and I'll need to see your driver's license.”

She sets to work and hands over the completed application in due course. Fernando gives it a look-over.

The address seems rather familiar to him.

“Hold on a second,” he tells her. He retreats into the depths of the office and digs through his records. Well well well. What a coincidence.

She looks somewhat apprehensive when Fernando returns to the counter. “You know Albania?” She does not immediately answer. “I see,” Fernando continues, “The good news is that you are not him, but if you should happen to see him, let him know it would be appreciated if he were to come down and chip away at his late fees and perhaps return the movies he's got out.”

“Um...which ones were those?”

Fernando produces Albania's rental slip from his ban-list pile and copies the fraction of his inventory described thereon to a sheet of paper using his absolute best penmanship. “If they should happen to turn up, it would be nice to get them back. Now, these come to four dollars altogether.”

Fernando's missing movies were in the drop box the next day. The amount of the attached late fee remains unaltered.