Elf Storage

by Janice Dreamer

Colin creeped through the EZ-pass lane onto the Chesapeake Bay bridge. He swerved around a minivan crammed with beach paraphernalia whose driver was too distracted by screeching kids to move when a gap opened in front of him. He automatically cursed all the Balti-morons who created summer traffic hell in his rural stretch of Maryland nestled between the bay and the ocean resort towns. Especially on his homeward commute after a grueling workday. On Friday afternoon. On the Fourth of July weekend.

Colin stuck his head out the window to get a better look at the traffic ahead on the bridge. Damn. He knew it was going to be bad but this was ridiculous. Cars were bumper to bumper, stopping and starting as far as he could see. Sighing in resignation he fumbled in the console for a CD and slid it into the slot in the dashboard. Might as well settle in for a slow ride home, he thought.

He touched the volume control on his F450‘s steering wheel and Blake Shelton and Trace Adkins blared out “We all got a hillbilly bone down deep inside, no matter where you from you just can’t hide it...” Yeah man! The weekend was here at last. Now he had a couple days for attitude adjustment before it all started again on Monday. Colin felt a smile tugging the corner of his mouth and he began singing along, “... when the band starts banging and...” Shit!

The sync display showed the call was from Dina, his fiancee. He sighed and hit the phone button. “Hey Dee.”

“Colin? Where are you, Babe?”

“Just getting on the bridge. Traffic sucks.”

“Um, Sweetie? You know what time it is? I thought you were going to get off early today?”

“I know, I know,” Colin muttered. “Big John had a burr up his ass or something today. He reamed me good cause I was taking so long finishing up a ring job on a Cummins.”

There was a long pause before Dina said, “But hadn’t you already put in to take off early?”

Colin sighed. She just didn’t get it. “Hon, I couldn’t leave until I was done the engine. Not after my boss chewed me out for it.”

“Well I would think he’d understand you had plans. And you should have kept your promise to come home early. I’ve been running myself ragged trying to organize this move...” She broke off as her voice grew thick with emotion.

“Now Dee...”

“You act like you don’t *want* to move in together.”

“Of course I want to Dee! You know I do,” Colin had predicted this argument as soon as he had to stay late, but what else could he do? Dina’d had a privileged upbringing as the only child of wealthy parents. She had a pHd and was director of research for an up and coming biotech company. Dina had more money than she knew what to do with and pretty much set her own hours. She simply didn’t understand why he couldn’t do the same.

“Well you’ve got a funny way of showing it,” she huffed.

“Dee don’t be like that. I’ll be home soon and we can start getting stuff ready for the yard sale then.”

“No, *you* can start getting ready for the yard sale; I have a migraine. I don’t know why you insist on this tacky yard sale anyway, why not just donate everything to Goodwill?”

“We’ve been through this before, Dee,” Colin struggled to keep the exasperation out of his voice. “I can’t afford to pass up the chance to make some money from this. The move is going to cost me plenty as it is.”

“And I’ve said over and over that I’ve got enough money for both of us.”

“But I can’t take your money; that’s not how I roll, you know that,” Colin sighed. He could almost recite both sides of this recurring argument in his sleep.

“Fine. Mr. Macho has to stand on his own two feet. Since you obviously don’t want my help I’m spending the evening with Mother and Daddy.”

“Aw Dee, I was really hoping to see you tonight.”

“Prove it Colin. Prove you want to see me. Prove you want to move in together. Sort through your apartment and pack what you want to keep and get the rest ready for your precious yard sale. Call me when you’re done but not before,” she disconnected before he had a chance to reply.

* * * *

Dina pressed down on the disconnect button on her cell. It just wasn’t as satisfying as slamming down an old fashioned telephone receiver. God, that man knew how to gall her! Why couldn’t he accept her help? It wasn’t like she never accepted his help -- that was how they met, for heaven’s sake.

Dina smiled tenderly as she thought back to that first meeting. She was roaring down the highway weaving in and out of traffic when a quivering rattle shook her BMW Z4 and she heard a thumping noise that alarmed her. She pulled over, got out and glared at a flat tire. Who knew that the tire pressure warning light meant get air *immediately*? She’d only been driving on it for a week. Of course it couldn’t have happened at a worse time; she was expected at an important meeting with the FDA on a new drug that was in clinical trials.

It was blazing hot and humid, a typical Maryland Eastern Shore summer day. Cars whizzed by sending gritty hot exhaust laden gusts that buffeted her. A trickle of sweat ran down the back of her neck. She was dressed in a short summer weight business suit and Gucci stiletto sandals. Several tendrils of hair worked free from her perfect French braid and whipped annoyingly in her face. Her skirt fluttered dangerously in the wind and she struggled to prevent giving the passing motorists a free show. As she bent over preoccupied with the wayward skirt her sandals slid in the loose gravel and a heel snapped.

“Shit!” Dina yanked off the broken shoe and flung it as hard as she could into the woods. “Shit! Shit! Shiiiiiit!” she screamed in frustration. Then a jolt of pain hit as a sharp bit of gravel dug into her bare foot and she did an awkward little dance from high heel to bare foot trying to regain her balance. She swung her leg back and aimed a vicious kick at the traitorous tire only to fall flat on her butt with a throbbing stubbed toe and shattered dignity. Feeling utterly defeated Dina leaned her head back against the BMW’s fender and gave in to a flood of tears.

She didn’t know how long she sat there wallowing in self pity. Cars and trucks roared by only a few feet away and threw grit and dust all over her. No one stopped. She was just beginning to regain enough composure to think about getting her cell and calling a mechanic when her prince arrived.

With a bone rattling roar from its powerful diesel an enormous pickup truck with dual wheels on the back pulled off the road directly in front of her car. She listlessly turned her head and saw its gleaming black driver’s side door swing open. A denim clad leg emerged shod in a worn cowboy boot and planted itself on the ground. This was followed by a lean muscular body with a tight sexy butt and broad powerful shoulders. Finally the man turned and she felt her heart skip a beat as she caught sight of his handsome square-jawed face.

Afterwards Dina would tell all her friends her first impression: a modern day knight in faded jeans and tight fitting Rascal Flats tee shirt riding to the rescue in his shining truck.

“Excuse me, Miss,” this fantasy come to life spoke in a pleasantly deep bass rumble with a hint of Boston accent. “Are you all right?”

Dina stared up at him with her mouth open a moment before it dawned on her that he was talking to her. “Um, yes... I mean no... my tire’s flat...” her tongue felt thick and her face was aflame.

“Well, let me take a look.” He held out a large hand expectantly. After she simply stared at his outstretched hand a moment he reached down to take her hand and pull her to her feet.

“Thanks,” she murmured. She briefly stumbled on her one high heel and her breasts brushed up against his chest. A tingling flash of electricity shot through her at the accidental contact and she blushed even deeper.

“Steady there,” he said with a note of concern. He caught her by the elbows and held her firmly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” she breathed shakily. “Just a little rattled is all.” She rubbed the back of her hand against her cheek and saw the smudge of mascara and dirt. Oh my God, she thought aghast, “I’m sorry, I must look hideous.”

He smiled showing brilliant white teeth and offered her a clean bandana from his hip pocket. “Not at all, you look very nice. I’m Colin, by the way.”

“Th... thanks, Colin. I’m Dina,” she said, while thinking ‘nice’?! I don’t want him to think I look ‘nice’. I want him to think I look *hot*! She reached down to pull her other sandal off and tossed it casually aside. Standing on tiptoe she summoned up her sexiest smile, breathed deeply to inflate her cleavage and gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “Thanks for stopping to help. I really do appreciate it.”

“Well... um...” now it was Colin’s turn to be flustered. “You’re welcome, Dina. Now let’s take care of this tire for you.”

Dina watched as he changed the tire in short order. She admired the way he worked competently with a sureness and economy of motion. His muscles bunched impressively and she idly wondered what it would feel like to be held in those strong, sure arms. It was almost hypnotic watching his big powerful body and she found herself sighing wistfully.

She was so lost in her daydreams that the job was complete and she was still gazing like a silly schoolgirl with a first crush. She jerked herself back to reality as he straightened up from tightening the wheel lugs.

“Thanks so much,” she said, offering him a hundred dollar bill she’d hurriedly fished from her wallet while he was re-stowing the jack.

Colin frowned slightly at the proffered payment. “That’s not necessary, it was my pleasure.” He gently folded her fingers closed around the money in her outstretched hand.

She silently cursed herself. Of course he didn’t want to be paid. Look at that truck; it was brand new and probably cost almost as much as her BMW. “Well, I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t stopped.”

With an ironic grin and a pointed glance at her expensive little sports car he added, “I’m sure you’d have remembered to call your roadside assistance plan sooner or later.”

“Oh. Duh.” She slapped her forehead and smiled sheepishly. “I guess I wasn’t thinking too clearly. Stress. I’ve got an important meeting this morning. Which is all the more reason I’d like to do something nice to thank you.”

He looked at her and hesitated, as if calculating the odds. Finally he responded with affected indifference, “Well... if you’d like... I mean if you’re not doing anything... um... we could have dinner sometime. Or not. Or coffee if you’d rather. Or... um...”

Dina giggled and reached out to place her index finger over his lips, stopping him. He was so endearingly shy and *cute* she just couldn’t help herself. She quickly put him out of his misery. “I’d *love* to go to dinner with you, Colin,” she said breathily.

The look on his face was priceless. Dina didn’t realize it at the time, but it was the first slip in her long, long tumbling fall into love.

Dina smiled fondly; it was one of her favorite memories. She almost reached for her cell to call Colin and tell him she would come over to his place tonight after all. He was such a dear man. But then she remembered how stubbornly he’d stuck to his ridiculous macho pride insisting on paying at least half the expenses on their new place. He could just stew in his pride all alone, she thought. She had her pride too.

* * * *

The music came back on when the call ended and Colin cranked it even louder in a vain effort to get back into the weekend mood. Damn but that woman could be infuriating. Why did she never see his point of view?

He just wouldn’t be a man if he let his girlfriend take care of him. It was going to be tight paying his share of the expenses in the brand new waterfront condo Dee insisted on buying for their “love nest”. Of course she just brushed his objections aside, saying *she* could afford the mortgage payments and if he hadn’t saddled himself with an extravagantly macho (and expensive!) diesel pickup he wouldn’t be so strapped financially.

What could he say to that? She definitely had a point that his truck payments were exorbitant. But she couldn’t understand his need for the baddest truck on the road; it was an integral part of his persona. So they were at an impasse: neither would budge from their position. Which meant he needed to raise as much cash as he could by selling his old stuff.

Dee had flatly vetoed any of his furnishings accompanying him on the move to the condo. So he had his whole apartment to go through. Although it was a big job, on the bright side he’d have more things for a yard sale. And it was just as well, Colin reflected, that she wasn’t helping him. He had some things he wanted to keep against her wishes. And others he wanted to keep private. Very, very private. But how to do it was going to be some trick.

As these thoughts circled in his mind he drove on autopilot. Half unconsciously he noticed the run down self storage facility coming up on the right side of the road. A casual passerby might not even realize anything was behind a row of trees bordering a rickety chain link fence overgrown with vines. Closer inspection revealed a small collection of low buildings each with multiple garage door type openings. On the side of the storage unit closest to the road was a cracked and faded sign with a missing letter: “Eastern Shore _elf Storage”. For Colin it was a familiar landmark, denoting he was almost home.

That’s it, he thought, he could rent a storage unit to stash his treasures without Dee being any the wiser.

Immediately he slowed and turned at the nearest side road and began looking for the entrance to the facility. He took a right onto a service road that paralleled the main highway behind the lot. This road was eerily deserted with dark tangled woods bordering on the left while on the right trees had grown up along the fence-line obscuring the storage buildings altogether. It looked like the road hadn’t been maintained in decades, consisting of more pot holes than pavement as well as spots where the trees hung so low their branches brushed the roof of his pickup. He kept looking but didn’t see a way inside and soon the road had looped around and he was back at the highway.

Weird, he thought, but there had to be a way in. He retraced his route, slowing to a crawl. Finally as he passed a pair of huge ancient oaks, a casual glance in his rear view revealed an opening cutting diagonally back between the trees. No wonder he’d missed it the first time, it was only by shear luck that he saw it now. Rather than a proper driveway, gravel wheel ruts with weeds sprouting up in between wove back toward the storage buildings.

He pulled up in front of a small cinder block building. Rust stains streaked the formerly whitewashed walls tracing the path of years of rainwater shed from the corroded tin roof. A sign hung crookedly over the door said this was the office.

Colin stepped from the F-450 into an eerie silence; not a bird chirped, no highway noise, not even the rustle of wind disturbed the stillness. Eerily the hairs on the back of his neck prickled and he turned to look over his shoulder, feeling unseen eyes watching him. He shrugged, muttering self-deprecatingly, “Settle down boy, it’s not the Twilight Zone.”

He pushed open the door and stepped into a cluttered room. Behind a counter that separated the majority of the space from the entrance there was all kinds of odd junk spilling off shelves, heaped on tables, and haphazardly piled in the corners. It looked like a tornado had swept up a trailer park and deposited the whole shebang right here. A tall thin young man with shoulder length blond hair lolled back in a worn desk chair. His sandaled feet were propped up on an old fashioned roll top desk piled high with disorganized stacks of papers. He was absorbed in a hand held game that emitted squawks and beeps as his thumbs rattled over the buttons.

“Sweet Mother!” the young man exclaimed as a spectacular series of explosions filled the air. His right hand released its death grip on the game long enough for a triumphant fist pump. Then he stiffened and hunched forward slightly, immersing even deeper into the game. His back was half turned to the door and he was oblivious to Colin’s presence.

“Excuse me?” Colin rapped his knuckles on the counter top to get his attention.

“Begorra!” the boy’s feet flew from the desk, his arms flailing wildly, and he almost tipped over backwards before managing to catch his balance. He swiveled toward the source of the interruption and jumped up when he saw Colin. He seemed all arms and legs, thrumming with pent up energy.

“Holy Mother of All! Dude, don’t sneak up like that.” He glanced quickly at the game which had begun sounding ominous chords of defeat. “Roc piss! Look what you made me do.” He held up the device so that Colin could see its screen flashing Game Over.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Yeah, well. I almost had a high score. Damn...” He trailed off and seemed to do a double take; as if really seeing Colin for the first time. He peered at Colin through squinted eyes, running his gaze up and down as if he couldn’t figure out what to make of him. Eventually a tiny grin slowly grew but he didn’t share the joke. He simply stared at Colin in amused silence.

“Sorry, I ah...” Colin felt off balance, like an interloper. Like smart assed teens everywhere, the boy had the ability to make adults feel out of touch. Now that he had a better look, he realized the boy was barely even a teenager. Or was he even a boy? He was oddly androgynous, tall and gangling, with pale perfectly translucent skin. No breasts. Also no Adam’s apple. A ragged Jethro Tull tee shirt hung loosely on his thin frame, falling low enough over his jeans to cover any evidence of gender. Colin decided to go with male; his attitude, stance and manner of speaking all seemed more masculine than feminine.

Colin refrained from speculating further. For all he knew this kid was just here to answer the phone until someone else showed up. Whatever, it wasn’t his problem; he was here for his own reason. He shrugged off the feeling of awkwardness and drew an air of superiority around him like a cloak. He raised an eyebrow sardonically. “Do you work here?” he asked a bit snidely.

“Dude, seriously? How’d you get past the glamour...” the kid stopped himself. His grin grew wider, as if he’d thought of something much more fun. His voice dripped honey as he changed tack, “Er... I mean, is there something I can do for you?”

“I wanted to see what your rates were,” Colin said, suspicious that the kid was pulling something on him.

“Our rates?” the kid asked, clueless, his eyes twinkling with humor.

“For a storage unit?”

“Oh. Duh.” The kid paused, his large nearly colorless eyes shifted around the room, looking everywhere but back at Colin. “Our rates.”

“You do rent storage space, don’t you?” an edge of exasperation creeping into his voice.

“We... Uh...” he suppressed a snicker. As if the concept were hilarious. Finally his eyes flicked back to meet Colin’s. He nodded slowly. “Storage space. Yes. Yes, we do rent storage space.”

“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. How much do you charge?”

“Well now that depends. Do you have any warm sweet cream?” the boy asked with a perfectly straight face.

“Are you nuts?” Colin glanced up, wondering if he was being punked, and checking for a camera. “What kind of a joke is this?”

“So... no cream, then?” the boy waited with an expectant tilt of the head until Colin shook his head no. “Okay... Well then, what else? How about silver? We accept silver.”

“As in money?” Colin sighed, deciding to play along. It might even turn out to be fun if they were recording this. “Yes, I have money.”

“Cool. Hang on dude, I just need to find...” He held up a finger, then began rummaging through a pile of papers on the desk. After quite a lot of searching accompanied by low muttering, he pulled out a yellowed document from the middle of a stack. “Here it is. Let’s see... How about five pence a month?”

“Five cents? You rent a space for a nickel a month?!”

“Not cents. Pence. Silver pence. Keep up dude.”

Colin rolled his eyes. There just had to be a reality show filming this. “And how much would that be in American money?”

“Sheeze, Dude, do I look like a calculator?”

“No, but that thing does, sort of anyway.” Colin angled his head toward an antique machine that looked like a cross between an old cash register and adding machine half buried under papers.

His voice rose in a comical whine, “Really? You expect me to use *that* to figure out...”

“You work here Dilbert, not me. I’m the customer, remember?” Colin interrupted sarcastically. His patience was running thin.

“Oh yeah, right. Duh, how stupid of me,” the kid actually laughed out loud. “Give me a minute. And it’s Ells, not Dilbert.” He pushed the stack of papers to the side and stared down a bit dubiously at the dusty machine.

“Is that with an ‘E’ or just a couple of L’s?” Colin asked, trying to imitate the kid’s mocking tone.

“You figure it out, Mr. Customer. Now lemme see here... Twelve pence in a shilling... twenty shillings to the pound...” He pulled a lever like a slot machine’s and a tin sheet with the answer popped up in the window on top of the machine. Ells smiled at Colin and said, “That would be 45 grams of silver.”

Thanks to snippets of financial news that seemed to permeate 21st century life, Colin vaguely knew the price of silver was somewhere between $30 and $40 an ounce. And an ounce was around 30 or 40 grams. He did a quick mental calculation: the price was doable -- just barely. But then it ought to be considering the condition of the facility. “Fine,” He frowned, trying not to appear overeager. “I’ll take a unit. For a year to start.”

“Whoa! Slow your roll Mario,” the kid said with an exaggerated jerk of his head while he pushed the air with slow down hand gestures. “First we gotta fill out the paperwork.”

Ells dragged out a thick leather bound ledger and propped it up on the counter at the front of the office. He flipped halfway through until he found his place. Colin blinked in disbelief as the young man took a quill, of all things, from an inkwell and paused with it poised on the page. “Name?”

“Colin O’Brien.”

He scribbled in the ledger, the quill making a scratching noise. “Race?”

“White.”

“I don’t need your color. What race are you?”

Colin paused for a second, he’d thought white was accepted nowadays. “Okay, to be technical, Caucasian.”

Ells glanced over the top of the book and spoke as if to a particularly annoying lame brain. “Not your breed, Dufe, your *race*. You know... your species?”

“Well, I’m human, of course,” Colin snapped. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Looks can be deceiving, don’tcha know? Take me for example,” Ells said with a wink. He returned his attention to the ledger. “So... human just as I thought,” he murmured while writing. He was doing quite a lot of writing to enter seemingly simple information, Colin thought. Finally he looked up. “Birthday?”

“November 11th,” Colin began then paused to allow Ells time to write.

“That’s good, just the day,” Ells help up a hand before Colin mentioned the year. He wrote while muttering under his breath, “Born on the eleventh day of the eleventh month... very good. Birthplace?”

“Doolin in County Clare, Ireland. My parents moved here before I turned one.”

“Ah ha, Irish are you? Now we’re getting somewhere.” He paused with his pen at the ready and said, “Being Irish you must be baptized Catholic then?”

Colin felt heat suffuse his cheeks; the question had hit an old nerve. “These are pretty damn personal questions for a rental agreement. Why do you need to know all this?”

“Oh you know,” Ells’ reply was uttered mechanically without any forethought. “Frickin’ Dwarves, Haflings and Sprites with all their rules and record keeping. You’d think the anal little twits would give it a rest.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Ells’ face went blank. “Haven’t you heard of DHS?” he asked innocently. “They’re always nosing around. Very suspicious bunch.”

“Yah. Makes sense I guess,” Colin was somewhat mollified; it was the government, what can you do? Since the Patriot Act Homeland Security seemed to have a free reign. But to be fair, terrorists stockpiling bombs or whatnot in storage units did seem like a real possibility. “In that case, the answer is no, I wasn’t baptized Catholic.”

“Oh? Protestant then?”

“No.” Colin felt himself blushing even hotter.

“So, Jewish? Muslim? Buddhist?”

“No, none of those either.” Colin was being purposely obtuse but he couldn’t hide his flaming cheeks. “Just put down none.”

“Look, Dude, I got all day. You’re holding something back and DHS have ways of finding things out.” Ells ran two fingers over the edge of the counter and closely examined the tips. “Faerie dust, just the ticket,” he smiled wickedly then blew the dust in Colin’s face. “If you want the space you’d better ‘fess up.”

“Okay, okay.” Colin blew his cheeks out. Inexplicably he found himself trusting this weird kid with an old family legend. “My father always said that he dedicated me and my older sisters to someone or something called Danu. Eleven days after I was born he took me to a secret family dolmen somewhere in the Burren and performed some kind of ancient Pagan ceremony. No idea if it’s true but it’s all I’ve got. Satisfied?”

“Ah ha! Dedicated to the Mother are you?” Ells smiled warmly and threw down the quill. He dropped the slacker speech and his attitude instantly grew friendlier. “That explains how you saw through the glamour and found the entrance. Come with me then, Colin lad, and I’ll show you your unit.”

Colin stared at him strangely. Ells didn’t seem like a teenager any longer. And when he tilted his head in a come with me gesture Colin could swear he saw the sharply pointed tip of an ear poke out through the long strands of his blond hair. He pulled himself together and followed Ells out the door.

Each garage door in the long low building had a number painted on it. Ells stopped in front of unit 11. “Here we are. And quite an appropriate number too, don’t you think? Go ahead and open it, the door will remember your hand and only open for you.”

“Like biometrics? Cool. I wouldn’t think a little place like this would have that.” Colin pulled up the garage door to reveal an empty 8 by 8 chamber.

“Yes, something like that,” Ells replied ironically, “And I think you’ll find quite a lot of unexpected aspects to our little haven here.”

“I’m beginning to see that.”

“The unit’s climate controlled,” Ells continued like a tour guide. “Thermostat’s there. Four power outlets, all 120 volts; if you need 240 let me know and we’ll arrange it. There’s WiFi too, if you need internet access. Any questions?”

“All this for 45 grams of silver a month?” Colin had envisioned a concrete cube with no heating or air conditioning and certainly no power.

Ells kicked at a bit of gravel and shrugged. “I know it’s a bit much. Tell you what, Colin lad, for a Danu blessed one we’ll take three pence. Times are tough for us too, we can’t really go any lower without straining our resources. Do you still want the unit?”

“Oh no! Of course I understand. Yes, I’ll take it. Where do I sign?”

Ells grinned. “No signature required. Your word’s good enough. Just drop the silver by the office next time you come through.”

“You’re serious? No rental contract? And you actually want *real* silver?” Colin continued to be amazed by this weird guy and his unorthodox business practices.

“Sure, did you think I was having you on? We don’t get out much so it’s difficult for us to convert cash to silver. And who needs a contract when we have your stuff and you have our silver? It’s a natural exchange.”

Colin smiled. What a way to do business. Shame that more companies didn’t follow suit. He supposed he’d need to find a way to get 27 grams of silver a month but he knew he’d work it out. “Well then, we’ve got a deal.”

While they’d been standing there a large tractor trailer with the Cobbler Cookie logo painted on the side had backed in to unit 13. A tall thin young man who could’ve been Ells’ brother climbed down from the cab and set up a ramp from the back of the trailer to the storage unit’s entrance.

“Hey Bert, how’s it hanging?” Ells waved at the truck driver.

“Great, Ells, busy as a one armed paper hanger,” the driver waved back before disappearing into his storage unit.

Colin turned to stare openmouthed at Ells a moment then asked, “Is that Bert, the Cobbler Elf on the commercials?”

“Nah, that’s a cartoon character; he just looks like him,” Ells winked.

The sound of an engine revving interrupted Colin’s reply and Bert came shooting out of the storage unit driving a forklift loaded with a pallet of cookie cases. He drove up the ramp and deposited the cookies in the truck then raced back down into the storage unit again.

Colin shook his head to clear it. He couldn’t believe what he’d just witnessed. “How wide is this building?”

“Well now, that depends I guess,” Ells said with an enigmatic grin. “There’s seventeen eight foot wide storage units along this side of the building. On t’other side there’s another seventeen. Each one’s eight foot deep with a wall between them, sort of back to back, one facing out this way and one facing out on that side. You do the math, I never was any good at that sort of thing.”

“But that’s impossible!” Colin exclaimed. From the outside each building appeared just as Ells described it. Maybe 20 feet wide by 200 feet on the long side. But from the sounds, Bert on the forklift seemed to be driving back hundreds of feet before reemerging with each loaded pallet of cookies. “Where’s he going and where are all those cookies coming from?”

“You don’t actually believe those cookies are made under a grassy hummock like they say on TV do you?” Ells’ eyes were twinkling with amusement.

“I know, I know,” Colin sighed. “Looks can be deceiving, right?”

“Now you’re beginning to catch on Buck-o,” Ells said while clapping Colin on the shoulder. “So, if you don’t need me anymore, I’ve got a game waiting,” he winked and turned to walk back to the office, casting a parting shot before he rounded the corner, “If there’s no more interruptions, that is.”

Colin stood and watched for twenty more minutes until the truck was fully loaded. He estimated there must be 40 pallets of cookies on board. No way would they have all come out of an 8 by 8 cube. But he’d seen it with his own eyes.

When Bert emerged on foot to close the truck up and shut his storage unit’s door he gave Colin a friendly wave. “See ya ‘round, neighbor.”

“Yah. Take it easy,” Colin returned the wave as Bert climbed back into the cab and drove away.

To be continued...