Thanks for the Tequila

I was working at the Re:play games store during summer break.
The owner was a real religious zealot, and the only reason I got the job was that he knew Fred from our church who vouched for me.

I had one other coworker.
He was this redheaded, barrel-chested lumberjack of a man, with a large carrot-colored beard.
I wish I could remember his name.

Thankfully, the owner would leave us alone most of the days we worked.
We’d open some of the games, make copies, then re-shrinkwrap them.
I amassed quite the collection of games I wouldn’t have been able to afford otherwise.

When the store was quiet, we’d chill in the back room, playing video games together and shooting the shit.

He shared with me that he was gay and lived with a partner.
I was sworn to secrecy—he was pretty sure the store owner would fire him if he found out.

I told him I had no idea what I was, but it sure as shit wasn’t straight.

That made him chuckle.
Our secrets were safe with each other.

Occasionally we’d get someone bringing in a console system for trade.
On one such day, he took in a console—an Xbox, I think—without hooking it up to test first.

He set it on the workbench in the back.
It didn’t turn on.

The boss had a policy:
If we gave credit for a game or console or anything and it turned out to be damaged, that credit came out of our paychecks.

There goes paying rent this month.

I shooed him out of the way and cracked the Xbox open.
I gave the board the sniff test.
Sure enough, there was a burnt component somewhere—I could smell it.

I put in extra hours that day, tracing each logic pin until I found and replaced all the misbehaving components.

The next day, I finished getting the console logged into the system, priced, and up on the shelf.

That beautiful redhead came over and gave me a great big hug, thanking me profusely for saving his bacon.

“Seriously, let me know anything you’d like. I mean within reason,” he told me.

“You know,” I said, “I’d really love a small bottle of José Gold. That’s my favorite tequila.”

It was also the only tequila I’d had up to that point.

The following weekend, when we were both back at work, he handed me a gift-wrapped box.

“Open your birthday gift at home,” he told me.

The boss was at the shop that day and looked over.

“I didn’t know it’s your birthday.”

It wasn’t. But he didn’t know that.

I just smiled, said thanks, and kept my mouth shut.

It was a really thoughtful not-birthday gift.