A Coin Worth the Wait

Takeshi stands at the end of a very long queue. It goes down the steps and along the shop window. Then it turns the corner. He cannot see the front.

It is six in the morning. The sky is grey and the street is quiet. Takeshi holds a small jar of coins in both hands.

Eight months ago, he started to save money for one thing. It is a silver coin with a tiny bird on it. The stamp and coin shop sells only fifty of them. Today is the first day.

Takeshi is twenty-eight, and he is shy. He never asks for anything. At work, he waits until people notice him. Today he wants to be different.

The woman in front of him turns around. "Are you here for the bird coin too?" she asks.

"Yes," says Takeshi. His voice is small.

"Then you need luck," she says. "I count nearly two hundred people ahead of us."

Takeshi counts the people too. She is right. He feels tired already. Still, he stays.

Hours pass. His legs hurt. A boy sells hot snacks from a cart. Takeshi does not move. He is afraid to lose his place.

At nine, the shop opens. The queue moves very slowly. At eleven, a man in a green apron comes out. He is tall, with a loud voice. His name tag says Basil.

"Friends," Basil calls, "the bird coins are sold out!"

A sound goes through the queue, like air leaving a bag. People say bad words. Some of them laugh. Many of them walk away.

Takeshi cannot move. He stares at the man in the apron. He wants to say, "Please, I waited five hours." But the words stay inside him.

Basil goes back into the shop. The door closes. Takeshi looks at his jar. The coins look small and silly now.

He walks home slowly. He puts the jar on the shelf. He does not eat lunch. He lies on the sofa and looks at the ceiling.

In the evening, he thinks about the day. He asks himself a hard question. Why does he only wait? Waiting does not work today.

The woman's voice comes back to him. Nearly two hundred people. Nobody tells the people what to do. Nobody gives them a number. It is a mess.

Takeshi sits up. He gets a pen and a sheet of paper. He has a new idea. It is a strange idea, and it scares him. He puts his old jar in his bag, just in case.

The next morning, Takeshi arrives at the shop at seven. There is no queue. The street is empty. Basil is alone, putting chairs by the window.

Takeshi takes a deep breath. He goes in.

"Good morning," he says. "I am Takeshi. I was in your line yesterday."

Basil looks up. "Ah. Another sad face," he says. "I am sorry. I only sell fifty coins. It is not my fault."

"I know," says Takeshi. "I do not come for a coin today."

He holds out the paper. On it, he draws a plan. It shows the door, the steps, and a table. He writes numbers from one to two hundred.

"This is a ticket system," he says. "People take a number. They can go and eat. They come back when you call them."

Basil reads the paper. He says nothing for a long time. He rubs his chin.

"Every morning at ten, I have a long line," Basil says. "Yesterday was the worst. A man cried in my shop. Another man pushed a woman. I do not like my queues. But I have no time to fix them."

"I can help," says Takeshi. His heart beats fast. "Today. For free."

Basil laughs, but he is not unkind. "You are brave, young man. Fine. Show me."

They work together for an hour. Takeshi cuts paper into small squares. He writes numbers on each one. Basil finds a box and a pen. They put a table by the door.

At ten, the new customers come. A small queue forms. Takeshi stands next to the table.

"Good morning!" he says, much louder than usual. "Please take a number. The shop opens in ten minutes."

A man frowns. "Why a number?"

"So you can sit down," says Takeshi. "Or have a coffee. We call your number when it is time."

The man thinks about it. Then he shrugs and takes a ticket. The others follow.

Takeshi cannot believe it. People listen to him. They smile. They go to the café across the road. The street is calm.

By noon, thirty customers come and go. Nobody shouts. Nobody pushes. Basil stands behind the counter with a big smile on his face. He sells stamps and coins quickly, and he even talks to people.

At two, the shop is empty. Basil locks the door and turns the sign. He sits down on a chair and breathes out.

"I never have such a good day," he says. "My legs do not hurt. My head does not hurt."

"I am glad," says Takeshi. He feels tired, but happy.

Basil opens a drawer under the counter. He takes out a small box. He puts it in front of Takeshi.

"Open it," he says.

Inside is a silver coin with a tiny bird on it.

"This is the fifty-first," Basil says. "I keep one coin for a lucky person. I did not know who. But today I know."

Takeshi stares at the coin. His eyes feel wet. "I cannot take it," he says. "I worked for you, not for the coin."

"That is why you can take it," says Basil. "Now, do not argue with me. How much do you have?"

Takeshi opens his bag and takes out the old jar slowly.

He puts the jar on the counter. Then he pulls out the coins one by one. He stacks them in small towers. Basil counts them out loud.

The last tower is right on the price. Takeshi smiles and slides the box into his pocket.