The « Seconds » bin became the most popular spot in the county. It wasn’t just her. It was the old man from the trailer park down the road. It was the young couple who had just moved into the rental property. They’d pull up, read the sign, and load up.
And the Honor System box? It started getting heavy.
They weren’t paying market price. They were paying what they could. Sometimes it was quarters. Sometimes it was a five-dollar bill for a haul that was worth twenty. But nobody was stealing. Nobody was running.
One afternoon, Frank stopped by. He looked at the nearly empty « Seconds » bin and the few remaining items on the main shelf.
« You’re losing your shirt, Beau, » Frank laughed, shaking his head. « I did the math. You’re selling Grade A stock as garbage. I saw you put those peppers in there. Nothing wrong with them. You’re running a charity, not a business. »
« I’m not running a charity, » I said, leaning on my truck.
« Then what do you call it? You’re letting them take advantage of you. »
« No, Frank, » I said. « I’m letting them keep their pride. »
Frank went silent.
« If I give it away, » I explained, looking out at the cornstalks swaying in the wind, « they feel like beggars. If I let them ‘buy’ the ugly stuff for cheap, or help me out by ‘clearing inventory,’ they’re customers. They’re helping me out. It’s a transaction between equals. They get to feed their families without feeling small. »
