Short Story (About 1000 words)
Ethereal droplets of rain pattered onto the old truck’s windscreen, as it swerved through the drizzle and settled down by a roadside parking lot. It coughed up a ball of nebulous smoke and its roaring engine came to a gradual cessation, restoring the tranquility of the light morning rain in the neighborhood. A stocky Chinese man dressed in a grubby brown singlet got out from the truck and started unloading a crate of canned drinks. Clasping its firm plastic wrapping, he slammed his truck’s door shut, all battered with dents from past misuse. He slid a cigarette between his lips and upon lighting it, he started puffing away, shuffling across the road.
Uncle Tan was a hawker selling drinks in a hawker centre stall in Singapore. He buys cheap canned and packet drinks from Mr. Wang, his supplier, and sells them for a moderate profit. As his stall was in a prominent location at the entrance of the hawker centre, he had many customers and earned a tidy sum of profit, due to his thriving business. This day was a Saturday morning, and it was not surprising that the hawker centre was brimming with customers, with many families going out for their weekend breakfast.
Uncle Tan quickened his pace, whilst clutching his goods. With his oversized sandals, he squelched through a muddy patch of grass on his way to his stall; his feet getting soiled by mud every step he took.
Upon approaching the food center, he grunted as he put his hefty load down onto the ground before unlocking and hoisting up the heavy metal sheet locking up the goods at his stall. He stowed the crate into a corner of his stall, and started to go about his daily routine.
Uncle Tan smiled broadly to attract passers-by attention and asked potential customers who approached his stall what drinks they wanted. Before long, a considerably long queue had formed at his stall. As Uncle Tan was working alone, he was kept busy in his stall preparing his customers’ orders.
“Kopi-si or kopi-o?” He asked the customer behind the queue as he returned the change to his previous customer.
It was hard work for Uncle Tan, and globules of sweat soon trickled down his plump cheeks as he worked. After some time, as the breakfast crowd had thinned, two people, who did not seem very friendly, approach his stall.
One was a young Chinese boy, around seven years of age, and his father. The man was well dressed in a business suit with a prim and neat hairstyle. He frowned, looking disgusted at Uncle Tan’s dishevelled appearance. Uncle Tan reeked of tobacco, and his singlet was drenched in sweat, half tucked in. His hair was in a mess, and his unshaven face was grubby and unkempt with stubble.
“Give me iced coffee and lemonade in clean cups, and make sure that there’s no sweat in it!”, he ordered rudely. The well-dressed man was obviously unimpressed with Uncle Tan’s cleanliness. He handed a banknote over to Uncle Tan, who stuffed it into his pouch. Uncle Tan fingered clumsily for the right change, which he returned to the man. The young boy watched on innocuously as his father stared hard at his change and started to grimace at Uncle Tan, who had turned away to prepare his coffee.
“Hey you, I handed you a fifty-dollar note, this change is wrong! You should give me back forty-seven dollars!” He barked rudely, chucking his change back into Uncle Tan’s palm, which knocked a half-filled cup of coffee over, spilling it all over the floor.
“No, you handed me a five-dollar note!” Uncle Tan replied in aghast, taken aback by the man’s comments. Scowling at Uncle Tan, the man demanded his correct change. As Uncle Tan was certain that the man handed him a five-dollar note, he did not want to give in. He opened his pouch revealing notes of all amounts. Ineptly, he could not tell which the note the man had given him was. The man became more aggressive, leading to a quarrel between them.
The customers queuing behind the man and his son had become abraded, and some of them had left, annoyed by the hold up. Many people had gathered to watch the commotion. Most people believed the well-dressed man’s version of the incident, and disbelieved Uncle Tan, making remarks that he should return the rightful change. This made Uncle Tan very agitated.
“Uncle, just return this gentleman his money,” an onlooker said, making the indignant Uncle Tan even more perturbed. As no one seemed to believe Uncle Tan, he sighed, as his job was tough, having to put in long hours. He also had a family of three to support, which was why he had to work during weekends.
Uncle Tan sat down hard onto a stool in his stall. He placed his fingers, stained with the coffee spill, onto his face and closed his eyes. He rubbed his tired eyes and, trembling, he placed his rough, wrinkled palms on the cold metal counter, and resigned himself to having to lose some money. Just as he was wallowing in self pity, the man’s son suddenly spoke up.
“Papa, to be frank, I really did see you give the uncle a green five-dollar note, you know?” Both Uncle Tan and the man were stunned. To think that this young boy was so honest, even taking Uncle Tan’s side against his own father because he knew Uncle Tan was telling the truth. The man stared open mouthed at Uncle Tan’s outstretched palm containing the forty-seven dollars he had demanded for. He took the two dollar note on the counter instead.
“No, I believe my son is right.” He was about to take his son’s lemonade and leave, when Uncle Tan said that he is coffee was ready. He nodded at Uncle Tan.
“Th-thank you,” He stammered, smiling sheepishly at him.
The light drizzle deteriorated into a heavy downpour. As Uncle Tan saw the boy and his father walking further and further away, he felt the image of the boy getting bigger and bigger.
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