A New Job for a Paper Bag

When the market singing contest began, Minho’s aunt tapped her croquette tongs to the beat. Minho couldn’t smile. He’d promised to help, but customers’ mouths moved while the loudspeakers supplied only songs about love.

There were two kinds of croquette, potato and curry, both the same price. Customers ordered and paid Minho, then waited beside the counter. His aunt put the croquettes in small paper sleeves, then into carrying bags.

“Two potato, one curry!” Minho shouted. His aunt nodded. The customer opened the bag. “It was one potato, two curry.” Onstage, the singer returned to the chorus Minho had already heard several times.

The next customer held up three fingers. Minho held up three. So did his aunt. For a moment, all three looked satisfied. Nobody had established whether those fingers meant potato or curry.

Minho found a notepad and thick marker beneath the counter. He wrote each order on a slip and set it before an empty carrying bag. His aunt read the first and gave him a thumbs-up.

As he wrote the third order, the fan turned. Two slips flew away, one behind the price sign, one under a customer’s shoe. Three identical bags remained, their mouths open and offering no clues.

He switched off the fan. His aunt wiped her forehead. “Will the croquettes cool before I finish cooking myself?” He switched it back on. He retrieved the slips but couldn’t match them to the bags.

He asked all three customers again. One laughed. “I remembered until you wrote it down.” Behind her, another customer took out his phone and began writing down his own order, just in case.

Minho put an empty bag over a rescued slip. That held it down. But when his aunt lifted the bag, the slip stayed behind. He stared at it, then tapped the bag with his marker.

“What if I write the order here?” On the outside, he wrote POTATO and CURRY side by side, with spaces for numbers underneath. Beside them he drew a small square. His aunt turned the bag around.

“What’s that?” “For paid. I tick it, and the customer brings you the bag.” She nodded. “And all that running you’ve been doing?” Minho held up the bag. “It’s taking over.”

The next customer wanted two potato and one curry. Minho wrote 2 and 1, then turned the bag for him to check. The customer pointed at the numbers. Once he’d paid, Minho ticked the square.

The customer carried it to his aunt. She read the numbers, packed two potato croquettes, then called Minho. His shoulders tightened. “More curry sleeves, please. I’ve run out.” The order, at least, had arrived correctly.

Minho prepared several more bags. Customers paid, then moved along holding their own orders. Some held the mouths open while his aunt filled them. There was one less thing they needed to shout about.

A woman turned back. “Another curry, please.” Minho started changing her 1 into a 2, then stopped. Written over, it might look like an 8. He crossed out the 1 and wrote 2 beside it.

After taking the extra payment, he added another tick. The woman examined the bag. “Mine’s passed inspection twice.” His aunt reached for the tongs. “Collect your croquettes before you graduate.”

The microphone shrieked. Everyone winced. His aunt read the numbers and finished packing the two curry croquettes. The woman folded her bag closed and walked away into the applause from the stage.

Near lunchtime, Minho’s throat hurt less. He started counting all the questions he no longer had to ask, then abandoned that task. Instead, he showed his aunt a bag with a hole in its bottom.

“This employee won’t do.” His aunt folded it. “Understands orders. Can’t carry them.” She pushed it beneath the table’s short leg. The coin dish, which had rocked with every payment, finally stayed still.

As the contest ended, one of the singers arrived. “Four potato, four curry.” Minho heard every word but still turned the bag around. The man laughed. “Was my pronunciation that bad?”

“No. Earlier, all I heard was love.” The man took his bag to Minho’s aunt. While she packed eight croquettes, he wrote something in a blank space outside. Minho leaned over, wondering if it was an autograph.

DO NOT EAT BEFORE GETTING HOME. The man returned the marker. “One more order.” He folded the bag’s mouth twice and pressed it firmly shut. This time, Minho didn’t need to pass the order along.