The Department of Definitely Real Purchases
The Department of Definitely Real Purchases operated from a storefront that was definitely there on Tuesdays, probably there on Thursdays, and having an existential crisis on weekends1.
“Welcome to DRP!” announced Brad from Retail (definitely human), his name tag flickering between “Brad,” “Bard,” and “Bread.” “Where every purchase is guaranteed to be a transaction!”
Mrs. Henderson approached the counter clutching a receipt that phased in and out of existence. “I’d like to return this vacuum cleaner.”
Brad examined the vacuum, which was currently a toaster. “I see. And when did you purchase this?”
“Next Tuesday,” Mrs. Henderson said confidently. “Or possibly 1987. Time is confusing in this store.”
This was the problem with quantum commerce. The Department had been established to verify purchases in an age when buying something didn’t guarantee you’d own it, or that it had ever existed, or that you were the one who’d bought it.
“Let me check our Probability Purchase Ledger,” Brad said, consulting a book that wrote itself as he read it. “Ah yes, here we are. You bought a vacuum cleaner, a toaster, and the concept of cleanliness, which I see you’ve already consumed.”
“I have?”
“Spiritually.”
The Continental Breakfast had set up shop in Aisle 3, having evolved from food to food vendor. It now sold artisanal memories of meals that might have been eaten2.
“Can I help you?” the breakfast asked a confused customer.
“I’m looking for eggs.”
“Fertilized or existential?”
“...Regular?”
“We don’t stock those. Too simple.”
Brad’s definitely human supervisor, Janet (who existed on a strict schedule of every other breath), materialized beside him. “Brad, we have a situation in Electronics. The TVs are showing programs from channels that don’t exist.”
“Again?”
“Worse. The customers are enjoying them. We’re getting reviews for shows that were never made.”
This was modern retail’s deepest challenge: customer satisfaction in probability space. How do you satisfy customers who might not exist with products that definitely don’t?
“Store announcement,” Brad said into the PA system that reached across seventeen dimensions. “Today’s special: Buy nothing, get nothing free! Limited to one per customer per timeline.”
“I’ll take three!” shouted Mr. Pemberton, who had learned to shop in multiple states simultaneously.
The Department’s return policy was a masterpiece of quantum bureaucracy:
- Items could be returned before purchase
- Refunds issued in the currency of your choice of reality
- Store credit existed in superposition until observed
- Exchanges required proof of non-existence
“Excuse me,” a young man approached, holding a shopping bag that contained itself. “I bought this infinite regression, but it’s defective. It ends.”
“Have you tried observing it less?” Brad suggested helpfully.
“That makes it worse!”
“Then observe it more!”
“That ALSO makes it worse!”
Brad smiled his definitely human smile that had exactly the right number of teeth for whichever reality you observed it from. “Would you like to exchange it for a paradox? They’re on sale.”
The Continental Breakfast had meanwhile established a thriving business selling nostalgia. “Fresh baked memories of grandmother’s cookies! Never actually existed but you’ll swear you remember them!”
“I’ll take a dozen,” Mrs. Henderson said, having given up on returning the vacuum/toaster.
“That’ll be seven dollars in this timeline, three dollars in that timeline, or free if you admit money is a social construct.”
“Money IS a social construct!”
“That’ll be twelve dollars. Belief tax.”
The day wore on like all days at the Department of Definitely Real Purchases3. Customers bought things that didn’t exist with money that shouldn’t exist from staff who might exist. Returns were processed for items never sold. The Continental Breakfast achieved venture capital funding and immediately spent it on becoming a croissant4.
“You know,” Brad mused to Janet during a break that lasted either five minutes or five years, “TimeShare Properties™ has been recruiting. They promise shopping experiences where products simply exist.”
“Heresy,” Janet said, though she existed only 50% of the time she said it. “Next you’ll want receipts that don’t phase through dimensions.”
As the store closed (or opened, or remained in temporal flux), Brad counted the till. They’d made exactly zero dollars across all possible timelines, which was either terrible or perfect depending on how you observed it.
Another successful day at the Department of Definitely Real Purchases, where the customer is always right, wrong, and shopping elsewhere simultaneously5.