The Day My Coworker Tried to Pay Me in Vapes
I work in a small, quiet accounting office that feels more like a dusty, forgotten library than a bustling place of business. It is a space defined by its sensory monotony; it always smells of stale paper, industrial-strength lavender air freshener, and the faint, lingering, slightly nauseating scent of burnt popcorn that seems to haunt the breakroom microwave regardless of who used it last. It is a dreadfully boring place, the kind of environment where finding a full, unopened box of staples in the back of the supply cabinet is the single most exciting thing that happens all week. My coworker, Dave, sits at the desk directly to my left. He is a quiet, unassuming guy, always on time, and he keeps his workspace so organized it is almost unsettling. However, he acts in ways I still struggle to process or explain. One afternoon, I was buried deep in the crushing weight of tax season paperwork. I felt completely exhausted, my eyes were burning from staring at endless rows of spreadsheets, and my brain felt like absolute mush. I really needed a caffeine boost to push through the final, grueling batch of filings for the day, but I realized to my horror that I had left my wallet sitting on my kitchen counter at home. I turned to Dave and asked if he could possibly lend me five dollars so I could run to the corner cafe for a quick latte. I promised him I would pay him back the very moment I got home and logged onto my banking app. Dave stopped typing. He turned his ergonomic chair slowly to face me, and he looked at me with an incredibly intense, serious expression that made me feel like I had asked for a state secret instead of a coffee loan. He did not say a word at first. He reached down into his beat-up black messenger bag, rummaging around with a focused, methodical intensity for a few seconds. I fully expected him to pull out his wallet or perhaps a stray five-dollar bill. Instead, he pulled out a sleek, new, unopened vape pen in a bright, colorful plastic wrapper. He held it out toward me with both hands, presenting it like it was a twenty-dollar bill or a precious gift. I stared at the plastic-wrapped vape pen, then back at Dave, then back at the pen. I was deeply confused. I told him politely that I really just needed a coffee, not a nicotine delivery device. Dave looked genuinely hurt by my reaction. He lowered his hand and said, in a very serious, clipped tone, that the vape was worth seven dollars on the market, so I was actually getting a fantastic deal by taking it instead of cash. He seemed to genuinely believe he was doing me a huge, benevolent favor. I felt like I was losing my mind, or perhaps like I had stumbled into a parallel dimension where the local currency was just whatever Dave had in his bag. I told him again, trying to keep my voice down so the manager wouldn't overhear us, that I did not vape, and that I really just needed five dollars for a latte. He finally sighed, looking slightly disappointed in my lack of entrepreneurial spirit, and put the vape back into his bag. He stood up, adjusting his glasses. We decided to walk to the store together since I still desperately wanted that coffee. On the short walk to the shop, the air was crisp, but my head was spinning. As we walked down the sidewalk, Dave started talking about how he prefers to operate using a personal barter system. He explained that he often trades items like snacks, charging cables, extra pens, and even small electronics for favors from other coworkers. He told me he likes to treat the office like a little marketplace where people trade goods instead of just using boring, regular money. It sounded like he had been doing this for years, and he seemed weirdly proud of his unique trading philosophy. I listened in silence, just trying to process the fact that my coworker was running a secondary, unregulated economy out of his messenger bag. I finally bought my own coffee by digging into my pocket, where I found a spare quarter, and completing the rest of the payment with a digital transaction on my phone. By the time we walked back into the office and sat down at our desks, I felt like I was trapped in a weird, feverish dream. I finished my work on time, but things just feel different now. Every time I look over at Dave, I cannot stop thinking about that vape pen. It is a very strange way to work, and Dave is definitely the weirdest part of my job, but he is fundamentally harmless. I guess every office has its odd quirks, but none of them are quite as bizarre as Dave’s personal economy.