The Is Shop
Michael Summers

A Tale of Singularity

Published by Michael Summers at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Michael Summers


Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Chapter 1 - The Is Shop

"I saw your advert in the newspaper saying you were looking for staff. Is this the shop?"
"The Is Shop?"
"Yes."
"It is The Is Shop, yes."
It wasn't your average shop, at least not on the inside. Oh, you could easily walk past it from without and not bat an eyelid, just another one of those quaint Olde English type buildings with all the black, white and thatch. But on the inside it was huge and very, very, empty. Just one room, perfectly square. The walls were painted matt black; it seemed like the unenthusiastic attempts made by photons to pass through the thick, small windows were largely thwarted. What little light that did pass into the interior seemed to have been lapped up by the proprietor's eyes, which sparkled in the gloom.
"Er..." said Archie.
"Yes?" said the proprietor with dramatic emphasis.
"What exactly is this place?"
"An Is Shop."
"Oh. Er. Oh. I mean what does it sell?"
"Anything there is."
Archie looked decidedly confused. He scratched his designer stubble that he had cultivated so lovingly, then scratched his head, ruffling his mop of gangly student-hair as he did so.
"Anything?"
"Anything."
"But it's empty."
"Ah yes. Those were the terms of our lease. Very limiting you see."
"Oh. What do you mean?"
"Well, you see we're allowed to sell anything."
"Oh."
"Only the landlord doesn't want us selling useless junk."
"Oh."
"So in order to ensure that doesn't happen he has given us the proviso that we can only stock something once it has been requested."
"I see."
"We've only just opened, so nobody's requested anything. So there's no stock."
"Right."
"So we're going to wait until someone comes in, then get them to request something."
"I get it."
"As you are interested in a role here, I think it would be best if you were to observe how I deal with customers for a probationary period first."
"Do I get paid?"
"Yes."
"Okay."
"Right."
"Okay."
"Right."
"Okay?"
"Now I must warn you that there is a lot of standing around in the Is industry. We average about one customer a day. Our busiest time is ten o'clock in the morning."
"What's the time now?"
The proprietor rolled up a sleeve of black velveteen and looked at his watch. "Nine fifty-nine."
"Oh."
"Right." 
There was an awkward silence. Somewhere in the distance the cathedral bells chimed the hour and, as if on cue, the door opened.
"Is this the shop?" The lady that spoke was slim, mid-forties, properly dressed and topped with long chestnut hair that fell to her shoulders. She had a designer leather handbag and shoes that looked like a year's wages.
"What shop?" asked the proprietor.
"The Is Shop."
"It is."
"What exactly is this place?"
"An Is Shop."
"No, you stupid man, I mean what does it sell?"
"Anything there is."
"Anything?"
"Anything," replied the proprietor.
"But it's empty," spat the woman.
"It is."
"Then what do you mean it stocks anything?"
The proprietor sighed. "You just have to request an item for us to stock and then we'll order it."
"What's the point of that?" asked the woman. "I could do that myself on the Interweb."
"Ah, but we have excellent customer service here," said the proprietor. "And you can see the object before you buy it."
"Oh. Well, in that case I want a capybara."
"A capybara?"
"They make excellent pets and are very loyal, so I've heard."
"Very good, madam. I will order one in. Come back tomorrow before ten o'clock to collect your capybara."
"I shall."
"Right."
"Okay."
"Goodbye, madam."
"Goodbye."
The woman eyed the proprietor suspiciously for a lingering second, then turned and strode out the door.
"Now, I will show you how to order the capybara," said the proprietor to Archie once the woman had gone, "although sadly I fear it is for nothing."
"What do you mean?" asked Archie.
"That lady was caught by a whim. She doesn't look like the type to really want a capybara. She will not be back again."
"Oh."
"But we must order the capybara nonetheless, on the off-chance that she does come back."
"Okay."
"Right."
"So how do we order this capybara?"
"I will explain..."

The intricacies of acquiring a capybara within twenty-four hours need not be discussed here; needless to say it was a very draining slog which kept Archie and the proprietor in the shop until the late evening, after which Archie made his way home, tired but with the satisfaction of a job well-done. He slept soundly that night, wondering all the time whether the capybara would come on time.

"Good morning," said the proprietor as Archie entered the shop at nine o'clock the next morning. "Sleep well?"
"Excellently, thank you," said Archie. Then, with a hint of anxiousness, "Is the capybara here yet?"
"It is."
Archie let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank heavens. Can I see it?"
The proprietor smiled. "It is in the display case."
Archie peered through the gloom and made out a sort of plinth with a box on it, over which was draped a black cloth.
"May I?"
"Of course," said the proprietor.
Archie walked over and lifted a corner of the cloth. Underneath was a glass cube, inside which was the capybara, that most noble of animals. It gave Archie a cheeky grin.
"It's even better than I expected," said Archie. "Hats off to our suppliers."
"Yes," said the proprietor. "Now its your job to sweep the floor. We must prepare the shop for our busy period."

Archie diligently swept the floor for fifty-nine minutes, then stopped for a breather. He was almost surprised to hear the cathedral bells chime the hour and the door open.
"Good day, gentlemen," said a portly man with a bowler hat on and a little moustache. "Is this the shop?"
"What shop?"
"The Is Shop."
"It is," said the proprietor.
"What exactly is this place?" rumbled the man with the little moustache.
"An Is Shop," replied the proprietor.
"No, you buffoon, I mean what does it sell?"
"Anything."
"Anything? But it's empty."
"Not quite", said the proprietor. "We have one item in stock."
"What is it?" asked the portly man.
"A capybara," replied the shopkeeper.
"A capybara? Preposterous."
"Do you want to buy the capybara or not?" asked the proprietor, slightly offended at the customer's disbelief. "It was very hard to acquire."
"What on earth would I want with a capybara?"
"It is a particularly fine capybara," ventured Archie from one side, seeing the proprietor struggling. "Would you like to see it?"
"I am a busy man," said the man in the bowler hat, regarding Archie with disdain. "I have no time to be looking at capybaras."
"No charge," said the proprietor.
The man in the bowler hat sighed tetchily, then walked over to the draped display case. "Very well. Show me this capybara of yours."
The proprietor removed the cloth from the display case, revealing the capybara in all its majestic glory. It gave the man with the bowler hat and the little moustache a cheeky grin. The portly gentlemen looked at it for a couple of seconds, then stroked his chin.
"It is a very fine capybara."
"Very fine indeed," replied the proprietor.
"How much is it?"
"Fifty pounds."
The potential customer peered intently at the capybara. "Hmm."
"It comes with a limited warranty."
"Very well. I will buy it," said the portly man, "even though it's not what I was looking for."
"What were you looking for, sir?" asked the proprietor.
"A hygrometer."
"Hygrometer?"
"Yes. I am of the opinion that the relative humidity is much too high in my front room. It is affecting my wife's halitosis."
"Very good, sir. I will order it at once. It should take no more than twenty-four hours to arrive."
"Excellent. I will return before ten o'clock tomorrow to collect it."
"I look forward to seeing you again, sir," said the proprietor.
"Goodbye."
"Goodbye." The portly man with the bowler hat and the small moustache tucked the capybara under one arm, walked to the door, cast one last disapproving glance over his shoulder, then left the shop.
"We shall order the hygrometer forthwith," said the proprietor sadly. "Although I fear it is in vain."
"How so?" asked Archie.
"That man's wife's halitosis is probably incurable. He is grasping at straws; relative humidity has nothing to do this. No doubt he will realise this before tomorrow morning, feel a little stupid and be too embarrassed to return to the shop."
"Oh," said Archie.
"But we shall order it in anyway. Just in case."
"You never know," said Archie. "Someone else might want it. After all, we sold the capybara."
"We did sell the capybara," said the proprietor, brightening up a little. "Come on," he said, "I will show you how to source a hygrometer."

The intricacies of ordering a hygrometer for delivery within twenty-four hours will not be discussed here; needless to say the task was very gruelling, and kept Archie and his employer busy until the late evening. After this Archie left the shop, walked home and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, with only the vague satisfaction of selling the capybara percolating through to his submerged consciousness.

"Good morning," said the proprietor. "Did you sleep well?"
"Excellently," said Archie. It was nine o'clock on the dot and the sun was shining outside, though the interior of the shop was still gloomy. Through this murk the trainee saw the shrouded display case. "Is the hygrometer here?" he asked tensely.
"It is," said the proprietor. "Would you like to see it?"
Archie nodded. He walked over to the display case and lifted the drape. "Wow," he said, lost for words. Then, after a few moments silence, "It's fantastic. Hats off to our suppliers."
"Hats off indeed," said the proprietor. "Now you must donkey-stone the front door step today. The shop must look its best for the busy period."
"Yes," said Archie. "I'll get to it."

The sun beat down on Archie as he kneeled by the doorstep, donkey-stone in hand. It was hard work and no mistake, but there was a certain satisfaction in seeing the doorstep gleam. In fact, Archie was so engrossed in his scrubbing of the front step that he was almost surprised to hear the cathedral bells toll the hour. He looked up to see a gaunt youth with a beret and a pressed silk shirt standing before him.
"Out of my way, peasant," said the youth. "Or I shall kick you in the teeth."
Archie quickly stood to one side and let the youth enter. He followed him at a polite distance into the shop.
"Is this the shop?" asked the youth, looking round with an air of open hostility on his face. "It's crap."
"What shop?" asked the proprietor, trying to ignore the last comment.
"This Is Shop."
"It is."
"What on earth is this place?" asked the youth.
"An Is Shop."
"Stinking nincompoop, I mean what does it sell?"
"Anything."
"Anything? But it's empty."
The proprietor shook his head. "Not quite," he said. "We have in stock one hygrometer."
"A hygrometer? Why on earth would anyone be concerned with the precise measurement of relative humidity nowadays? Such things went out with the ark."
"It is a very well-made hygrometer," said the proprietor. "Excellent craftsmanship."
"I don't care about craftsmanship," said the youth. "Does it plug into my Q-phone?"
"I fear not," said the proprietor, "but it is astoundingly accurate and is made of brass..."
"Rubbish," said the youth.
"Look, you can take a peek at it then tell me its rubbish, how about that?" said Archie from one side. "Come on, free of charge."
 The youth regarded Archie as if he were a worm, then sighed as if he were being extremely accommodating to such a lowly creature as a shop attendant. "Very well," he said, "but make it quick."
"If you'd care to come over here..." said Archie.
The youth followed him over to the display case. The proprietor removed the drape.
"Hmm," said the youth, regarding the hygrometer. "It is a very fine hygrometer. How much is it?"
"Thirty pounds," said the proprietor.
"Thirty pounds?"
"It comes with an instruction manual."
"Very well," sighed the youth. "I'll take it. Though it's not what I came here for."
"Oh", said the proprietor. "May I ask what you were looking for?"
"A candelabra."
"A candelabra?"
"A light-bulb blew yesterday and my house is in darkness. I need something to hold some candles."
"Very good, sir." said the proprietor. "I will order it in for you."
"Good, you dolt. I shall be back before ten o'clock tomorrow morning to collect it. Have it ready for me otherwise I will report you to Trading Standards."
"Of course," said the proprietor.
"Good bye," said the youth, picking up his hygrometer and making for the door. "You idiot."
"Good..." 
Before the proprietor could finish his sentence the door slammed shut.
The proprietor shook his head. "That's it," he said. "I've had it with this shop."
"The Is Shop?"
"It is. I mean yes. Each customer is ruder than the last. What is more not a single one of them has paid before walking out with their item. I just can't carry on like this. There's no way I'm ordering that candelabra. Besides, he doesn't even want it. Before tomorrow morning he will realise that all he needs to do is change the light-bulb."
"But what if he doesn't? You can't let down a customer like that," said Archie. "Come on, we'll work together. We'll have the candelabra ordered by the late evening."
The proprietor sighed. "Okay. But this is the last time."

The details of ordering a candelabra at only a day's notice need not be discussed here; it goes without saying that the proprietor and Archie worked well into the late evening. When they had done all they could, Archie left the shop and walked home, where he hit the sack and fell into a deep, deep sleep.

"Good morning. How was your sleep?" asked the proprietor.
"Deep," said Archie. "Is the candelabra here?"
"It is."
"May I?"
"You may."
Archie strolled over, lifted the drape and beheld the most incredible candelabra he had ever seen. "Great heavens above," said Archie. "That is the most singularly spectacular example of a mid-seventeenth century candelabra I have ever seen, and that's saying something."
"Not bad, eh?" said the proprietor, holding back a smug grin.
"Hats off to our suppliers," said Archie.
"Quite," said the proprietor. "Now before you get too entranced by the candelabra, you must ruche the curtains. They are looking particularly forlorn and the shop must be at its best for our final customer."
"You're really going to close the Is Shop?" asked Archie sadly.
"Without a doubt," replied the proprietor.

Archie ruched the curtains with all his might, and was exhausted as the cathedral bells pealed for the hour. He heard the door open and looked round to see a diminutive woman with a woolly jumper on enter the shop.
"Good morning," said the proprietor.
"Clot," replied the woman. "This the shop?"
"What shop?" asked the proprietor.
"You festering boil on the face of the planet! You stinking pustule! The Is Shop."
"It is." said the proprietor, cheeks colouring slightly with pique.
"What is it?" 
"An Is Shop."
"My word, you are a rancid little germ. I mean what does it sell."
"Anything there is," replied the proprietor. "And I am not a..."
"Rancid little germ," repeated the woman with the woolly jumper. "Now please explain why a shop that sells anything is completely empty."
"It isn't empty," said the proprietor.
"Oh? Then what is there?"
"A candelabra," said the proprietor. "And a mighty fine one at that."
"It is probably garbage," said the woman. "Now I am off. Good bye."
"Would you not like to see the candelabra first?" asked Archie from one side. "You will like it. We won't charge you anything."
"I have no need to look at a stinking candelabra!" roared the woman. "Why are you wasting my time?"
"Just one look?"
The woman growled, then strode over to the display case. The proprietor lifted the cover.
"It is a very fine candelabra," said the woman in the woolly jumper grumpily. "How much is it?"
"Ten pounds," said the proprietor.
"Ten pounds? I'll give you five."
"Eight," said the proprietor."
"Seven."
"Done."
"Very well," said the woman. "Even though it's not what I wanted."
"I don't care what you wanted," said the proprietor. "I am closing my shop so I can't order anything else. Good day, madam."
The woman swore voraciously at the proprietor, then, candelabra in one hand, stormed out of the shop.
"That's it," said the proprietor. "The last time I get obscenities hurled at me by a diminutive woman in a woolly jumper."
"There's no need to close the shop because of that," said Archie.
"Yes there is. I can't stand it any more."
"But this shop is one of a kind. If you were to close it would mean the death of an industry."
"It's sad, I know," said the proprietor," yet it cannot be helped."
Archie scratched his head a little, clearly thinking the matter through. "I know," he said at last. "I have a little money saved up. I could buy the Is Shop off you."
"No," said the proprietor. "I could not sell it to you. It would be a waste of your money."
"But I want to buy it," said Archie.
"I'm telling you, there is no money in the Is industry any more. It's not worth it."
"Please, I have learnt a lot from watching you. I have the money."
The proprietor sighed. "Very well," he said. "I will sell it to you."
"Thank you," said Archie.
"Only on one condition."
"Yes?"
"It is extremely important that you arrive at the shop before ten o'clock tomorrow. I cannot stress that enough."
"Okay," said Archie.
"Right," said the proprietor.
"Okay," said Archie.
"Right," said the proprietor.

Archie went home that night in high spirits. He was looking forward to owning an Is Shop so he decided to celebrate by opening a bottle of wine. The wine was excellent, and so it was followed by another. By the time Archie got to bed it was the late evening and he was quite nicely intoxicated.

The proprietor of the Is Shop glanced nervously at his watch. It was nine fifty-nine and Archie had still not arrived. It was most out of character for Archie to be late, especially when the busy period was nearly...
The cathedral bells tolled. The door opened.
"Excuse me sir," came a meek voice. "Is this the shop?"
"What shop?" asked the proprietor.
"The Is Shop." The customer was a smartly dressed gentleman in his mid-thirties with a handkerchief tucked into his top pocket.
"It is," replied the proprietor.
"Excellent," said the customer. "I have been looking for it all morning. I must say, I have a lot of respect for the Is Shop industry. What do you sell?"
"Anything there is."
"Of course," said the man with the handkerchief tucked into his top pocket. "I knew that really, just wanted to check. Do you have anything in stock."
"Er, no. Nothing at all."
"Really, that's unusual for an Is Shop."
"It is," said the proprietor.
The customer peered about the gloomy interior of the shop, until his gaze settled on the draped display case.
"There's a display case there," said the customer.
"No there isn't," said the proprietor.
"Yes there is. There's something for sale. It's got a drape over it."
"It's for my apprentice. Don't ask to see it," said the proprietor.
"Why not?" asked the customer.
"Just don't."
"I will."
"Don't."
"I will. I'm going to have a look."
The customer walked over and lifted the drape. The proprietor shook his head and put his hand to his temple.
"Wow," said the customer. "It's wonderful."
"Don't ask," said the proprietor in a last ditch attempt.
"What is it?" asked the customer, ignoring him.
"An Is Shop," said the proprietor.
"What's it sell?" asked the customer.
"An Is Shop," said the proprietor.
"What's it sell?" asked the customer.
"An Is Shop," said the proprietor.
"What's it sell?" asked the customer.
"An Is Shop," said the proprietor.
"What's it sell?" asked the customer.
"An Is Shop," said the proprietor.
"What's it sell?" asked the customer.
"An Is Shop," said the proprietor.
"What's it sell?" asked the customer.
"An Is Shop," said the proprietor.
...

It was nearly midday before Archie, hung-over from the indulgences of the previous evening, arrived at the place where the Is Shop had been. He was shocked to see several police cars parked outside, lots of police-tape and men with machine-guns standing guard outside. But outside what? There was no Olde English black, white and thatch any more, just a gap where the Is Shop had been and, hovering in mid air, a perfect sphere of black about the size of a football.
"The shop..." stammered Archie.
"What shop?" asked one of the men with the machine-guns.
"The Is Shop."
"Gone," said the man. "Unfortunate accident with the space time continuum. We believe that someone created a fractal object within the shop that tunnelled through to the substratum of reality and played havoc with it. A bit like a Russian Doll that goes on forever apparently."
"Oh." Archie looked forlorn. "So what happened to the owner?"
"I'm afraid he is somewhere inside that singularity that's hovering over there. Not sure how we'll get him back."
"Oh." Archie looked even more forlorn.
The policeman eyed Archie for a second longer. "Your name's not Archie, is it?"
"Yes," said Archie.
"We have a letter for you. Apparently it was posted through the letterbox of the shop next door at nine fifty-eight this morning. It says only to be opened by Archie."
"Oh."
The policeman proffered the letter to Archie, who took it with a trembling hand. It was brown manila, and, in the spidery hand of the proprietor (or ex-proprietor, Archie thought with a pang of remorse), it had written on it "Only to be opened by Archie". He opened it.
"Dear Archie", it read. "I was most distressed when you did not arrive at the shop at the usual time of nine o'clock this morning. I therefore thought it a wise precaution to post this letter in case you did not arrive before the busy period. If you are reading this letter, then a customer has entered the shop and enquired as to what is in the display case, thus leading to an infinite regression and subsequently creating a black whole that has swallowed the shop. This is the nature of the Is industry I am afraid. The only thing that may console you now is the fact that you have picked up the basics of the Is trade from me and, if you so choose, you should be able to start your own Is Shop. However I must warn you that if you do this there is always the singular possibility of a singularity. Also, the pension scheme isn't very good.
Yours Truly,
Xanthan N. Gumm,
(ex)Proprietor of The Is Shop"
Archie looked very forlorn indeed. Evidently there was more to the Is industry than met the eye.

Chapter 2 - About the Author

Thank you for reading The Is Shop. Please be kind and review it on Smashwords, Amazon, Kobo or your eBook retailer! 

About the Author:
A passionate writer, The Is Shop is my third short story on SmashWords. I wasn’t sure about the ending at first; originally I wanted to repeat the dialogue between the customer and the proprietor for the length of a full novel, but I thought that would be too annoying and I would get bad reviews. So I came up with the idea of the proprietor leaving a letter and left the question of whether Archie continues in the Is industry open. When I have time I might use this as a start of a novel, although I am too busy at the moment writing part two of the Infinity Fish Trilogy, Fish Stocks Limited (see below).

This Is Shop is intended to create interest for my fantastic new novel of fish, love and copious amounts of rum, Fish Stocks Limited. You can download Fish Stocks Limited at the address below:

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/142598

If you own a Kindle, Fish Stocks Limited is now on Amazon. It is also available for free on Kobo.

Although Fish Stocks Limited is only my third novel, I have considerable experience of writing as part of my university course. I also have received payment from Dailey Swan Publishing for a number of short stories to go in their anthology and had short stories published in MediaVirus magazine (as editors pick) and in The Absent Willow Review magazine.

For other books check out my author profile on:
http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/MichaelSummers

Did you like The Is Shop? Why not become an affiliate promotor? For this and any other questions, email me on:
fishstockslimited@hotmail.com