The Discount I Never Received

Dunja worked at a small bookshop and could buy books for herself and gifts with a staff discount. It was modest but mattered to her. Her husband occasionally collected orders while she was at home. He said he was buying for birthdays, colleagues, and nieces and nephews. Dunja believed he had finally adopted her habit of giving books. She was pleased that he remembered titles she mentioned in passing, even when he did not intend to read them himself.

One morning the owner asked Dunja to review several receipts. She did not accuse her in front of colleagues. She simply showed how many copies of the same title had been purchased under her name. Dunja began explaining their large family, then stopped. Nobody in that family needed seven identical handbooks. The owner said a personal discount could not cover purchases for resale. Dunja heard that word for the first time and felt her face grow hot.

At home her husband admitted it almost immediately. Friends wanted cheaper books, and he kept part of the difference for his time. He did not consider himself a trader. He said he was only helping people and the bookshop still made sales. Dunja asked why he had never told her. He replied that she would have made a problem out of something small. That sentence contained more confession than his entire explanation about his time and other people's benefit.

She asked him to visit the owner with her and explain what he had done. He said there was no need; she worked there and would find the conversation easier. That hurt most. His little profit had already been spent, while her name remained on receipts and in the looks of people with whom she spent her days. He tried giving her money to cover the difference. She took it but said money could not speak the truth on his behalf.

He went. The conversation was short and unpleasant. The owner requested repayment of the difference and ended the practice of other people collecting staff purchases. Dunja received neither praise for honesty nor an immediate restoration of trust. For several weeks she double-checked every personal receipt, although nobody ordered her to. At home her husband stopped saying he had meant no harm. That did not restore her ease, but at least left room for her to describe what she had lost.

For the next family birthday he bought a book at full price. He brought the receipt home, perhaps expecting a smile. Dunja looked at it and returned the paper. She said she did not want to supervise every purchase. She wanted him to stop treating her trust as something on which savings could be made. They gave the book together. He wrote the inscription under his own name, and she signed only after reading the whole sentence.