Mr. Alescu

Talking with random strangers while sitting in one of the many saloons that line C Street in Virginia City is a favorite pastime of mine. I say this because I cannot give the name of the person I had the following conversation with.

We started with ghosties and ghoulies, a favorite topic of the Virginia City crowd, visitors, and residents alike. And so it degenerated into conspiracy theories, another popular subject often bandied over beers and shots.

Progression being what it is, we landed on Adrenochrome therapy. Tales have recently arisen that some society elites either drink or infuse themselves with the blood of kidnapped children.

Driving home, I remembered the night a well-dressed gentleman named Mr. Alescu, with pale skin and a pleasant demeanor, came to the Radio Shack store where I worked, looking to buy a cell phone. In 1989 such gadgets were not very popular yet, especially when the item weighed about five pounds, was a large rectangular shape, and was known as “the Brick.”

The man wanted the entire package, and it did not matter how much it cost. So I gladly set him up with our best product, and we began filling out the paperwork.

It was not as easy back then to get a cell phone hooked up to a cell tower. It required a lot of paperwork and then contacting Radio Shack customer service to locate and get a cell phone provider.

One of the many things needed was an address and a driver’s license number. I asked and received his driver’s license.

Looking at it, I noted his birth year as being 1894. I quickly deduced he was 96 years old, a remarkable age for a man who seemed far more agile and youthful than his given age.

“You don’t look your age, “I complimented him.

“Thank you,” he smiled, white teeth gleaming. “I get that a lot.”

After two hours, he had a fully-functioning phone, and I had doubled my monthly commission, plus some, in a single transaction. Looking back, I wish I had not been so enthusiastic about making bank and paid more attention to the man I sold the Brick to.