On Gerald’s first day as the owner of Murphy’s Hardware, he found a mug in the office sink that said WORLD’S MOST ADEQUATE BOSS.
He washed it twice.
“That was Murphy’s,” said Elena, who had worked the register since prices ended in nine cents. “He considered it a performance review.”
Gerald put the mug in the back of a cabinet. He had not spent his savings and borrowed the rest to be adequate. He had plans: online ordering, brighter lights, a loyalty program with an app. He had printed the plans in color.
By noon, the card reader stopped working. At one, a customer returned a garden hose that was clearly older than Gerald. At two, a little boy dropped ninety-seven washers on the floor and cried as if each had been a close personal friend.
Gerald sat beside him and helped count them back into the box.
At closing time, Elena found Gerald staring at his color plans.
“How’d we do?” he asked.
“Nobody got electrocuted.”
“That’s the standard?”
“On Mondays.”
The next morning, Gerald arrived early. On the counter sat Murphy’s old mug, filled with coffee. Beneath it was a note in Elena’s blocky handwriting:
Adequate is underrated. It means you came back.
Gerald drank from the mug all week. On Friday, he crossed “launch loyalty app” off his plan and wrote something else underneath:
Learn everyone’s name.