Making It Big Job Solo #1

Elmo looked at his coca-cola jar- used by muggles to save coins- and it was practically overflowing with muggle money, which he would later convert to galleons, because why not? All of this came from, well, ninety percent of it came from what he was now going to call ‘kid tax’.

His most recent effort included a kid crying at the park because he couldn’t afford to spend sixteen dollars for a blueberry infused honey stick, which he sold originally as twenty, and offered it at sixteen, knowing full well it was barely worth a nickel.

But Elmo was getting old.

He was tired of running around town, chasing people down just to steal some money from them.

And not to mention, he was soon going to have a reason to stay home more often, no longer being held to the expectation that he needed to go to a local pub and drink.

“Debbie..” He turned his attention away from the oversized bottle shaped jar and looked at his wife. “I think that we need to be selling our products in the stores. Is that.. fine with you?” He got out of bed and looked in the mirror. His orange and white boxers, reminiscent of Nemo, only made his wife smile before she got out of bed.

“Elmo, dear, whatever you want to do is fine with me. Just make sure we have the money to keep food on the table. You know your dad is a selfish pig.” Elmo couldn’t disagree, but something made him want to argue. Time for him to go into the kitchen and shove something into his mouth so he could shut up.

He opened the fridge to find a bottle of Jack. He stared at the bottle for what felt like a long moment, debating whether he should pour a glass or pour it down the sink.

He wasn’t sure what counted as maturity. What happened to him? He was a drunkard! He was proud of it! He liked the crucio spell, he knew the oblivate spell, he could cast wandlessly and nonverbally! He was the almighty jerkwad, but Debbie and actual work did something to him.

He looked at the amber liquid and sighed, shutting the fridge and took a sip, leaning against the counter.

He could smell the remnants of last night’s baking- cinnamon rolls, which Debbie had put into the fridge for Elmo to eat for breakfast.

Alright. Fine, Elmo was going to do something. He needed to start convincing stores somehow to sell his products. It was mandatory!

Or maybe.. he took another drink, taking a second longer to actually think. Elmo saw potential in Debbie’s cooking, so did the people in the neighborhood, even if he forced them to purchase something. If he could sell sweets to kids at a markup, imagine what he could do with pies? He had heard that a giant pie at Dollywood sold for 230 bucks for the whole pie and 20 for a single slice. Not just peddling, Elmo could start trading. He could move products between cities and perhaps even across borders!

He pictured Debbie’s pastries travelling by train adhered with a beautiful branding sticker that.. had Debbie’s name on it, a way to put her name first and foremost as the baker in the family.

He grabbed a notebook from the counter, one of Debbie’s newest recipe books and started scribbling ideas.

‘Export routes.’

‘Wholesale pricing.’

‘Store partnerships.’

The words looked so foreign, even to him, but they started making him feel a bit excited. He no longer would want to chase customers but he did want them to chase him instead.

Debbie wandered in, actively brushing her hair. She peeked over his shoulders.

“You’re doing that?” She asked.

Elmo turned towards her, stood up, grabbed her lower back and kissed. “Yes.”

He spent the whole day planning, writing in the notebook and scratching out ideas and drawings, before he decided on a sketch for a branding he thought was pretty.

—
Elmo didn’t waste time, the next morning, he was up before the seagulls started screaming over the harbor. What a blissful sound. He packed Debbie’s blueberry jam jars into a crate, each one with a temporary sticker that read ‘Debbie & Co’ with a sketch of a lighthouse, lobster and blueberries.

He had a few stops he intended to make- at least with an attempt to maybe stop by the Acadia National Park gift shop. He was going to at least spend the time today selling stuff in the local stores, not aiming for the big chains yet.

His first stop was at a small grocery store that rested outside of his house overlooking the view of the harbor. He carried the crate through the door, listening to the jingling of the bell.

“Morning.” Elmo said to the clerk, who wore a Red Sox cap. “I’m here to talk business.”

“Are you selling something?” She looked at him up and down.

“Blueberry jam.” Elmo stated, setting a jar on the counter. “Made by my wife, locally sourced blueberries, hand-stirred, and good old fashioned sugar and sweat.”

Elmo provided her with a plastic, tiny, sampling spoon and allowed her to unscrew the lid, sniff and dip the spoon in. When she stuck the sample into her mouth, her eyebrows lifted. “Oh my stars, this is delicious!”

Elmo grinned. “We’re thinking of expanding, I can supply weekly, maybe throw in some lobster butter or blueberry honey sticks, actually, we can make anything you want. You sell, we split profit.”

“You got a wholesale license?” She asked, leaning on the counter. Elmo smiled. That was coming in soon, he had applied for one the day prior. That’d come in at some point, surely.

“Of course,” he said, though the truth was more or less the fact that he filled out the forms, paid the fee and had mailed them to Augusta. However, he felt like the state office liked to work slower than molasses in January.

“Well,” the clerk said, tapping her spoon against the counter. “Come back when that’s official, I’ll talk to the owner. We like local stuff. Especially blueberries.”

Elmo nodded and thanked her for her time, leaving the store with his crate half empty and his pride half intact. Outside, the harbor glimmered under the morning sun. He could smell salt and diesel and hear the seagulls squabbling over scraps. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was home. It really was.

He drove down the street on his motorcycle, stopping at every small shop that seemed even the slightest bit or remotely promising. A bakery, a seafood shack, even a souvenir store that gave lobster shaped magnets and keychains.

Each time, he gave the same pitch but each time, he also had more things to add to his list.

The bakery owner wanted smaller jars for gift baskets, the seafood shack wanted them to provide a blueberry glaze for lobster tails and the souvenir shop wanted the packaging to be more decorative with ribbons and shells.

Maybe being a merchant wasn’t quite as simple as it would seem, thinking he would just need to deliver stuff once a week and sit back and let the money roll in, but now it seems he has to adapt his products to meet the demands.

By noon, he had at least sold six jars of blueberry jam to people, but those were more or less samples. He promised three more stores some samples as well. It wasn’t much but it was a start. He stopped at a diner overlooking the water, ordered coffee and ran his fingers through his hair as he flipped through his notebook.

The pages were clearly messy, covered with ink, blueberry jam stains and crumbs.

However, what mattered is that he had packaging notes, product recommendations and everything that he and his wife could work on together. He decided he would run by the Acadia National Park gift shop and see if they’ll accept selling his products, since they seem to sell touristy junk anyways.

When he finished his coffee, he made his way there, after some loud revving on his motorcycle, he came across the Acadia National Park gift shop, smiling as he viewed Jordan Pond. Now, the Acadia National Park gift shop wasn’t exactly what he had in mind, it was just what he called the attached shop by the Jordan Pond House Restaurant, as they had a beautiful balcony that overlooked Jordan Pond.

He approached a clerk in the gift shop with a single jar in his hand. “Hello, ma’am.”

The clerk looked up from a stack of postcards, and Elmo got a glimpse of her nametag, reading Maggie. “Hello there,” she said. “You buying something? I don’t remember that being in the store?”

“No, selling. Blueberry jam,” Elmo replied and set it gently on the counter as if it were a newborn. “Made by my wife, Debbie. These are locally sourced blueberries, hand-stirred with no preservatives. We’re looking to get into stores, starting small and local.”

Elmo watched Maggie unscrew the lid and dip a spoon in and taste it. He watched her eyes widen. “That’s… really good.” Elmo grinned. “We can supply weekly. I’ve got lobster butter too, and we’re working on a blueberry glaze for lobster tails.”

She laughed. “Tourists do love their novelty items. Let me get the manager.”

A few minutes later, a tall man with a clipboard appeared. “You’re the jam guy?” he asked. “Elmo,” the non-muppet said as he offered a hand. “Debbie & Co. We’re based right here in Bar Harbor.”

The manager inspected the jar and turned it over to inspect the poor label. “You’re getting a new label soon right?” Elmo nodded. “You’ve got a good look here so far though, keep this concept, just make it more appealing. Love the lighthouse, lobster and blueberries. It screams Maine. We’ll take a dozen to start, and if they sell we will order more.”

Elmo blinked, this is the first shop that actually stated they were going to put his family’s stuff up and it was exciting him a little. “On the shelves?”

“On the shelves,” the manager confirmed. “We’ll put them near the register. How much do you want to sell them for? We’ll take a quarter of the cost for now.”

Elmo shook his hand, trying not to look too giddy. “You won’t regret it! And uh..” He wanted to actually solidify his standing to start off with, so he decided to lowball it. “Eight dollars for the large jar, two for the smallest and you can decide for everything else in between!”

Elmo stepped outside and felt his heart palpitate with grand excitement. The air smelled of fresh pine and salt, the pond shimmering underneath the afternoon sun, and Elmo felt that for the first time in years, he was somewhat standing on solid ground. He hadn’t felt this way since his mother was alive.

He drove back home and made a quick stop at the Christmas store to pick something up for Debbie, how she loved Christmas, and he made another stop at a store that sold jars of different varieties, and stopped by a small general store that sold craft supplies for decoration. His last stop was on the shores of the water where he would pick and harvest shells.

He stood at the shorelines, the cold water lapping at his boots as he crouched to sift through the rocks and sand. He picked up the shells one by one, of all types, and turning each over in his palm as if they were rare jewels. Debbie loved decorating things, and if tourists wanted ribbons and shells, then by Lear’s Suffering Sasquash, they were going to get ribbons and shells.

He dropped a handful into his pockets and walked back to his motorcycle, parking at the house.

As he walked inside, he was greeted by his wife

“What’s all that?” She asked.

Elmo gave her a smooth smile. “Decoration, and uh..” He pulled out a christmas ornament that was filled with shards and chunks of crushed lobster and green and blue sea glass. Though, technically, there were a wide variety of crushed shells in there, they were just tiny chunks; abalone, clam, scallop and mussel. The string that slid through the hole that kept the ornament up was made of hemp twine, and had a silver anchor charm attached to it. But the best part of it was that it was in the shape of a heart. “This. For you, my love.”

She looked at the ornament with a bit of a twinkle in her eyes, and Elmo knew that despite the gift being something small, she saw it for what he saw it as, a good sign.

“I got us into Jordan Pond House, Deb.” He said, “Twelve jars on the shelves, near the register. I’m going to deliver the jars with an updated brand sticker to them later. If it goes well and people buy it, we’ll have a lot more orders on our hands and more variety.”

“And..” He put the notebook down on the counter and kissed his wife again, letting her look through the notebook for the specific requests the different stores had when it came to marketing their product. “We can use that, if you’d like. I bought everything we’ll need, minus groceries, in the bag.”

Speaking of.. something smelled good. Something delicious was for dinner.