Across from the main gate of Sharif University on the opposite side of the street was a newspaper kiosk that also sold cold sodas and other snacks. Often when coming back from classes, especially in the warmer months, we would stop there and grab something to drink. The man who ran the kiosk was an old and blind man whose physical limitations often made me think people could easily take advantage of him and his merchandise due to his handicap. On one occasion a group of middle school kids rushed in and grabbed poundcakes before running off laughing as us and some other bystanders chased them away, causing them to drop some of the goods.

While the store behind the university charged three tomans per soda, the old man charged five. We really didn’t mind the price difference as we would have to go out of our way through the University rear exit for the lower price. We generally took turns paying for all the drinks as it would make it easier for both parties when exchanging money, not to mention it would give us a false sense of treating the rest of the group when in fact over time it simply evened itself out. 

One day, when it was my turn to treat, I ordered three sodas for myself, Nemat and Anoush. As I waited for the man to hand us the soda bottles I got a good glimpse inside the kiosk and spotted a girl, perhaps not older than six, picking up a wrinkled white dress and placing it on top of the somewhat ratty clothes that she had on. In front of her on top of a pile of newspapers was a tiny hand held mirror leaning against the wall of the kiosk. She glanced at herself and brushed her hand over the dress, seemingly trying to iron out the wrinkles, as she looked herself over in the mirror. She then carefully folded it and put it aside. I had seen her before and in fact remembered some time earlier when someone purchased something from the old man she had made a comment that he had given the wrong item (although he kept assuring her the transaction was correct).

When it came time to pay, I placed a 20 toman bill in the man’s hands and expected 5 tomans back. As I passed on the sodas to Nemat and Anoush, the man pulled out a few bills and gave them to me along with some coins. 

“Sir, I only gave you a 20. You’re giving me back too much,” I said.

He apologized and took the bills back. “I’m sorry, I thought you gave me a 50.”

I wasn’t quite sure how he was able (or rather thought he was able) to tell the difference amongst the bills. As far as I had seen, he had simply taken it from me and no one had said anything to him so if he indeed believed he was able to identify them, it would have been through touch only. I wondered how many times this may have happened to him before and whether the customers would acknowledge his mistake or simply pocket the money. We finished our drinks, handed him back the empty bottles and headed towards Azadi Square to catch a bus home.

A few weeks later, again after coming back from classes, as we exited the university, across the street the kiosk caught our attention. It was draped in black cloths, indicating that someone, presumably the old man, had died. I wondered what became of the little girl.