Things go wring, any sentient being knows this. So emergency stuff is kept close. From the emergency safety pin to the list of beings who will come to your aid and make it 'go away. -- Anon Guest
[AN: I kept the typos in this prompt on purpose. I think it fits the mood]
Every cogniscent being should have a Handy Stash. That is, a stash of things that come in handy. The omnitool, the package of adhesive medical strips, gaffa tape, a small package of tissues... there will be a time or a person who may be glad it's there. This is why pockets or totes will never go out of fashion.
After all, even the most advanced material printers take their time to create a thing. When you needed that thing a minute ago, the wait is agonising. And sometimes? Potentially deadly.
That thing about wanting a nail is more truth than you may believe.
For the everyday Handy Things, there's small vendomats dotted around every public thoroughfare. Most go months without being used, or even noticed. To the point where a person in need will stand next to one to beg a passing JOAT for something they could acquire for Seconds.
They're always embarrassed regarding the revelation.
As for the JOATs, they were happy to help. That sort of thing was considered public service and was therefore tax deductible.
On the opposite end of the necessity spectrum are those who insist on carrying everything they had needed once, just in case they need it again. Their totes soon fill with tissues, medical kits, over-the-counter medicine, folding fans, hygiene kits, several versions of omnitools, notebooks, and so on. And when they can't find what they need in the moment, they get another one.
Such was the case of Helper Jess. Not quite a JOAT, not an Aunty, but one of those people who provide the little help to anyone who needed it. She did it so much that she got refunds from the tax office.
Some people find jobs. Others have jobs find them.
On this day, she had to consult the neighbourhood Medik. The lumpy satchel settled on a chair of its own, and Jess perched on the examination bed. "It's always at its worst at the end of the day. Sometimes, I lose proper blood flow in the arm? There's pins and needles and that hand gets cold. On days I sleep on it wrong, I can barely use it at all."
Medik Phlae had seen her walk in, and inspected the shoulder Jess used to carry around her tote. Microfractures. Microfractures everywhere. Muscle strain, repetitive stress injury, pinched nerves... all from too much weight on one shoulder.
Knowing the helpful sort that Jess was, Phlae had a prescription that could minimise further damage. It included a trip to the nearest JOAT quarter for a pocket vest and a consultation with an Organiser. The physiotherapy would repair the damage, but the change in habits would make sure the damage stayed repaired.
"This has to be fulfilled in order," said Phlae, printing out a little cart to hold the tote. It would be recycled in time. "You'll receive a copy for your files, and your Aunty will be checking." She'd get a copy, too. Nothing helped a Helper like a group of people ganging up on them for their own good.
"A trolley until the full Organiser consult is done," read Jess. "A JOAT quality pocket-vest or coat... "No more single-shoulder carry bags? Really?"
"You've been carrying twenty percent of your total body mass on one shoulder," said Phlae. "That's why you have all those pains." She was not going to tell Jess she likely had too much [EXCREMENT] in her tote. That was the job of the Organiser. "And remember, this is for the betterment of your health. You can't help anyone if you don't look after yourself."
Physiotherapy did not attract any complaints. A sure and certain sign that Jess knew she needed it.
Phlae put five Minutes on the community pool regarding the total weight of Jess' extraneous items.
[Photo by Erol Ahmed on Unsplash]
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