The No-Buy Club

Starring Justin, Sleepy Slime

Justin is overwhelmed by his habit of filling online carts with gadgets he doesn’t really need, so when a tiny leprechaun suggests a consumerism club, he creates the No-Buy Club with one simple rule: no purchases for thirty days unless they are food or medicine. But Justin quickly breaks his own rule, buying a notebook and then making more rules about not buying things, even as Sleepy Slime points out the irony. After seeing how much useless stuff has piled up around him, Justin finally starts putting extras on the porch with a FREE sign, and the pile turns into a neighborhood swap. In the end, Justin learns that he doesn’t need endless rules or more stuff—he just needs to notice what he already has and let go of what he doesn’t use.

Justin had been staring at his phone for eleven minutes, and in that time, he had added a blender, a standing desk, a weighted blanket, and something called a "posture corrector" to his cart. He slammed the phone face-down on the table. "No more," he said out loud, even though only Sleepy Slime was there to hear it. Sleepy Slime opened one eye.

Justin was about to announce a fight club when a tiny Leprechaun at the garage door made him stop short, marker still in his hand. Her voice was calm and certain when she told him, “You should make a consumerism club instead.” Justin stared at her, dazzled, and nodded so fast his ears went pink. Sleepy Slime yawned from the floor and blinked at the two of them.

The garage smelled like motor oil and old cardboard, which Justin said was perfect because it smelled like zero dollars. He painted THE NO-BUY CLUB on a wooden plank and nailed it above the door. There was one rule, and Justin said it slowly so it would stick: "We don't buy anything for thirty days unless it is food or medicine." Sleepy Slime nodded, already half-asleep on a folded tarp.

Day four, Justin was certain he needed a new notebook to plan the club's activities. His current notebook had four empty pages left. He bought the notebook. It arrived in a box with sixteen feet of bubble wrap. Sleepy Slime woke up briefly, looked at the bubble wrap, and said, "That's a lot of not-food, not-medicine." Justin said nothing and hid the box behind the recycling bin.

Justin held a meeting and announced a new rule: no more notebooks. Then a rule against scented candles. Then a rule against "unnecessary kitchen gadgets," which he defined with a list he had printed and laminated. The laminated list cost four dollars to print at the copy shop. Sleepy Slime raised what might have been a tiny hand. "You printed a rule about not buying things," it said. "Using buying."

Justin stared at the laminated list in his hand. He thought about the notebook. He thought about the bubble wrap. He looked at the shelves around him, jammed with things he had been absolutely certain he needed: a label maker, a second label maker because the first one ran out of tape, a garlic rocker, a silicone trivet in the shape of a cactus. The dragon in his chest, which usually roared, went very quiet.

Justin picked up the second label maker and took it to the front porch with a sticky note that said FREE. Then the garlic rocker. Then the cactus trivet, though he paused on that one. Sleepy Slime drifted out and watched from the doorway, nightcap drooping over one closed eye. "You didn't need a rule," Sleepy Slime mumbled. "You just needed to look at the shelf."

By the end of the week, the porch pile grew into a neighborhood swap. Someone left a bicycle pump and took the cactus trivet. Someone else left three paperback books and took the label maker. Justin sat on the garage floor sorting through what was left, the wooden plank still hanging above the door. Sleepy Slime was fully asleep inside a donated wicker basket, which was actually more comfortable than the tarp, and free.