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mallorys_cameraThe nice Russian Jewish couple came into the Little Store yesterday. They have been coming in three times a year for the past 5 years and every time they come in, they buy exactly the same thing: one bottle of Da Bomb Beyond Insanity, three bottles of Ring of Fire Steak Sauce. Of course yesterday we were out of both.
“So what going on here?” he asked in his heavily accented English.
“We’re closing at the end of the month,” I said.
“That is a real shame!” he said. “We come to Monterey for this store as much as anything.”
I smile, shrug. It is what it is.
He shakes his head, begins trotting around the store, grabbing random bottles off the shelves. His wife reaches over, pats my hand. “All you can do is try to stay happy for the moment, eh?” An orthodox Jewish lady makes a most improbable Buddhist. I know they’re orthodox Jews because the very first time they came into the store, I spent half an hour telling them which products were kosher and which were not. They are dark little people with two blonde, tall sons, one of whom is with them today. For the first time as she pats my hand I realize, the lady is wearing a wig. She was probably blonde herself before she started shaving her head.
The man comes back to the counter with several bottles. “You own a bar, don’t you?” I ask.
“No,” he scoffs and launches into an explanation of what he does for a living except his accent is so thick I can’t understand a word of it.
“Can I have these?” the son asks holding a jar of Ass Kickin’ Jellybeans.
“No,” says the father.
“They’re kosher,” I say. “May I have your permission to give them to him?
“You don’t have to –“
“It would be my pleasure,” I say and stick the jellybeans in the bag with his purchases.
He looks at the plastic bag and shakes his head sadly. “Even the bag is different –“
“Yeah. These I steal from the Nob Hill down the street. When I couldn’t afford to supply paper bags anymore was when I knew I really had to close the store. Funny, I’ve been using these plastic things for two months and you’re the first person who’s noticed.”
Also making an appearance was the cute little couple from Oakland. She has bright blue hair and a wonderful nose piercing; he is your basic Hank Sarazin lookalike. (I am old if I remember who Hank Sarazin was!)
“My God! You know when we told our friends we were coming down to Monterey this weekend five of them put in requests for stuff,” said the girl mournfully. “You will keep the Internet site going, won’t you?”
“Oh, absolutely!” I lied. In fact, I haven’t made that decision yet. The Internet site has been profitable actually. But keeping the Internet site going means staying in Monterey and right now I want to get as far away from Monterey as possible. I hate Monterey. If we had opened the store any place else we would have made money on it.
“Open a store in Oakland!” said the guy.
“Is that where you live?” I asked. “I used to live in Oakland. I love Oakland! It’s just such a great multicultural city. Streets are alive.”
“Why’d you leave?” asked the girl.
“Kids. It just dawned on me one day as I was schlepping my oldest in the car to some prearranged playdate that this was no way to have a childhood. But the Bay Area is a place where you get frantic when your kid is an hour late coming home. I needed to be in a place where my kids could go out and have their unchaperoned kid adventures without me hitting the ceiling. Monterey is very boring but very safe. It is ever the breeder dilemma, I'm afraid.”
“It is boring,” the girl agreed. “Very beautiful. But boring. I couldn’t spend more than a weekend here.”
They took ten business cards to distribute among their friends.
And then there was the guy who’d bought a dozen “We Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Tastebuds” teeshirts from me last autumn. He was doing a sales presentation, they were for members of his team. “Remember me?” he beamed.
And of course I did, and we chatted for 20 minutes. He’d just won the award as top salesman of the year and his company was springing for an all-expenses paid vacation to Iceland –
“Iceland?” I said. “That’s an interesting choice. Iceland doesn’t have an economy.”
“I know,” he said. “Originally the prize was a vacation in Cabo.”
“From Cabo to Iceland. Wow. Are you into geology?”
“Not so much,” he said.
In the course of our conversation he told me about the most wonderful pretzel shop in Prunedale that had opened last year, and how the owner had told him they were toast too as of the end of the month.
“Do you know what you’re going to do next?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Don’t have a clue.”
“You’d make a great salesperson.”
“I’d make a horrible salesperson. I can’t stand talking to people I don’t like.”
He laughed. “There is that. Well you will be much missed here.”
Finally _______ came by. Longtime readers of this journal will recall him as the guy with whom I spent 45 minutes on the phone last September trying to dissuade him from buying ______, the store that sells ___________________________________.
I didn’t succeed.
“Oh, dear, oh dear, oh dear,” I said when I saw him. “I tried so hard to talk you out of that.”
“You did,” said _______. He looked dazed.
“Was there anything I could have said?”
“No,” he said. “I was so just so determined."
"There is a certain romance to it from the outside."
"I guess we’ll just hang in there, pray for a miracle.”
He lives in Sacramento. Works for the State of California. Borrowed some immense amount of money from Monterey County Bank, no doubt secured by his pension plan. And now his pension plan is worth 60% less than it was in September, nobody is buying anything and he’s socked into an eight year lease with the Cannery Row Company bloodsuckers.
I suppose in some ways I’m fortunate to have absolutely no assets. I’m no longer a hostage to anything.
Also yesterday I finished Chapter 2. Word count is 11,000. When it hits 15,000 it starts becoming a real baby manuscript in my head.
“So what going on here?” he asked in his heavily accented English.
“We’re closing at the end of the month,” I said.
“That is a real shame!” he said. “We come to Monterey for this store as much as anything.”
I smile, shrug. It is what it is.
He shakes his head, begins trotting around the store, grabbing random bottles off the shelves. His wife reaches over, pats my hand. “All you can do is try to stay happy for the moment, eh?” An orthodox Jewish lady makes a most improbable Buddhist. I know they’re orthodox Jews because the very first time they came into the store, I spent half an hour telling them which products were kosher and which were not. They are dark little people with two blonde, tall sons, one of whom is with them today. For the first time as she pats my hand I realize, the lady is wearing a wig. She was probably blonde herself before she started shaving her head.
The man comes back to the counter with several bottles. “You own a bar, don’t you?” I ask.
“No,” he scoffs and launches into an explanation of what he does for a living except his accent is so thick I can’t understand a word of it.
“Can I have these?” the son asks holding a jar of Ass Kickin’ Jellybeans.
“No,” says the father.
“They’re kosher,” I say. “May I have your permission to give them to him?
“You don’t have to –“
“It would be my pleasure,” I say and stick the jellybeans in the bag with his purchases.
He looks at the plastic bag and shakes his head sadly. “Even the bag is different –“
“Yeah. These I steal from the Nob Hill down the street. When I couldn’t afford to supply paper bags anymore was when I knew I really had to close the store. Funny, I’ve been using these plastic things for two months and you’re the first person who’s noticed.”
Also making an appearance was the cute little couple from Oakland. She has bright blue hair and a wonderful nose piercing; he is your basic Hank Sarazin lookalike. (I am old if I remember who Hank Sarazin was!)
“My God! You know when we told our friends we were coming down to Monterey this weekend five of them put in requests for stuff,” said the girl mournfully. “You will keep the Internet site going, won’t you?”
“Oh, absolutely!” I lied. In fact, I haven’t made that decision yet. The Internet site has been profitable actually. But keeping the Internet site going means staying in Monterey and right now I want to get as far away from Monterey as possible. I hate Monterey. If we had opened the store any place else we would have made money on it.
“Open a store in Oakland!” said the guy.
“Is that where you live?” I asked. “I used to live in Oakland. I love Oakland! It’s just such a great multicultural city. Streets are alive.”
“Why’d you leave?” asked the girl.
“Kids. It just dawned on me one day as I was schlepping my oldest in the car to some prearranged playdate that this was no way to have a childhood. But the Bay Area is a place where you get frantic when your kid is an hour late coming home. I needed to be in a place where my kids could go out and have their unchaperoned kid adventures without me hitting the ceiling. Monterey is very boring but very safe. It is ever the breeder dilemma, I'm afraid.”
“It is boring,” the girl agreed. “Very beautiful. But boring. I couldn’t spend more than a weekend here.”
They took ten business cards to distribute among their friends.
And then there was the guy who’d bought a dozen “We Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Tastebuds” teeshirts from me last autumn. He was doing a sales presentation, they were for members of his team. “Remember me?” he beamed.
And of course I did, and we chatted for 20 minutes. He’d just won the award as top salesman of the year and his company was springing for an all-expenses paid vacation to Iceland –
“Iceland?” I said. “That’s an interesting choice. Iceland doesn’t have an economy.”
“I know,” he said. “Originally the prize was a vacation in Cabo.”
“From Cabo to Iceland. Wow. Are you into geology?”
“Not so much,” he said.
In the course of our conversation he told me about the most wonderful pretzel shop in Prunedale that had opened last year, and how the owner had told him they were toast too as of the end of the month.
“Do you know what you’re going to do next?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Don’t have a clue.”
“You’d make a great salesperson.”
“I’d make a horrible salesperson. I can’t stand talking to people I don’t like.”
He laughed. “There is that. Well you will be much missed here.”
Finally _______ came by. Longtime readers of this journal will recall him as the guy with whom I spent 45 minutes on the phone last September trying to dissuade him from buying ______, the store that sells ___________________________________.
I didn’t succeed.
“Oh, dear, oh dear, oh dear,” I said when I saw him. “I tried so hard to talk you out of that.”
“You did,” said _______. He looked dazed.
“Was there anything I could have said?”
“No,” he said. “I was so just so determined."
"There is a certain romance to it from the outside."
"I guess we’ll just hang in there, pray for a miracle.”
He lives in Sacramento. Works for the State of California. Borrowed some immense amount of money from Monterey County Bank, no doubt secured by his pension plan. And now his pension plan is worth 60% less than it was in September, nobody is buying anything and he’s socked into an eight year lease with the Cannery Row Company bloodsuckers.
I suppose in some ways I’m fortunate to have absolutely no assets. I’m no longer a hostage to anything.
Also yesterday I finished Chapter 2. Word count is 11,000. When it hits 15,000 it starts becoming a real baby manuscript in my head.
