by Bluestem
It must have been like Howard Carter breaking into King Tut’s tomb, albeit on the scale of a flea compared to a blue whale, but nevertheless an exciting moment. When the first shafts of light and the fresh 21st Century breeze met the stale 1980s air and mingled—sending dust wheeling and moving for the first time in 30-odd years—a dark and musty mystery came to light. The place had sat just as it had been left, the reasons why lost to history. Perhaps the original owner, tiring of taking inventories, of customers always being right, and listening to the petty gripes and grievances of his staff, turned the lock on the door one evening at closing time and never returned.
At some point a For Sale sign had been taped to the glass. Over time it had yellowed and curled at one corner. Year after year layers of dirt and grime on the glass obscured the treasures inside, but one could still see well enough to discern that the shelves were well stocked. The aisles, dim and mysterious, led off tantalizingly towards the back of the store.
And then one day, the For Sale sign disappeared. An enterprising citizen bought the store—lock, stock and barrel. All of the nails, screws, paints, elbow joints, and hammers. The wire, electrical switches, door knobs, screwdrivers, tubes of adhesives, and No Trespassing signs. Even old calendars and bumper stickers (Love Machine, I’m So Broke I Can’t Pay Attention, My Other Car Is A Porsche) that had sat on the sales counter for tens of years. If not the accoutrements of a pharaoh—the opulent gold and jewels, the pots of honey and spices, the effigial retinue to assist the king along his lonely journey among the stars, they were at least useful items for mortals in pursuit of everyday life here on planet earth.
We ventured in one day shortly after the grand reopening. We were drawn to the place like Percy Fawcett to Brazil. We went not because we needed anything, but because we had to see for ourselves the treasures that had been locked up inside the tomb for all of those years. Was the new owner really going to try and sell that old stuff (yes)? Were the prices going to be rock-bottom to move items off the shelves (no)? Was he going to clean off the dust (no)? Would the new owner and his family be cursed for generations because they had violated this sacred hardware resting place? Only time will tell.
Indeed, there were piles of riches and in the back, beyond the reach of mere humans was a dark chamber filled to the top with cardboard boxes. A tall shelf was crisscrossed with (mummy’s cloth?!) strips of gauzy, white fabric and was embellished with handwritten signs on lined paper ripped from a notebook admonishing: Not for sale today and Copper Not for Sale this Week (it is always this week).
We didn’t buy anything and the owner didn’t seem troubled by it. In fact, he hardly noticed us at all. His was the attitude of concentration one would expect from an archeologist lovingly documenting each rare and precious item of his discovery. As we left, a man came in, perhaps a tourist drawn from afar—and like us—seeking the thrills of this newly opened vault into the past. He stopped just inside the door, scanned the length and breadth of the place, took off his ball cap and slowly rubbed his head in wonder.
Words & Photos by Bluestem
Nice job, beautiful writing.