There's an old religious saying that brings comfort to many: Every time God closes a Walgreens, He opens a CVS. Wait — no. That's not quite right, but you get the point. When our neighborhood's drugstore moved across the street, it left an empty building that surely would be filled soon. Great location, easy parking. But please not another drugstore. Something without a rewards card would be nice. I'm tired of all these rewards. I haven't done anything except buy shampoo.
Neighborhood residents hoped for something like a cupcake store. Wouldn't that be great? We hope someone sinks their entire savings into a cute little store we can visit twice a year, but pass every day thinking, "I like my neighborhood. It has cupcakes." Or perhaps a bread store we would visit four times a year that would supply bread aromas all the time. When a few months passed with no retail action we got impatient: C'mon, would someone mortgage their future already? At this point we'll take a bagel shop.
Well, a tenant has been announced, and to everyone's dismay it is not a place where they will shave an ounce of pink Himalayan Sea Salt into a glassine envelope for 7 dollars. It is an auto-parts store. Um — handmade auto parts, right? For people who restore old cars? Is it called the Partatorium? Nope. Actual auto parts for people who fix their own cars.
I bought a headlight lamp at one of these places once and later discovered I had to remove half the front of the car, which is like changing a contact lens by going in through the stomach and up the esophagus. Off to the shop, then. I'm one of those guys who not only takes the car in to change the oil, but also to change the radio station. I admire the do-it-yourselfers, though, and imagine they're happy that the new store — get this — sells useful items for people who do things.
Who knows? Maybe they'll have coffee, and someone will ask if it's fair trade coffee. Sure, the auto parts guy would say, eventually. If you give me a dollar for it.
