all the good stuff

What stuff? Well, let me tell you. There is this store that was pointed out to me today. It's called All the Good Stuff. On the outside it seems like a perfectly inviting junk store - dusty, cramped, and full of treasures waiting to be discovered. But on the inside you realize that this junk that the store owner most likely found in the trash or bought dirt cheap at an estate sale is ridiculously overpriced. And the guy that works there, or perhaps he runs the joint, is one hell of an asshole. Remember, the store is called All the Good Stuff and customer service there sucks ass. Why, you might ask. I'd be delighted to explain.

This morning my mom needed to buy something she knew this store had, so I drove her there. I couldn't get around the store because it was too crowded and the aisles too narrow, so I stayed right near the entryway with the baby in the car seat. And what was there to make my stay more enjoyable? A box of funny black and white photographs from the seventies. Posed shots of random high school football teams, scouts digging ditches next to an inconspicuously placed sign asking for a donation for the Boy Scouts, mustache-sporting businessmen in seventies attire in a meeting so fake you'd think they are Ken dolls.

I contemplated buying one of the photographs since it was guaranteed to make someone laugh. I didn't yet know which of my friends would most appreciate it, but was convinced it would make a great present. But, hold your horses, I thought, you don't yet know how much this amusing piece of paper would cost. I asked the guy stacking the merchandise and sipping coffee alternately. He mumbled, "Five."
I asked, "Really?"
"Ten," he muttered under his breath.
Now I was thoroughly confused. Five dollars for a photograph? Or was it ten? There are at least ten copies of each image in this box, I observed. These puppies are massproduced. Come on! I mean if they were one of a kind or of someone famous...
"Are you serious that they are five dollars?" I asked the guy.
"How many times do I have to tell you they are five dollars a piece?!" he attacked me.
Whoa, I thought. "Well, I'm just asking because I've seen old pictures sold in other places and they were much cheaper." I wasn't lying.
"Well, I have no problem selling them for five dollars." He hissed, looking at a rusty toilet bowl or whatever he was selling. Wow, I sure as hell don't want to come back here, I thought. But to my mom he was as sweet as a cherub. She was only buying something worth two dollars so it wasn't her "business."

What this guy's deal was I don't know, but as soon as I left there I vowed I'd blog about his poppycock attitude and his crappy kaka store. So, now you know.