ANCIENT CHINESE SECRET, HUH?

Like or not, any living arrangement is dependent on the corner store. This is usually the first place we go to in several kinds of emergencies: mixers, spice, cigarettes and a pay phone. Over time, you get to know the family that owns the store, and they learn your habits. They have your cigarettes waiting for you, and punch your evening chocolate bar fix into the cash register before you’ve even picked one out. Eventually, you repress the resentment you feel because they charge a dollar more than anywhere else.

It was nearly six months before the Chinese couple, who owned the convenience store in my apartment complex, stopped scowling at me when I entered their store. The old Chinese woman seemed threatened by anyone she didn’t know, her husband was friendlier and spoke better English. The first few months I went there, I was convinced they were making up the prices as they went along. Out of desperation, I bought dog food there one and only once, literally dusting off the can before I paid for it.

After a while, the Chinese couple seemed relieved when the bells on the door, announced my entrance. “Hello! Good Morning,” they would say in unison as I tried not to fall down the stairs into the store. Sometimes they would even round the price down to the nearest nickel and dime. They liked me, because I didn’t make their lives difficult. I usually bought the same things everyday, reducing their dependence on their English.

More often than not, the old wife would be reading the Bible or talking on the phone on the fax machine, and the husband would be reading a newspaper in Chinese. I once saw the old man pretend he didn’t understand English when a woman asked him for quarters for laundry. “Fucking Bitch,” he said in his poor English, as the bells rang behind her. This other time I walked in on some kids on steroids giving the old lady a hard time. It was late, and she was visibly shaken. I had been working out, and looked a little pumped. If I opened my mouth, it would have given it all away. I lingered in front of the soda fridge while the guys paid for their stuff. The seemed fidgety, like they wanted to start a fight or tear something part. The old woman handed them their change and said to them, “God’s love will heal you.”

A couple of weeks ago I went to grab a Coke. It was seven in the evening and the placed looked like it was been cleaned out. There were freezers outside and boxes piled up. I poked my head in and asked, “Are you open?”

“Definitely,” this Homey from Surrey said.

The contents of the shelves had been piled on the floor. A middle-aged woman with red hair and rubber gloves was scrubbing the shelves, while a girl in her twenties examined the expiry dates. I tiptoed across the wet floor and grabbed a Coke.

“You guys taking over this place?” I asked.

“Yeah,” said the Homey, his arms covered in tattoos. He looked like he just got out of prison.

“When did this go down?”

“Last night.”

“Wow. Welcome to the neighbourhood.”

As I went home I found myself worrying about the Chinese couple. Were they okay, did they have enough money to live? I hoped they didn’t mismanage their money and were foreclosed on by the bank. The people who took over the store looked like they had made the money to buy it selling drugs. I hoped they didn’t muscle the Chinese couple out of their business. Of course, they could have just retired. They were old, and it can’t be entirely safe running a convenience store until ten at night.

The new owners have taken some adjusting to. I’m not at the store as much now that I don’t smoke, and I always forget it’s under new management. Homes is nice enough, but he seems to have to work at it. It makes me wonder if he’s ever been around gay people before. They ran out of my size of Coke for a week and I had to buy the more expensive size; I didn’t complain though. The place is cleaner than it was, but has this kind of gauzy smell that reminds me of tampons for some reason. It turns out the girl in her twenties, let’s just call her Luanne, is a Paris Hilton wannabe with her two Chihuahuas. “Those are against health codes,” I wanted to say as I watched them shivering in front of the cigarettes. The last thing I need is to get banned from my convenience store. For all I know, these guys could be the Tartan equivalent of the Sopranos.


GarpinBC