The Newsstand, Part 3
Carl felt badly for Pat’s family. Did Pat even have a family? Carl had no idea. Pat never talked about one. No way to find out now, Carl figured, unless somebody showed up to claim the store. But who would? The newsstand stayed closed for about a week after Pat died and Carl figured this was it, the place would be sold and converted into yet another chain drugstore or a bank branch. Carl wondered how they could open a bank branch in a place that small that lacked a vault. They always found a way though, whoever “they” were. Meanwhile Carl spent the time he had spent at the newsstand at home, still reading the papers (he picked them up at a deli around the corner).
After a week Carl walked past the stand and saw the gate up and the door opened. He stuck his head inside and saw that the place had been gutted to the bare walls. Everything was gone. No more coffee machine, no more paneling, no more stool. Carl was hit with a wave of nausea as he looked around the place. Despite the fact that he had resigned himself to never passing a morning on that stool at that battered old lunch counter ever again actually seeing it gone and knowing that the place had ceased to exist except as a memory was almost too much to take.
A guy in his early 40s came in the door behind Carl and said “We’re not open yet, but I’m sure you figured that out from the looks of the place.” Carl noticed the guy had a large Starbucks coffee cup in his hand, presumably from the outlet that had opened a few doors down a few years back. Carl recovered his wits and said “Who is “we” and what isn’t open?”
“Let me guess, you’re one of my uncle’s regulars, right?”
“If your uncle was Pat who owns, I mean owned this place then yeah.”
“That’s him.”
“Sorry for your loss”
“Thanks.”
“Pat never mentioned any family so I didn’t know…”
“He wasn’t big on family. This place was pretty much his life even though he never fully realized the revenue upside.”
“The revenue upside?”
“You don’t make any money selling papers to old folks and candy and comics to kids and bad coffee to everyone. He had a dying business model.”
“He had a steady business. He seemed to do all right.”
“He’s just lucky he owned the building. If he had a mortgage he never would’ve lasted. Anyway, he was just breaking even.”
“Something to be said for that if you’re happy.”
“Did my uncle seem happy to you Mr….Mr….”
“Just call me Carl.”
Pat’s nephew shifted nervously, obviously uncomfortable with calling one of his uncle’s old regulars by his first name. “Well did he seem happy Carl? I’m Pat by the way.”
“Nice to meet you. Pat must be a favorite name in your family then?”
“Nah, just lack of imagination on somebody’s part.”
“What?”
“Never mind, look, we’re going to make this a thriving business. A place where the people around here can come and be comfortable without being chased out. Of course some things will change, we’re going to put in Wifi, get a decent coffee service that’s cheaper than the Starbucks so we can maybe steal some business from them, sell some higher end baked goods…it’s going to be homey but still good.
“Oh. “
“Listen we’ll be open in two weeks, you just come on back and check it out.”
So Carl did. Not in two weeks, no. Carl had settled in to a new routine by then, though what that routine was, I’m afraid, is part of a different story. It was closer to three months before Carl came by the former newsstand again. The space was radically different and there were several customers. Where the lunch counter had been now stood a coffee bar complete with a sign declaring “We proudly sell Stumptown Coffee” hanging over a frighteningly high-tech-looking machine that was as far from the old Bunn-O-Matic as your laptop is from an Underwood. Carl noticed the prices on the wall were cheaper than the Starbucks – by about a dime. Still, Pat, or “new Pat” as Carl’s mental rolodex classified him hadn’t lied. It was cheaper than Starbucks.
What was also new was the flat-screen HD set hanging on the wall surrounded by new-yet-distressed looking comfy chairs. In several of the chairs sat customers, Carl didn’t know if they were “happy” customers because they were, to a person staring at the screen on their laptops or iPhones. The only human voice in the place droned on from the TV.
Pat, or rather “New Pat” came out from the back room and saw Carl looking around.
“Pretty nice huh? This is the kind of place where people can come and socialize.”
“Socialize?” Carl said. “They’re all looking at screens.”
“Yeah, well, that’s socializing of a kind. For them it is anyway. Hell, as long as they keep buying coffee and don’t break anything what do I care? “
“You sound like your uncle with that line.” Carl said with a laugh.
“I had to throw some people out of here for mooching off the WiFi without buying anything. Then I found out I could secure the network and give out passwords (with a purchase, of course) that worked for a short time, say, an hour or two. After that the session times out and they have to buy something else or beat it.”
Carl nodded though he didn’t fully follow every detail of that. He couldn’t understand why people would want to sit in a public place to stare at a screen when they could do it at home. When Carl went out he generally went places he wanted to be or had to be but if it was someplace he chose to be he chose to BE there. The notion that someone would voluntarily choose to go someplace to look at their computer screen and pay money to do so (though technically they were just paying to have a cup of coffee) had not occurred to him. He said as much to New Pat.
“You used to come here and read the paper, didn’t you? You could’ve done that at home and drank your own coffee.”
“Yeah, but I knew people here, I socialized a bit – old style socializing, in person you know.”
“These people think they’re socializing.”
Carl looked again at the wide-eyed, slack jawed faces bathed in the light of their personal screens as they tapped away on phone keypads and laptop keyboards.
“Well I guess they are then. Good luck to you Pat.”
Carl left and hasn’t set foot in the shop since. The shop continued to thrive. Carl subscribed to home delivery for his newspapers and a few of the magazines, though he didn’t read nearly as many as he did when he sat on his old stool by the wall. From time to time he wondered if what New Pat did with that gun that Pat kept behind the counter. “You shouldn’t ever introduce a loaded gun and not use it” thought Carl, “but that’s the way life goes sometimes, I guess.”
Sure is.
After a week Carl walked past the stand and saw the gate up and the door opened. He stuck his head inside and saw that the place had been gutted to the bare walls. Everything was gone. No more coffee machine, no more paneling, no more stool. Carl was hit with a wave of nausea as he looked around the place. Despite the fact that he had resigned himself to never passing a morning on that stool at that battered old lunch counter ever again actually seeing it gone and knowing that the place had ceased to exist except as a memory was almost too much to take.
A guy in his early 40s came in the door behind Carl and said “We’re not open yet, but I’m sure you figured that out from the looks of the place.” Carl noticed the guy had a large Starbucks coffee cup in his hand, presumably from the outlet that had opened a few doors down a few years back. Carl recovered his wits and said “Who is “we” and what isn’t open?”
“Let me guess, you’re one of my uncle’s regulars, right?”
“If your uncle was Pat who owns, I mean owned this place then yeah.”
“That’s him.”
“Sorry for your loss”
“Thanks.”
“Pat never mentioned any family so I didn’t know…”
“He wasn’t big on family. This place was pretty much his life even though he never fully realized the revenue upside.”
“The revenue upside?”
“You don’t make any money selling papers to old folks and candy and comics to kids and bad coffee to everyone. He had a dying business model.”
“He had a steady business. He seemed to do all right.”
“He’s just lucky he owned the building. If he had a mortgage he never would’ve lasted. Anyway, he was just breaking even.”
“Something to be said for that if you’re happy.”
“Did my uncle seem happy to you Mr….Mr….”
“Just call me Carl.”
Pat’s nephew shifted nervously, obviously uncomfortable with calling one of his uncle’s old regulars by his first name. “Well did he seem happy Carl? I’m Pat by the way.”
“Nice to meet you. Pat must be a favorite name in your family then?”
“Nah, just lack of imagination on somebody’s part.”
“What?”
“Never mind, look, we’re going to make this a thriving business. A place where the people around here can come and be comfortable without being chased out. Of course some things will change, we’re going to put in Wifi, get a decent coffee service that’s cheaper than the Starbucks so we can maybe steal some business from them, sell some higher end baked goods…it’s going to be homey but still good.
“Oh. “
“Listen we’ll be open in two weeks, you just come on back and check it out.”
So Carl did. Not in two weeks, no. Carl had settled in to a new routine by then, though what that routine was, I’m afraid, is part of a different story. It was closer to three months before Carl came by the former newsstand again. The space was radically different and there were several customers. Where the lunch counter had been now stood a coffee bar complete with a sign declaring “We proudly sell Stumptown Coffee” hanging over a frighteningly high-tech-looking machine that was as far from the old Bunn-O-Matic as your laptop is from an Underwood. Carl noticed the prices on the wall were cheaper than the Starbucks – by about a dime. Still, Pat, or “new Pat” as Carl’s mental rolodex classified him hadn’t lied. It was cheaper than Starbucks.
What was also new was the flat-screen HD set hanging on the wall surrounded by new-yet-distressed looking comfy chairs. In several of the chairs sat customers, Carl didn’t know if they were “happy” customers because they were, to a person staring at the screen on their laptops or iPhones. The only human voice in the place droned on from the TV.
Pat, or rather “New Pat” came out from the back room and saw Carl looking around.
“Pretty nice huh? This is the kind of place where people can come and socialize.”
“Socialize?” Carl said. “They’re all looking at screens.”
“Yeah, well, that’s socializing of a kind. For them it is anyway. Hell, as long as they keep buying coffee and don’t break anything what do I care? “
“You sound like your uncle with that line.” Carl said with a laugh.
“I had to throw some people out of here for mooching off the WiFi without buying anything. Then I found out I could secure the network and give out passwords (with a purchase, of course) that worked for a short time, say, an hour or two. After that the session times out and they have to buy something else or beat it.”
Carl nodded though he didn’t fully follow every detail of that. He couldn’t understand why people would want to sit in a public place to stare at a screen when they could do it at home. When Carl went out he generally went places he wanted to be or had to be but if it was someplace he chose to be he chose to BE there. The notion that someone would voluntarily choose to go someplace to look at their computer screen and pay money to do so (though technically they were just paying to have a cup of coffee) had not occurred to him. He said as much to New Pat.
“You used to come here and read the paper, didn’t you? You could’ve done that at home and drank your own coffee.”
“Yeah, but I knew people here, I socialized a bit – old style socializing, in person you know.”
“These people think they’re socializing.”
Carl looked again at the wide-eyed, slack jawed faces bathed in the light of their personal screens as they tapped away on phone keypads and laptop keyboards.
“Well I guess they are then. Good luck to you Pat.”
Carl left and hasn’t set foot in the shop since. The shop continued to thrive. Carl subscribed to home delivery for his newspapers and a few of the magazines, though he didn’t read nearly as many as he did when he sat on his old stool by the wall. From time to time he wondered if what New Pat did with that gun that Pat kept behind the counter. “You shouldn’t ever introduce a loaded gun and not use it” thought Carl, “but that’s the way life goes sometimes, I guess.”
Sure is.
Comments
Sometimes it's worth sitting in front of your screen and staring at something. This is one of those times.
Nicely done, DC.