THE SONIC BOOMER
It’s the end of an era, I guess.
On May 31, I sold the Florida antique store I have owned for 21 years. It was my first store, the one I would occasionally refer to as my “flagship” store if I wanted to be pompous, and we grew up together in many ways. It was beloved by the public and, because of that, the buyer wanted to buy the name and the business, as well as the building. Done, done and done.
My goal with anything I buy — antiques, buildings, companies — is to triple my money as quickly as possible. This wasn’t something I learned in business school. I never took business classes. Business is more or less a game to me, undertaken to satisfy my competitive spirit. Plus, I’ve always liked old things.
(I never took journalism classes either, yet here we are. Because I also like to write.)
But, in my mind, I am nothing more than Jennifer and Charlie’s mom. That is my true calling, and a career I will embrace until the end.
That said, I invited the kids and their families to come through the store just before I signed it over and take anything they wanted. It didn’t matter if it was part of my inventory or belonged to someone who rented space from me, I would cover it. It was a farewell shopping spree.
Jen chose a mid-century modern pitcher and glasses. Her husband chose four fishing reels and some old tools. Granddaughter Tess, 9, picked out some jewelry and a purse. And grandson Orion, 11, set his sights on a vintage candy machine, the kind you used to see at the entrance to every drug store.
“No, Orion, that’s too expensive,” his mother said. (It was priced by another dealer at $150.)
“Not today, it’s not,” I said, and carried it up to the counter to be written up by the clerk.
Orion kills me. He, too, wants to triple his money — especially when it’s not his money to start with. I recognize and admire his entrepreneurial spirit and do anything I can to encourage it. So the $150 seemed like a good investment in his future. At first.
Two days later, when Orion was back in Missouri, I got the call. “Grandma?”
“Yes, Orion?”
“I have an idea. How about you fill up the machine with candy and put it in your other store, and I give you 25 percent of everything I make?”
Anyone can see this is a bad deal for me. I buy the candy (at its retail price of $5 a bag); I give up valuable, rentable floor space; I maintain the machine; and I get 25 percent back… someday. Hmm.
But I’m a grandma, so of course I say, “How about I do all that but do not take 25 percent of everything you make?”
It was a deal.
“I’m only doing this for a year,” I cautioned. “To see how it goes.”
Still a deal.
Well, it’s going great. Customers and clerks alike listen to the story and say, “We’ll put that boy through college!” as they fill their palms with Skittles. And why wouldn’t they? The circa-1958 machine releases a hefty handful of candy for just five cents. I’m losing 50 cents with every turn of the knob.
At age 11, Orion has out-businessed me. It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last.
I hope. After all, somebody’s got to pay for my nursing home!
