June 1998 bumping uglies by Todd Levin |
|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
Buyer Beware: The American Dream in a Plain Brown Wrapper
My grandfather, Abraham, was an entrepreneur and a family disgrace. In
that order, actually. He was an aspiring businessman, with a keen eye for
new and interesting financial ventures, but usually with a crucially missed angle.
Was he misunderstood? Maybe. Was he myopic? Yes, I think so. Was he completely
revolting to regard while he was eating barbecued chicken off the bone? Unquestionably.
But he was a kind grandfather, constantly beckoning his grandchildren to him so
he could recount in fascinating detail countless stories of his service in the
United States Army during the Second World War, and the numerous bouts of
syphillis he had to battle with overseas alone, without the loving care of
family. He would then place warm, sweaty "I LIKE IKE" lapel pins in
our tiny little hands and send us running to the store to face, over and over
again, the embarrassing discovery that one cannot purchase candy with old presidential
campaign paraphernalia. Abraham was incredibly sweet when he wasn't
"chasing the dragon", as my grandmother often put it. Confound that dragon.
In the nineteen seventies and eighties my grandfather ran his money through
a seemingly endless stream of failed businesses. Some said Abraham got his terrible
business sense from his father, who was employed briefly as a usurer in Poland
just before the War. Opening a Vietnamese restaurant to commemorate the fall of
Saigon was Abraham's first clear miss, and closed within hours of its opening, its
swift failure aided by a flurry of heavy stones and homemade explosives hurled
through the plate glass storefront by some of the volunteers at the U.S. Marines
recruiting center located across the street. Sadly, that fiasco was quickly followed
by several others spanning over the next 11 years. Some of the more noteworthy
failures were the Honest Abe Savings Bank for Puppies, Abraham's Farm-Quality Fresh
Cream and Active Industrial Heating Unit Warehouse, and his good-hearted but
noticeably short-sighted luncheonette with a "Homeless War Veterans
and Paranoid Schizophrenics Eat Free" policy. (A policy which was hugely
popular in the community, but not the "moneyed" members of the community,
who are usually more desirable in terms of seeking a financial success, but
admittedly far less desirable if you are trying to find someone who will
kill your math teacher for a pint of ripple and a carton of Kools). But no business
venture was more pathetic than his erotic novelties shop, which he ran for approximately
three months in 1982, before the bad word got out and he was forced to close
his self-made shop doors a final time.
I think my grandfather's erotic novelties shop should serve as a case study for
any would-be adult novelty entrepreneurs or patrons. I would be willing to say
that no one in the history of domestic and European erotic novelties has made
as many mistakes in the general planning and execution of that business
model as could be counted in Abraham's Discount Schtupermarket (even the name
was not generally regarded as "sexy"). Both a lesson in economics and
good taste for would-be retailers, I think it deserves a respectable burial here.
Let me preface (mostly because I enjoy prefacing very, very much -
nearly as much as I enjoy forewarding, preambling and a light post-ambling as the occasion
presents itself) by saying this: Abraham was restricted by law from operating a
business of this sort, partly because of some other suspicious business practices
of his and partly because of zoning laws which prohibited the operation of
an adult entertainment wholesale outlet in the corner of an active public
playground. But that -- like the Nazis and the Better Business Bureau -- didn't
stop a very pig-headed and foolhardy Abraham. Instead of simply trying to open
his business somewhere a little more discreet, he cut a deal with a
pinochle buddy of his who had a fairly influential position in the Parks
Commission and opened the Schtupermarket right behind the corkscrew slide.
Worse still, in an effort to skirt the aforementioned legal restraints, he
cheated his entire inventory. Abraham didn't have the first idea of where
to hook up with a pornographic magazine distributor to stock his store so
he took matters into his own hands. He would steal magazines - TIME,
NEWSWEEK, FAMILY CIRCLE, etc. - from his dermatologist's office
and mark up the covers; scotch-taping photographs from old Hustler magazines
on top of the otherwise drab front cover features. Additionally, Abraham
would take a black permanent marker to the innocuous news and popular interest
journals and alter the titles to something more suitably suggestive for his
anticipated clientele. For example, on the Schtupermarket's magazine rack you
might find slightly suspicious looking glossies with names like TIME to
Fuck, or NEWSWEEK in the Knees Because the Lady Might Like to FUCK, or
READERS' DIGESTed Semen (large print version). It was truly sad, primarily
because he usually sold out of stock very quickly. Sometimes the suggestive power
of something dirty is enough. Either that, or Abraham inadvertently uncovered a
fetish for hard-hitting news written at a fourth grade reading level.
Other infractions of industry practices included, but were not limited to the following:
Suffice it to say, no one really missed Abraham's Discount Schtupermarket
and, despite the "deals" he offered there, it became quickly apparent
that wholesale prices are generally not motivating factor for would-be
erotica customers. Abraham tried to cut some corners and pass on the savings
but, as usual with fairly depressing results. When his store was bulldozed by
local government very few tears were shed. (Perhaps in an effort to kill the
memories, the playground was also destroyed and immediately converted into a
public dump for brightly colored broken glass. Sadly, though, the playground
sign was never properly removed and we lost more than a few of our potential
little league stars to the seductive, playful promise of a 40 foot pile of
shiny glass shards.) But I saw something die in Abraham that day. He grew a
terribly quiet and despondent after his final business effort and, in some
sense, his own independence, became dust. (he eventually died penniless, at the
age of 82, from what my grandmother claims was food poisoning. Incidentally, she
is still in litigation over this claim with the Head and Shoulders Dandruff
Shampoo Corporation.) I have always felt that the resistance Papa Abraham
met with every commercial endeavor of his was, in his mind, a direct contradiction
to this former immigrant's promise of the American Dream. In fact, people said to
him on more than one occasion, with intended irony, "Abraham, the American
Dream can be yours, if you'd just wake up". I miss him dearly and if
I often think to myself, "if I had an 'I LIKE IKE' lapel pin for every crazy
idea my grandfather tried to cook up - oh, wait. I do."
back to the junk drawer
|
|
·feature·
·net worth·
·bumping uglies·
·smoking jacket·
·ear candy·
·feed hollywood·
·target audience·
·back issues·
·compulsion·
·posedown·
·the biswick files·
·mystery date·
·and such and such·
·blab·
·kissing booth·
·contents·
·freakshow·
·fan club·
·archive·
copyright © 1996 - 1998 fearless media