Ever since I saw Gremlins as a child, I have been searching for something that may not exist: A store that would carry a Mogwai. They don’t actually need to have a mogwai — though it would be nice — but they should always be the sort of place that would have a Mogwai.
A serious blow was struck against these sorts of establishments when smoking was banned in so-called public spaces. (A blow in their favor would be to allow the smoking of hash and opium indoors.) Safety regulations and the recent obsession with clean air lends itself to a soulless fluorescent world, filled not with shops but stores. And the strangest, most useless and unusual thing that you’ll ever find in a store is the staff. Sadly, even they are mass-produced.
But I have found some places that do engage in a sort of Mogwai trade. Little shops where the proprietor knows what they’re talking about, the advertising consists of word of mouth between mutually interested friends and the products are bizarre in their quality. These are dirty little places. Eccentric and lovely, they are the last bastions of civilization against the marauding, corporate barbarians. They are your local restaurant versus that KFC on the corner. The lights are dim, the food is good and the staff is not wearing a uniform.
I found such a place – rather, was told about it – and experienced it for myself today. Although it’s pictured above, I will not disclose its name or location. Some things must be done in person, over a drink and when the subject is right. But I am happy with this little gem and it gives me some measure of hope. Not a lot, mind you — I remain a strange sort of realist — but some.
1 comment
Anonymous
June 24, 2007 at 10:03 am (UTC -5)
Beautifully stated old chap.