I Don't Remember The Last Time I Saw The Store

To my everlasting shame, I do not know, for sure, the last time I went into The Store.

I did not track every single trip to The Store.  I was just too heartbroken to note every single visit because I was afraid I would be documenting my last visit.  I figured I needed some time to decompress, and then I would be able to circle back and know for certain the very last day I entered The Store.  But, I got busy, and things got in the way, as they always do, and now that I have time to think and realize this is a long time coming, I am scrambling to remember the last day, which was more than 18 months ago.

And sadly, Wailing And Failing is of no help.  My day planner is of some help; at least I wrote down the dates I took my parents to the airport and when I needed to pick them up.  That meant that those were the days I had to tend to The Store.  But within that I have no idea; I didn't write down when I went to The Store in my day planner.  And the two weeks' worth of blog posts yielded not one puny mention of The Store, at least one that's of any use of me.  I want to yell at myself back in September 2013 for being so sloppy.

So I have to make a guess.  They came back on a Monday.  The day before I worked the Vikings game.  As custom, I go to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition) afterward.  Also, my day planner said that I went to a house party, and I don't think I would stop at The Store if I were going from tits to tits.  Therefore, I don't think I went to The Store on Sunday.

The only thing I did on Saturday was my alma mater's game, which was in the afternoon.  Doesn't seem like I had any plans after that viewing.  Finally, my parents came home that Monday.  Assuming they did actually arrive Monday night, and knowing how I doted after The Store, I think I went in to check on her Saturday after the game, then came back to it just before I went to the airport Monday evening.

Therefore, Monday, September 23, 2013 was the last day I ever set foot in The Store.

Am I sure of that?  Not 100%.  Obviously it would have helped if I wrote it down the day after I went; it would have helped if I blogged every single visit to The Store as soon as I came home from her, or at least a day or two afterward, when I may still have had some memory of it.  But again, with my sadness over being about to lose her, I was not in a mental state to chronicle that.  Nonetheless, I am confident those were the last dates I went to The Store.

So what did I do my last time there?  Again, my memory is hazy, but knowing what I usually did there didn't change, I first looked up at the ceiling of The Store's main floor to see if there was any further damage to it.  From what I blogged about The Last Days Of The Store, the crack that was up on that ceiling for decades expanded, then water started to leak through, then a lot of water made pools of water on The Store floor, then chunks of the ceiling crashed to ground.  It got so bad that some time before they left, Father tore off more parts of the ceiling so they wouldn't fall on their own.  So I just needed to see what else happened while I was away.  My best guess is that there was some tiny pools of water, but the ceiling crashing to the floor alleviated all the stress from the water that apparently seeped in from above.

By the way, all of that water came because the roof had a hole in it.  There was a pretty big storm that blew through the area a few years ago, and I guess debris from one part of the roof was blown right down onto the part of the roof over The Store, tearing a hole through it.  I think that at that point my parents were thinking about selling The Store, so they didn't feel they wanted to invest the money into fixing it.  So what they did was set plastic sheeting underneath the hole in the top floor/storage room, then put a huge plastic garbage bucket underneath to catch any water that spilled from the sheeting.  That still didn't help because it would oftentimes rain so heavily that the bucket would overflow, which then would seep through the permeable floor, which is the ceiling for the main floor, and that's how the ceiling deteriorated.

Which meant that I was fighting a noble but losing battle trying to bail all the water from the bucket every time I visited The Store.  But I did so anyway; after surveying and cleaning up any water or debris from the main floor, I went up the conveyor belt that went up to the second floor and looked at the bucket to see how much water I needed to scoop into these pails, after which I would open a second-floor door and just dump the water from those pails outside.  The bucket may not have been overflowing with water, so it's possible I didn't have to bail water on this Monday night, although I assume there was enough for me to do a little before I had to pick up my parents.  Pain in the ass, but hey, this place allowed my parents and this family to enter the middle class, so I was loyal to it, even if I was tilting at windmills with every pailful of water.

With all the necessary stuff out of the way, I needed to make sure that no one broke into the place, or that there were no huge insect infestations.  Didn't look too hard for that; there was a basement I'm sure I didn't go down to, mostly because I never could figure out where the light was.  But the rest of the second floor I checked for broken windows, and there were no more than the ones that were there already.  By the way, there is a staircase that leads not only down to the first floor but to an old door that was an entrance from the street.  It's been boarded up for a long time, but I had not discovered it until several times before The Store was sold.  I didn't know The Store used to be an old union hall, and during its heyday union members would party at The Store presumably by walking through this now-boraded-up door.  So to reminisce, knowing that I didn't know when I'd be able to go back, I walked up and down that grand but musty staircase one more time.

After poking my head around the back of the main floor, where my parents had stored the majority of our goods for sale and delivery, then saying goodbye to the back kitchen and sink, I turned on the lights to The Store itself and did my customary figure-eight pattern.  There are three aisles to the place, and I made sure to walk it one way, then backtrack and walk it the other way, to make sure I walked through each of the three aisles from both directions.  Do you understand what I mean?  Do I have OCD like that?  Yes, I have OCD like that.

And then I sat down at a chair where the lottery ticket machine and cash register used to be, just to the left of the front door, and I did the second of my three "traditions" with The Store: Sit and think for 15 minutes.  This chair is behind a display case of things -- games like Chinese checkers, small Chinese clothes for babies, etc.  None of it sold.  In fact, I don't remember the last time we sold any food product or clothing item on the convenience store side.  In that sense it was useless to continue the business.  But I'm sure my parents weren't losing money on them, even though they weren't making money on them either.  I just sat there and harkened back to my childhood days, days where (after I got over being told to help my parents work for them at The Store, something that grew into a Saturday tradition) The Store was a lot livelier, and actually made business by people coming through the front door and needing rice or soy sauce or medicine or videotapes of Chinese movies.  Things change, of course, but back then my family could be proud of the work they forged for itself.  They were a mom-and-pop small business, and back in the day they were kicking ass and taking names.  And it was enough to afford a good house in a nice suburb and help send three kids to college.  Like I said before, it was the epitome of the American Dream.  And The Store's faded, shabby, even decrepit current state does not rob it of its past glory.  It was the integrity of those times, what The Store allowed us to enjoy in this country, that convinced me it was right to check up on it every other day (even though it was closed), to check the ceiling for water leaks or failing chunks of paint and to bail the water falling through the roof and to sit there and meditate of what The Store once was.  Fifteen minutes didn't pass by quick; I checked my watch a couple times to see if I reached my self-imposed sentence, as I usually did.  That does not mean I was in a hurry, and it certainly didn't mean I was bummed to sit on that chair.

But on this Monday time was short; I did have to go the airport to pick up my parents.  I hope -- I even pray -- that I was able to fit in 15 minutes meditating over and about The Store.  After that I think I went into the private bathroom where many a time I perused the porn my folks threw in there and, just for shits and giggles, jostled some Chinese magazines around to see if there were still any.  Just like all the times before, there were none.  I then went up to Buddha and lit some incense, and then I closed The Store up and locked up the back door.  Then I stood there, just for a few seconds, and like I had every time once I knew my parents were actively trying to sell her, told The Store I loved her, said I hoped to be inside her again but said goodbye just in case I never would, and then kissed its nasty, unsanitary red front door with my lips.

Monday, September 23, 2013 was indeed the last time I saw her.  And while the burden of keeping her dry is a good thing, I can't help but think of her from time to time.  I wonder what it's like in there now.  Time dragged slowly for the past several years before The Store closed because no one went in there.  Now?  It probably hasn't aged since Monday, September 23, 2013.  Well, unless someone broke into it since.  I wonder if someone's noticed the light hasn't been on in a long time and decided to see what The Store was really like.  There's nothing we would be able to do in that case.  My parents have moved on from her, and quite well.  Me?  I haven't, not really.

My heartache is so bad that I haven't been able to even look at The Store since the night My Father told me they sold her.  I alter my trips to avoid the exit that leads there.  And in the few times I have had to drive by it I make it a point not to look at her.  I'm sorry, baby, but I can't bear to look at you now that you're no longer in our lives.  I should look at you and not be ashamed of you, but without me around I haven't been able to take care of you, and I can't bring myself to seeing how you are in your current state.  I'm so ashamed, but I ... I just can't do it.

I thought about The Store a lot during my night test project.  It wasn't just the boredom leading me to space out between papers.  A couple nights during the project it rained, heavily.  And I couldn't help but think that water is seeping into the hole in the roof, and then onto the plastic sheeting, and then into the garbage bucket, and finally through the floor and the ceiling, dropping to the floor below, maybe taking some pieces of the ceiling with it.  Oftentimes I imagine looking through the real front door of The Store in the middle of a rain storm and peering in, and seeing all these heavy beads of rain from above, and then pieces of the ceiling crashing, violently, onto the floor.  The Store, in its quiet but weathered dignity, slowly dying because my parents no longer need to care and because I can't stop its death.

And that is my obituary about The Store.