Missing Mom and Pop
I miss Mom and Pop stores. Ordering online has its advantages—you can order anything from the comfort of your couch. But if your order doesn’t work out, recourse is questionable.
I once searched the internet for the world’s most comfortable panties. I researched, read reviews, and paid for the best underpants on the planet—except they weren’t. More like disposable hospital undies.If the world’s best panties had resided with Mom and Pop, I could have felt the fabric in my fingers before paying.
After I received the bogus undies, the panty company disappeared. No refund. No exchange. Expensive (unusable) underwear, but a cheap lesson in internet scrutiny.
And then there’s the time factor:
Three weeks ago, I woke Sparky up from her long winter’s nap, changed her filters, filled her with gas, and off we went a-mowing—until her blade hit a hefty steel nameplate that had been part of a small memorial garden honoring my late husband. The grass was long enough to hide the plaque completely. I limped poor Sparky and her supremely bent blade back to the barn—and got to work on Hank.
Hank is older. He is, perhaps, deserving of retirement, but he keeps on trucking when I need him. Sort of. He’s always been a little reluctant to crank the engine when I turn the key and likes for me to fondle the wires on the starter or stomp repeatedly on the brake pedal or fiddle with the safety switch in the seat. But he was apparently anxious to get out of the barn: I borrowed Sparky’s battery to install in Hank’s engine, added fresh oil and gas, and Voila! He cranked.
We mowed a great deal—slowly. (His racing days are behind him.) And I parked him near the garden hose for the afterwork shower. I plugged the hose into the mower deck, turned the ignition key and—nothing.
Hank sat there for three weeks unwilling to start.
Meanwhile, Sparky’s new blades arrived from cyberspace—from a company I trust. And the grass had grown a foot.
With effort (and swearing), I removed all the clips holding Sparky’s mower deck to the tractor. I dragged the mower deck from beneath the tractor, flipped it over (I make this sound easy, but it was a major struggle due to its weight and my age) and lickety-split, I changed the bent blade.
Ah, but the other blade wouldn’t come off easily. With one foot on the blade and one foot on the ground, wrench in one hand and mallet in the other, I bang and swear until at last the bolt gives up and comes loose. I remove the perfectly serviceable but not very sharp old blade and attempt to put on the new one. But the spindle (or “mandrel” if you want to get technical) onto which the blade must fit is damaged. Neither the new nor the old blade will go on.
So Sparky sits another week while I order the new spindle.
I purchased both Hank and Sparky from a local family-owned business that supplied me parts as needed. And gave advice freely. But alas, the store no longer exists, having likely lost its footing to the internet. If Mom and Pop had still been open, I might have complained a little about having to drive twice to town, but my yard would already be trim as a golf course.
I know I’m old, and maybe more resistant to change than younger folk, but having Mom and Pop in town had distinct advantages. I miss them.