Standard Hindenburg Preface: We here at Hindenburg dabble in diners and sling shots at those who deserve it. Usually Dennis the Menace. He really is a menace. A M.O.M. Man on a mission. Fucking up Mr. Wilson's life is his jihad. It is to him, what Islam is to Osama. Five times a day he prays to the idea of arsoning Mr. Wilson's plush fuck pad. "Fuck" was used as an adjective. Fuck pads do not yet exist, although the liberator stakes a hearty claim to the throne.
Note: New goal in life. Invent a fuck pad.
Our goal is undefined but we seem to be after beauty and new mythologies. (That's right, I analyze). The problem with beauty is that many instances of "big greatness" have been discovered. We will not bore you with talks of how great the Grand Canyon is, although Curtis Granderson might. He bats lead off you know. What does that say about a person's mental aptitude?
Anyhow, our search for beauty and mythology often occurs in the nooks and crevices of the lives we live and the lives we make believe. However, sometimes we notice something so good under our collective noses that it is a wonder that we have never expunged on the subject before.
Preface is donezo.
I was walking home drunk after a night of awkward conversations and Pat Benetar karaoke. I wasn't that drunk but nostalgia made me even slower. 5 beers isn't much to me anymore, nor should it be with the role model of Benny Franklin. A year ago to date I made the same walk. I was drunk, fucking wasted should have been 'ludes drunk. An ex-girlfriend punched me. I couldn't find my way out of a grocery store parking lot so the Cops gave me a ride home. Three best friends then watched me vomit. It was great fun.
Since I wasn't too drunk tonight I paid attention. To a dollar store. I have always found safe haven in these vestiges of cheapness and watered down cleaning solutions. I never realized the brilliance behind the scheme because I don't really appreciate commerce. I am not opposed to globalization and big business. I don't appreciate commerce because it has done such a good job at solidifying itself as a civic institution that it is there. It doesn't have to vie for our attention.
Sadly, we care about stores. It isn't sad that we care. It is sad that the people sneaking into wallets for our dollars no longer attempt at capturing our imaginations. Gone are the days of rampant attention whoring. No more free hot dogs, no more special events. Bill Veeck put a midget up to bat in the first half of the last century and we are still talking about it. I understand that some banks used to give away free guns for opening an account. With the exception of Minor League baseball (featuring a descendant of Veeck), car dealerships, and furniture stores, everyone else just wants our precious precious bucks.
Dollar stores offer many needs, impulse satiation, and enough glittering silliness to rob us of so many dollars. That is their gambit and they do it like gangbusters. With a static stock of products they are always a new and exciting experience. There is always something new there. It won't be worth a dollar but what the fuck is a dollar to us anyway. I spent six dollars on a beer tonight because the beer lady said it smelled like manure and that it might make me vomit. What do I care if they jack up the price of a Charleston Chew by 40 cents? By giving us something new and otherworldly convenience they are able to rob us. Psychologically we are getting a deal, but the fact is that we are paying three times what the product is worth. We are getting exploited on every front and it feels fucking terrific.
Look at your average dollar store. They are impressive in scope, size, and lighting. They are great at what they do. Like Quizno's except it doesn't feel as close to dirtiness. With fluorescent lighting and unprepared workers they offer a cornucopia of potential and a slew of things we would not find otherwise.
Things I have recently bought at a dollar store include a book by Al Roker on parenting, a woman's belt with rivets, medical wrist bands, and four hula hoops. Some might be bargains but no one would buy the literature of Roker if it weren't a dollar. It was outdated as hell. He was fat on the cover. The title was Don't Make Me Stop This Car. The cover photo was shot in the back of a minivan.
They operate on the uselessness we surmise the dollar to have. They are unaffected by inflation or other economic woes. They are always Dollar Stores, not $1.31 stores or $0.79 stores. They give us the dollar as a given, a certain certainty in a time of uncertainty. The same is also true of Ninety Nine Cent stores, though they are messier.
Where did the idea for a Dollar Store come from? What is their evolution? They've been here my entire life. I can only imagine that some drunk Texas Billionaire stared at a dollar bill with pure hate and came up with the idea. "People don't care about this, let's prey on them".
For your scheme we salute you.
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