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Capitalism 101
by C.L. Halvorson
My sisters and I loved Friday. It was
our allowance day. Mr. Tuna, the manager of the 7-11 at the end
of the block, hated Friday. It was our allowance day. Every Friday,
Mama would give us each a shiny quarter to spend (hey, the minimum wage
was only $1.60 at the time, a quarter was good money). Actually, my
sister Sara and I got a quarter. Diana insisted on having hers in
pennies so that it looked like she had more money. We would eagerly
stuff the coins into our pockets and ask permission to hit the 7-11 to spend our new found riches. Mama would gladly agree. Anything to
get us out of the house at this point.
We would head off to the store at a
trot. What would we get? There were always comic books, candy and
Cokes. Diana had her eye on a pine tree air freshener; why we didn’t
know and, frankly, we were a little afraid to ask. We would throw open
the door with the little jingling bell. We would breathe deeply and
savor the smell of Slurpees in the air. All the color would drain out
of Mr. Tuna’s face.
“Hi, Mr. Tuna-fish!” we three would
chime.
“My name is Tuna, not Tuna-fish! And
don’t mess up the magazines this time,” he would call after us.
Sara and Diana would head straight for
the candy aisle. I preferred the more intellectually stimulating comic
books and pop star magazines. Your standard comic book ran about 12
cents in those days. Alas, though pop star magazines cost 50 cents! And
Mr. Tuna-fish always griped about us forgetting to consider something
called taxes. Personally, we thought he made it up just to get his
grubby mitts on our whole quarter.
Since the teen idol magazines were out
of my price range they were not a take home item. I’d gather up recent
issues of Tiger Beat, 16, Circus and Hit Parader and all the “super special” issues they all put out every month, and
plop myself down to read.
“This isn’t the library, you know!” Mr.
Tuna would shout at me from the front counter.
“I’m just reading them!” I would shout
back.
“Well, don’t mess them up this time!”
Mr. Tuna always blamed me for the poor
state of his magazine racks. Just because he insisted on putting some of
my favorites on the second shelf it wasn’t my fault that I had to climb
up using the lower rack as a step. Sure, I might have slightly wrinkled
a few and a couple might have fallen on the floor, but it was still his
fault. After checking out all the photos of the Osmonds, the Jacksons
and Bobby Sherman that my brain could hold, I would pick out an Archie comic, grab a cherry Slurpee then sit on the front step while
I waited for Sara and Diana.
Over in the candy aisle another little
scene had played itself out. My sisters concentrated mainly on the
penny candy. Candy bars took too big a chunk out of their funds without
enough return on their investment. Recently, some of their favorite
penny candy had fallen to inflation and now cost 3 cents for two
pieces. Now, this boggled their little minds. How in the world did
anyone think they could charge one and a half cents for
something? This required more advanced math skills than they possessed
at the time so they stuck to the penny pieces.
Diana’s favorite, hands down, was gum of
any kind. The more pungent the better. They had the normal pink bubble
gum whose smell was tolerable, even pleasant. But she always opted for
the Sour Apple and Groovy Grape flavors that stunk up the whole house.
They would finally make their choices. Diana chose twenty-two pieces of
gum with a couple of candies thrown in. Sara was pretty much the
opposite, twenty-two pieces of candy with a couple pieces of gum.
They would make their way to the counter
where Diana started in again on Mr. Tuna about this fake “sales taxes”
scheme he had going. After all, a quarter was twenty-five pennies and
she expected twenty-pieces of gum or candy. End of discussion. Mr.
Tuna would become so exhausted from trying to explain it to her that he
would give in and pay the taxes himself. They went through this every
week. You would think he would have learned.
Sara had spent this time reviewing her
purchases and thinking better of them. Mr. Tuna would ring her up and
demand her quarter. Sara would tell him to hold up a second; she wanted
to exchange some things. Now, of course, a line is forming all the way
back to dairy but the girls are completely oblivious to this. Just about
the time he got the girls to finally leave so he could serve more
profitable customers, I would come back in.
“Hey, Mr. Tuna-fish, I need another
comic book. I’ve already read this one.”
“My name is Tuna
not Tu—never mind! Why do you need another comic?”
“I told you.
Because I’ve already read this one.”
“That’s because you
sat outside and read it!” Man, he sure was grouchy today.
“Yeah, like I said,
I’ve already read this one.”
“You read it after you bought it!” His face was turning as red as the 7-11 logo on his shirt by now.
“But you took too
long with Sara and Diana. How is this my fault?”
“I’ll give you
another one but then I want all three of you out of here! And don’t
come back!”
He said that every
week, but he never meant it. I grabbed another comic and we headed
home. You know, if Mr. Tuna had been smart he would have taken Fridays
off.
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