Summoning retail ghosts
Ipulled into the lot off of 55th Street in Sacramento and spied the abandoned building. It sat there boxy and gray, insulted by the weeds growing within view. I could make out dirty outlines of the festive letters that had been removed quietly years ago. Toys R Us.
The spiritual medium arrived a few minutes later. In her early 60s, she was lively, interesting and a bit spooky. I was doing research for a book on the afterlife and she said a séance might aid me in my efforts. We found a door near the loading dock standing open and walked inside. Sure it was trespassing but I figured I’d tell the cops I’m a “journalist” and confidently tell them to call the Sentinel to verify my credentials. While they were on the phone, I’d bolt over the fence and zig zag south on Highway 99 back to Lodi.
The store was dark and dank. I found two pink child size resin chairs and an empty Pampers crate and we were in business. We sat with our knees up around our ears as she placed a red votive candle with a picture of St. Francis of Assisi and the 49ers logo on the diaper box. She lit the candle and closed her eyes.
A gust of wind came though the building and an empty King Cobra can clanked across the floor. The medium moaned, swayed back and forth and said quietly, “I am…I am…here.” I thought, “That’s deep. So am I.” She then whispered, “I am…I am…the spirit of Toys R Us.” Huh? I was here to talk with Abe Lincoln or Elvis, not a defunct retail giant. “I am Toys R Us and I have brought my siblings to tell their stories.” And so it began. “I am Gemco and I was betrayed by the property owner on Pacific Avenue… I am Miller’s Outpost and customers just didn’t clean up after themselves... I am Fotomat and who in their right mind could have envisioned digital cameras forty years ago?”
I sat there patiently as the familiar names complained about their fates. “I am B. Dalton Bookstore and with me are my brethren Waldenbooks and Borders. We eagerly await the arrival of Barnes and Noble.” A veiled threat from the other side of the veil.
“We are Lucky’s, Albertson’s, Alpha Beta. What is this Food 4 Less you speak of ?”
A deep voice interrupted the procession. “We are the anchor stores, entrusted with the stability of malls across the valley. We provided catalogs and milky white mannequins in uncomfortable poses for decades only to be kicked to the curb by the desire for home goods and funky fresh clothes. Our names shall be honored through the ages: Weinstocks, Montgomery Ward, Gottschalk’s, Mervyn’s!”
I was sort of bored at that point and contemplated elbowing the medium just to change the channel. “We are the shopping center stores, banished to the cosmos due to high rent and people’s waning taste for exercise equipment and entertainment they have to actually leave home to get. Our names: Sports Authority, Sports Chalet, Copeland’s, Blockbuster, Hollywood Video, Wherehouse Music will live forever.”
I noticed I was more focused on the smell of the fries from the nearby In-NOut than our contact with the spirit world so I figured we were dealing with the tail-end Charlies. “We are Federated, Good Guys and Incredible Universe.” Got it. “Behold Home Base and Lumberjack and our new friend, Orchard Supply.” Wrap it up. Kress, Newberry, and Woolworth cracked, “Apparently watching a fry cook make your cheeseburger from the middle of the fabric aisle doesn’t work in the 21st century.” True. Levitz finally summed it all up with, “I guess people didn’t love it here after all.” Breuner’s nodded. The end.
I thanked the medium and headed off down the highway. I pondered what the spirits had said and strained to come up with one reason that explained why they were no longer in business. I was still perplexed as I arrived home. I picked up the four Amazon boxes that were leaning against our front door, shook my head and went inside. I guess I’ll never know what did those stores in.