I don't remember, I can't recall

For around a thousand years, my wife's family owned and operated a stand in a once-thriving farmers market just outside of Philadelphia. Its humble beginnings were actually rooted in another man's business. My father-in-law was reeling from a devastating fire that wiped out his own hardware business that he ran in a building across the street. In an effort to generate some income while he rebuilt his business, my father-in-law bought out an older man who owned a little hardware store in Zern's Farmers Market. In addition to the man's unusual and mismatched inventory, my father-in-law brought in newer merchandise as well as a few items that were able to be salvaged from the fire.

Over the years, more merchandise was brought in and more space was secured to accommodate the expanding inventory. We busted through to the next stand and, with the addition of some second-hand shelving and creative merchandising, turned "Larry's Hardware" into everyone's first stop upon arrival at Zern's.

In reality, Mrs. Pincus was responsible for Larry's Hardware's popularity. Working at the store (sometimes unwillingly) from a very young age, Mrs. P began to bring in unusual items. Specifically, she sought out pop culture kitsch and collectibles that appealed to our fellow collectors — and other folks with disposable income. With our own Disney collection as a jumping off point, Mrs. P created eye-catching displays of Coca-Cola memorabilia (both new and antique), sought -after metal lunchboxes, superhero and rock & roll items, ephemera related to long-forgotten TV shows and movies and hundreds of corporate promo items. There was something for everyone, no matter what sort of collection you had... or wanted to start.

Word began to spread and each weekend (the market was only open on Fridays and Saturdays), the aisles were jammed with curious shoppers out to marvel at the childhood memories that dotted our shelves, as well as hardcore collectors seeking out that one elusive piece that'll complete their collection. Mrs. P, our son and I would offer assistance to several customers simultaneously — giving advice, explanations, prices — hoping that each bit of information we gave would result in a sale. We had regular customers and we would regularly supply their collections. After a while, Mrs. P would look for items for specific collectors. She knew what they liked and she knew what they would pay for things. Her uncanny sense of shrewd business acumen was unmatched. The best salespeople make it appear as though they aren't selling. And Mrs. P was one of the best. She could sell a drippy popsicle to a man in a white suit.

Of course, the typical Zern's customer wasn't typical. They were extremely discerning, very suspicious and not always willing to part with their hard-earned money. Mrs. P became their friend... and your friend wouldn't steer you wrong. She developed a trusting bond with a lot of her regular customers and they kept coming back for more. Some of them, however, weren't even sure what exactly it was that they collected.

Dough Kid

One older woman would come in almost every weekend and ask if we had anything with the Dough Kid. It took us a little while to understand that this woman collected items related to The Pillsbury Doughboy. She never referred to the character by his correct name. She'd point to things in our glass-front showcase and say "There's the Dough Kid!" When corrected, she wave us off dismissively and say "Well, I call him the Dough Kid." We, of course, got used to her pet name for a nationally-known and recognizable advertising mascot. I wonder if other dealers were as accommodating Eh... what am I thinking...? This woman didn't shop anywhere else.

Is that Elvis?

Another man would come in a lot, though not as often as the "Dough Kid" lady. This man was usually dressed in nothing more formal that a threadbare athletic shirt and torn, paint-splattered work pants. His hair was combed into a slicked-back close approximation of a pompadour and ducktail. Fittingly, this guy collected Elvis memorabilia. Y'know... Elvis. Presley. Elvis Presley. The King of Rock & Roll. Just making sure we know who we are talking about, because I'm not too sure this guy did. When he would make an appearance in the store, he'd start things off by asking, "Got anything Elvis?" One of us would lead him to a showcase and begin point out and extracting items emblazoned with Mr. Presley's familiar visage. Paperweights, serving trays, wristwatches, salt & pepper shakers  — all indelibly branded with some sort of Elvis logo, guitar, profile or silhouette. The man would squint at the particular item, lean back, stare down his nose and mumble, "Is that Elvis?" That was his lead-off question. Even after a brief explanation  — "This metal ashtray features graphics from the movie poster for Harum Scarum" — he'd stare in bewilderment and ask, "Is that Elvis?" Sometimes, it took all the willpower I could muster to keep myself from shouting "Do you even know who the fuck Elvis is???"

Ooger Booger

When Disney released Tim Burton's holiday-clashing animated film The Nightmare Before Christmas, Mrs. Pincus brought in loads and loads of related merchandise to cash in on the sudden interest and budding collections of a certain faction of our customer base. In its initial run, Disney didn't do much merchandising for the film, but as the cult audience grew, more and more items were produced, even though it was years after it had vacated theaters. The most popular character from the film was tall, lanky Jack Skellington. His love interest, the demure rag doll Sally, was very popular among the female goth teens. The villainous Oogie Boogie, not surprisingly, had his share of fans, too. One such customer had a certain affinity for the bug-stuffed burlap sack bad guy — we think. The fellow who come in and ask if we had anything depicting "Ooger Booger." At first, we all just stared blankly at the customer while our brains made internal "clickity-clack" sounds as our collective memory databanks scanned for a close match. "Y'know... from the Nightmare movie." "Ooooooohhhhhh! Ooogie Boogie!," none of us said, so as not to embarrass this idiot. He came in fairly often and still never got the name right.

My father-in-law closed up his store in Zern's in 2007, but Mrs. Pincus kept the collectibles business going online — to this day. An online business presents a whole new set of frustrations, but, at least mispronunciations aren't among them.

However, some people still don't know what they want.

www.jopshpincusiscrying.com