My in-laws owned and operated a hardware store in a rural farmer's market for over fifty years. I met my wife in February 1982 and by our second date, I was working in the store. It was an interesting experience, to say the least. The store was a far cry from the massive, big-box stores like Home Depot and Lowe's. This was a real live "mom-and-pop" operation catering to the specific, niche needs of farmers, carpenters, masons and other craftsmen of various dying breeds. My father-in-law would sell a part of a part just to accommodate his customer. He was regularly asked long, rambling questions by men in filthy overalls who would gesture with weather-worn hands in a effort to explain to my father-in-law what elusive item brought them to his store on that particular day. Most times, after a little bit of clarification, the quest was met and the customer was happy. It was the clarification process where things got.... interesting.
The customer base of my father-in-law's store was made up of hard working, minimally-educated, salt-of-the-earth folks. For the most part, they knew what they wanted, but couldn't always convey that to another person. They were also impatient and were easily frustrated when their roundabout descriptions were met with blank stares and more questions. The trouble was, these folks would sometimes call things by a different name. Sometimes, it was a name for an item or tool that they made up. It's kind of hard to figure out what someone wants if they have secret names for things — names that only they know. After a while, I began to field questions from our customers. Unfortunately, I have even less patience than most people. I began to hear people call common, everyday hardware items by names that were foreign to me. I thought, perhaps, since these guys were professionals and this is how they made their living, these could possibly be the actual names for these things. Nope. Not at all.
I'm not talking about stifling a giggle the first time someone asked for a nipple valve or a bastard file. I mean grown men with livelihoods making up nonsensical names for actual "tools-of the-trade" as though they were embarrassed to say the proper name of the item — like "poopy" and "pee pee."
For instance, one Saturday afternoon, a disheveled fellow with an unkempt beard and a torn flannel shirt asked me for a "Jesus clip." "A what?," I asked, with all the politeness I could muster. After all, I couldn't be the upstart son-in-law who came along to ruin my father-in-law's successful hardware business. The man frowned and repeated his ask — a "Jesus clip." He asked for a piece of paper and a pencil so he could illustrate what he needed. Obliging, I handed over a piece of scrap paper and a pencil. He proceeded to sketch out a rudimentary approximation of an "E-clip," a small metal doo-hickey used as a retaining clip on axles and machinery. I identified his drawing and produced a small box of assorted sizes of E-clips from behind the counter. He poked through them until he found the size he needed. As he was paying, I mentioned that I had never heard the term "Jesus clip" when referring to E-clips. He laughed and confessed that he calls them "Jesus clips," because when they pop off you are prompted to yell "JEEE-SUS" as you watch the arc it makes in the air.
I have had a guy ask for a "habber." Again, I made him repeat what he needed, trying to determine if he was seeking a tool with which he could drive a nail into a piece of wood. Or was he looking for a receptacle into which he could toss dirty clothes for future laundering. I decided it was the former, as I doubted that this guy 1. made a conscious effort to attempt to put his dirty clothes in one central location and 2. ever actually washed his clothes. So, by process of elimination, a tool for driving nails it was!
The store stocked several models of a fearsome device boasting two giant hooks, a set of gears and length of braided aluminum cable, technically called in the industry a "wire rope hand ratchet puller." Now those were some pretty complicated words for someone with a third grade education to pronounce, let alone remember. Colloquially, however, this apparatus was referred to as a "come-along." Not a weekend would go by where someone didn't ask for a come-along. At first, I thought the customer just wanted me to follow him. After a while and numerous requests for such an item, I understood the term "come-along" and pointed the customer in the right direction.
Of course there arose a bit of confusion when actual names were used, especially when those name were homophones. A customer asked me if we carried "garden hoes," a long-handled implement used by gardeners and farmers for tilling soil. I innocently asked if he was looking for "garden hose," a long rubber tube through which water will pass once it is connected to a spigot. (And by the way, I heard "spickit" way more often that the actual name.) I was met with puzzled looks by folks who had no skills in abstract thinking.
As every competent mason knows, that flat aluminum square with the handle protruding from the center of its underside is called a "hawk." This handy little tool holds an easily-accessible amount of mortar or plaster. As any pop culture collector who lives in a sheltered rural area knows, the alter-ego of gamma-ray exposed Dr. Bruce Banner is also called the 'hawk" — more specifically "The Incredible Hawk." Yes sir! You read that right and — believe me — it is not worth the argument. It is better to nod in agreement and try to figure out if the customer wants to lay bricks or wants to re-enact the events that took place in Tales to Astonish Issue #102.
Yes, a weekend working in my in-law's store was always a surreal adventure. It was a glimpse into a world that not many people get to see. A world that — incredibly — existed into the 21st Century. After 92 years, the farmer's market shut its doors for good. By that time, my in-laws had closed up shop ten years earlier.
I don't miss it for one minute.
That picture at the top? Not my in-law's store.
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