crawling from the wreckage

Well, here we go again.

Way back in 2016, I wrote this story about a co-op that opened in my neighborhood and how I predicted its imminent demise. And sadly, two years later, I wrote this story about the closing of the co-op, just as I had predicted. Before you start calling me names, let me make it clear that I sincerely hoped that the co-op would succeed. I really did. But the folks that ran the co-op and made its business decisions were the main obstacle that kept the co-op from being a success.

Well for nearly two years, the building that housed to co-op sat vacant. My wife and I would stroll past the locked building on our daily walks. We'd sometimes stop and peer into the darkened windows, only to see the same empty store fixtures in the same positions as the last time we stopped for a curious look. Early in 2020, well into the throes of the worldwide COVID-19 pandemic, we noticed a flurry of activity within the walls of the former co-op building. We spotted a man carrying a toolbox walking in through the usually-locked automatic sliding doors. One time, we saw a couple of guys toting some wooden planks — possibly a disassembled shelving unit — to the waiting bed of a pickup truck. It appeared that something was happening in the co-op building, but there were no physical signs announcing a new business. My wife monitors a neighborhood Facebook page, but only posts of speculation offered any clue. And there was plenty of speculation mixed with suggestions and wish lists concerning the next inhabitants of the co-op's former site. Some hoped for something akin to a mall food court, offering a variety of international and eclectic cuisines. Others requested a marijuana dispensary (You know who you are!) Still others proposed — in all earnest — odd combinations of brewpub/dry cleaner or music store/concert venue/Mexican restaurant. My neighbors are obviously nuts... and the last thing some of them need is a marijuana dispensary.

As the weeks moved on, the activity behind the closed doors of the co-op building increased. A light would glow late at night and we could see the shadows of busy workers doing something constructive. Then, one day, we noticed that the large sign above the door read differently. It looked the same, but upon closer inspection, it was, indeed, a different sign. The large "Creekside" logo remained the same, but underneath, the words "co-op" now read "Market and Tap." Ah ha! A clue!

As July became August, Creekside Market and Tap opened for business with little to no fanfare. It was the most unspectacular opening of a new business that I had ever witnessed... or not witnessed. A few times, in the final week of July, as Mrs. Pincus and I passed by the usually-locked front doors, they swung open — unleashing a shock of air-conditioned breath that took us by surprise. But they closed just as quickly, leading us to believe that the controlling mechanism was mistakenly left in the ON position. On the first of August, however, when the doors again opened, a man with a face mask stretched under his chin greeted us with a minimally friendly "Come on in! We're open!" My wife and I, our face masks properly protecting our noses and mouths, stepped back from the man and his offer and waved him off. We politely answered, "No thank you." from behind our cloth barriers. The man, by this time, had wandered away. During the pandemic, my wife and I have put limits on unnecessary visits to businesses. We don't "browse" like we did in the "pre-COVID" days. However, the man didn't seem to care if we entered the business or didn't.

There is a small, plain banner that reads "NOW OPEN" that is suspended from the far end of the front overhang about twenty feet from the main entrance. There are no other indications that the place is open for business, let alone a grand opening. Aside from tiny signs printed from a home computer that are taped to the inside of the dark tinted glass windows, Creekside Market and Tap looks about the same as it did when Creekside Co-op closed for good. There is one neon sign that glows in a side window and advertises a local brand of deli meats, but that's it. Also, the former raised outdoor seating area appears to have been converted to an "employees only" cigarette break area, as betrayed by the apron-clad folks congregating at two tables and the prevailing cloud of secondhand smoke floating heavily above them. Not the most welcoming of sights.

Proudly closed!

A little internet investigation revealed that the Creekside Market and Tap is home to four individual businesses — all with different operating hours. They are: Dave’s Backyard Farms, Creekside Restaurant & Deli, Cheshire Brewing Company and Herrcastle farms — all fine business, I'm sure. As a resident of Elkins Park for nearly forty years, I have seen business come and go. One thing I have observed is that when someone opens a new business in Elkins Park, the first thing they decide — immediately upon signing the lease on the space — is what days they will be closed. It is a consistent bone of contention I have with every single business I have seen open and close within the confines of the tiny business district that occupies the one-block stretch opposite the train station. The co-op followed this pattern and the new occupants of the co-op building appear to be carrying on the tradition. Just a mere three weeks after proclaiming their "Grand Opening," they have struck Mondays off of their list of days they will be welcoming customers. And they made the announcement with an odd posting to their Facebook page. "In order to serve the community better?" How is closing a method of serving the customer better?

Penn's Woods.... sort of.

Speaking of hours.... When they are open, the hours vary greatly among the four vendors. Only the deli is open every day that the building is open. The two produce vendors operate towards the end opf the week with Herrcastle offering an additional day over Dave’s Backyard Farms. The Cheshire Brewing Company is open Thursday through Sunday with nearly different hours on each of those days. My wife's parents operated a business within the confines of a huge, multi-vendor farmers market for over thirty years. The rule of the market was: if the building is open, your business is open. Period. No exceptions. It is both confusing for and off-putting to your potential customer when they see a business that is "roped off," denying access for purchases for shoppers who are there right now, as well as being an embarrassment to those vendors that are open. Customers don't know who owns what and they don't care. It really isn't the customer's concern. It is up to the business owners to make their wares as accessible as possible to the customer. That's just plain good business sense. Also, try to spell the name of the state you're in correctly on your website.

Not so fast there...

So, Creekside Market and Tap is not yet open a full month. They have four vendors with erratic hours and they have altered their overall hours of operation to eliminate a day of business. Not off to a winning start. Though, based on comments on a community Facebook page, a smattering of customers were very disappointed by some of the business practices. There were issues of attention and friendliness by employees. As recent as five days ago, a customer stated they were told that the deli stops slicing meat an hour before the posted closing time. There were comments regarding product selection. Most distressing were the comments about employees failure to wear proper face protection while working around food. These comments are met with little to no response. Although, those that were acknowledged, received a response that was downright defensive and confrontational.

Look, I understand that opening a business is a stressful thing. Sure, there is added stress with the cloud of a pandemic hanging above. I know that all new businesses suffer from "growing pains" at the beginning while they work out the kinks. I have seen a few strides Creekside Market and Tap have taken towards enhancements. The beautiful natural wood picnic tables out front are a nice, welcoming touch. I think it might be a good idea to clean up the spotted lantern fly carcasses that are strewn about the sidewalk surrounding those beautiful tables.

Again, I wish Creekside Market and Tap all the luck in the world as their business begins. I hope it grows and expands to include additional vendors and I sincerely hope it is successful. I just hope they don't fall into the same downward pattern that befell the previous tenants.

Unfortunately, it doesn't look good.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

I'm going off the rails on a crazy train

I have a "love-hate" relationship with SEPTA, the entity that provides and operates public transportation in the Philadelphia and suburban area. It is one of only two transit authorities in the United States that operates all five major forms of land transportation (buses, trains [regional rail], subway and elevated trains, trolleys and trolleybuses). SEPTA, an acronym for Southeastern Pennsylvania Transit Authority, does none of them well.

I have been a regular commuter on the SEPTA regional rail for over ten years. Sure, it's a pleasure not to have to drive to work and fight traffic, especially in bad weather (which Philadelphia gets a lot of). But. in those ten plus years, SEPTA has exhibited some of the most consistently worst service I have ever seen from a consumer-oriented company. My morning train — the one I take to work at the same time every morning — has never ever been on time. Ever. A SEPTA representative, who was handing out some public relations material one morning at the train station near my house, told me that "railroad standard" allows trains to be within six minutes of the scheduled time and still be considered "on time." I scrunched up my face and replied, "First - the standard is determined by the industry itself? Then why bother to make a precise schedule if the listed times are, in reality by your own admission, approximate times. Second - if the medical profession worked that way, a doctor could remove your kidney, but, since it's within the area of the appendix, it's still considered a successful procedure." The SEPTA guy laughed, shrugged his shoulders and handed me a pamphlet.

The staff on the trains are pretty rude also. They rarely announce upcoming stations. They snap at commuters with questions. They are the furthest thing from courteous. And they never apologize for the train being late, or crowded, or hot (in summer, when the air conditioning fails), or cold (in winter when the heat fails). My feeling is: they are already at work. What do they care if you're late for work.

So, with poor service, late trains and rude employees, SEPTA feels totally justified in raising fares and not doing a thing to improve themselves.

Yesterday was the clincher. I boarded my train at the train station near my suburban Philadelphia home. It was late, as usual. I found a seat in the last car and sat down. Something on the seat across the aisle caught my peripheral vision. I turned my head and saw a rather large key resting in the center of a seat meant to accommodate three passengers (a "three-seater," as we regular commuters call them). I instantly recognized the key as one used by train conductors to open and close the train doors, as well as operate other functions aboard the train. From my observations, it is an integral piece of equipment in a train conductor's arsenal and one that should be kept close at all times. By this one was alone on a empty seat in a train car conspicuously devoid of all SEPTA personnel. I immediate pulled my phone from my pocket to snap a picture and display it on Instagram for all the world to see. (I regularly chronicle SEPTA's and SEPTA rider's infractions on Instagram, mostly blatant violations of the "Dude, It's Rude" campaign that attempts — and fails — to discourage people from putting their bags, backpacks or briefcases on the empty seat next to them, while offering a gentle reminder that seats are for paying customers.) I quickly focused and got the shot, frantically tapping out a smart-ass caption to accompany the image. I chose to go with: "Is that the key to the entire SEPTA Regional Rail System just, absentmindedly, left on a seat? Ahh, SEPTA, it's a good thing you don't guard our nuclear weapons." Because my social media accounts are linked, my message appeared on Twitter, as well.

Well, SEPTA's social media account (for reasons only known to them) follows my Twitter account (@joshpincus for those of you who dare). Almost immediately, I was contacted via Twitter by one "KW" who was monitoring the SEPTA Twitter this particular morning. This was our exchange:

This little conversation shows SEPTA's sheer laziness and complete lack of customer service. Sure they are confined to 140 characters per message, but they didn't come close to the limit. They barked questions are me, a customer, as though I were responsible for their error. "What train? What car number?" Not a "please" or an "excuse me" or a "would you mind." The train number and car number are two pieces of information that are not easily ascertained by the general public. These numbers are usually posted on the lighted informational boards at the train stations (My station does not have one of these boards.) or on the SEPTA smartphone app. Train numbers are never used by commuters and are the source of confusion when SEPTA uses them in updated schedule and train arrival announcements. My admittedly rude reply ("I don't work for SEPTA") was still met with a pressing and impolite demand for these obscure identifiers. I finally conceded and pulled up the app on my phone to find which train number I was currently riding on.

The train pulled into Suburban Station, my destination for work. I rose to exit the train. A spotted a guy sitting in the seat when I had seen the key. He gathered his belongings (which were disobediently occupying the space next to him) and, in one motion, scooped up the key with his stuff. He palmed the key like a seasoned magician and scooted out into the train aisle just ahead of me. He left the train. He did not appear to be seeking out a SEPTA employee.

Will this guy be opening and closing the doors on tomorrow's commute? I don't know. Will he be making any unscheduled stops based on a whim? I don't know. Will that key be dangling from a chain, RUN-DMC style, the next time I see him on the train? Perhaps.

Do I really care? I do not.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

one more time

"I wish I knew how to quit you." — Jack Twist, Brokeback Mountain

Some people just don't know when to give up. I suppose my wife and I fall into that category, because Sunday night we found ourselves, once again, at Movie Tavern.

You remember our first encounter at Movie Tavern, the innovative, long-overdue concept theater that offers full restaurant service while you watch a first-run movie. Our initial experience was stellar and we anxiously anticipated our our next visit. Things went so smoothly, so flawlessly, that we could not imagine going to the movies any where else. 

That is, until our second visit. A few weeks after our phenomenal experience, Mrs. Pincus and I ventured back to Movie Tavern. This time, we were exposed to the real Movie Tavern, an unorganized, understaffed, chaotic system of mismanaged perpetual trainees. That evening ran like a textbook example of Murphy's law. Our dessert came out first. We got multiple entrees and appetizers that we did not order and, to cap things off, we were overcharged. A subsequent visit revealed that this was the norm and our first experience was the fluke.

We purposely steered clear of Movie Tavern for nearly a year. But, just this week, Mrs. P received a free pass from Movie Tavern for her May birthday. So, we went. Begrudgingly, but we went.

When I'm calling you...

With the entire movie-going population rushing to see the highly-anticipated sequel to Guardians of the Galaxy (a film I did not care for), my spouse and I opted instead for the live-action musical Beauty and the Beast. We purchased a single admission and surrendered Movie Tavern's birthday voucher for the other. Once ticketed, we entered the theater. A server greeted us almost immediately, although I could not understand a single word he said. He smiled, however, he mumbled his entire "welcome" spiel. We chose the "2 for $30" special that includes an appetizer, two entrees from a selected menu and two cookies for dessert. My wife and I follow the laws of kashrut and our house is strictly kosher. Out in the world, we eat as vegetarians. Actually, I am a vegetarian (a fish-eating pescetarian, if you want to get technical), but my still-carnivorous "better half" will not consume meat in restaurants. We selected the delicious-sounding deep-fried artichoke hearts. (Coincidentally, we just had these at another restaurant last weekend and, indeed, they were delicious.) Our entree choices were limited to only two that were vegetarian-friendly. We decided on portobello mushroom sandwiches, but were quickly informed by our server that they were not available this evening. Mrs. P expressed her disappointment. The server mumbled and pointed to the menu. I deciphered "pizza" from his muttering. We resigned to the flatbread pizza and again, we were told they, too, were unavailable. The server kept pushing the regular pizza, but we resisted. Losing patience, I decided to forgo the "special" and just get fish and chips. Surprise! Fish and chips were not available either. Our non-meat options were narrowing at the same pace as my patience. We settled on side salads and an order of meatless nachos to split. At this point, our server had disappeared. I pressed the convenient "call button" with which each seat is outfitted. The blue lights gleamed to tell me that my request for a server had been sent. We waited. And waited. And waited. And waited some more. Soon, a different member of the waitstaff arrived and apologized, cryptically, saying that our server was "otherwise occupied." Was he watching another movie? Was he getting a lesson in diction? Was he ever coming back? Our back-up server took our salad-and-nachos order and explained that the reason so many items were unavailable was they are transitioning to a new menu and would no longer be carrying some current offerings. Wow! Someone took the time for a little customer service.

Our food arrived after the theater had darkened and the coming attractions had already commenced. Eating a salad in the dark was an unexpected challenge. I was forced to consume some components that I would normally relegate to the far side of my plate. But, eating by the light of a flickering screen twenty feet away from me, I'm sure I swallowed a few otherwise shunned tomato wedges. Nachos are another story. I would not recommend eating nachos in the dark. Nachos, when shared with someone with whom you are close, are usually a "finger food." But, without being able to see what you're reaching for, nachos become a sloppy, gooey heap of unidentifiable individual ingredients. While gingerly reaching for the triangular silhouette of a corn chip, I stuck my thumb into a wet mixture of refried beans and shredded lettuce. As I navigated the morsel towards my mouth, I could feel rivulets of pico de gallo running down my chin. We had to wait until a daylight scene (of which there are few) or brightly-lit segment (like the famous "ballroom" scene, which in this version, is not especially luminous) in order to see how close we were to emptying our plate.

Midway through the film and our meal, our server stealthily slunk by and dropped off our check. When the movie ended, I had to track him down to pay. And then, he vanished with my credit card. A few other servers, who were clearing dishes and gathering trash, asked if we needed help. I said I was waiting for my credit card to be returned. They all offered the same reply: "Oh sorry. No problem." Each one echoed the same apologetic sentiment like a chorus of confessors. Finally, our server returned to the theater and handed me my credit card, repeating the "Oh sorry. No Problem." refrain. I got the feeling that the staff at Movie Tavern get a lot of practice apologizing, as they do it quite often.

As my wife and I walked to our car, I imagined this would be the last time we would make this trip. But, Mrs. P told me that earlier in the evening she tweeted "Why do we continue to subject ourselves to Movie Tavern?" and tagged @MovieTavern.

Yesterday, they responded with a private message offering their patented apology and complementary admission and thirty dollars in food vouchers for a return visit. Hopefully, I won't get another blog post out of it,

www.joshpincusiscrying.com