R.I.P. pt II

Little did I know, beyond what I perceived were the best efforts of my subconscious ability, the day both my boss and I were dressed for a Sicilian funeral at the wine shop, we were actually burying the shop. Spot fucking on. The boss finally confessed that he plans to sell his business. Things have been somewhat lack luster at the shop for the past couple...ehh 6 months or so. In the wise words of Bananarama, it was a cruel summer.

I guess wine wouldn't be the first thing I'd buy in 105 degree weather, but I found it unusual that other local wine stores were still carrying red, when our rap had been "inventory is low since it's too hot for red." Waaaaiiit a minute...

The reality of the situation was, Pauly the wine distributor wasn't getting paid. Which meant no wine for the store. Which also meant having to hear people continually bitch and moan and ask us if we were going out of business, every single time they walked in. Then an older Asian fellow who pretty much belonged in a Steinbeck novel, so I started calling him Lee Cheong, would frequent the shop asking for my boss and payment he was owed. Soon enough our internet got cut, then the credit card machine "stopped running" for five days as the shelves got emptier and dustier. At one point I found a bank statement showing a $700 balance in the shop's account, not to mention the invoice Lee Cheong brought in for me to show my boss, for a bounced check of $800. Awkward. So I finally ask the boss point blank, "Are we closing? Because I need to know. For financial purposes, catch my drift?" And do you know what he says to me?

"No, no we're fine. This is how it is to own a business."

Rightaroo. Where the hell do I sign up then? Because owning a business sounds like a bum deal. I'd rather have Muhammad Ali shave my legs with a rusty bic razor.

This past Friday we reopened after a week long hiatus. The crowd reaction was brutal. The store was pretty much at bare bones; it was really embarrassing. There was one particular customer who compared our shelves to the story of "mother hubbard's cupboard." Fucking classic.

I don't know how much longer the wine shop's life cycle will last, or how much longer I'll be able to keep the natives at bay with their questions on why we don't have wine. The boss claims the new owners will maintain the store in similar fashion, still selling wine, still needing us as employees. But seeing that my boss has been so honest and forthright all along, I'm not hopeful. I'm actually considering applying to American Apparel in the meantime, since I already look like their Soho location threw up on me and all.

Oh me oh my. Take us home, Bananarama...