My Wee Little Ben Franklin Store

Daily writing prompt

If you were going to open up a shop, what would you sell?

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A person could get anything they needed at my dad’s Ben Franklin store except food, well, food, too, if you consider candy and nuts food.

If I had an imaginary shop, I’d recreate my dad’s store, but I’d only keep the parts that I especially loved. I’d get rid of housewares because of the need to constantly dust. Dirty glasses don’t sell. I’d keep hardware because I liked the nuts and bolts so much, the prospect of fixing a broken thing. Toys are iffy, but they add brightness to a store, that’s for sure. Bubbles, kites, balls, trucks, dolls, coloring books, I’d keep all that. Nothing fancy, complicated, or requiring batteries.

I would absolutely keep the bolts of fabric if only to run my hands over the velvet and corduroy and brocade. Unrolling a bolt to cut two and a half yards of gingham for somebody’s rec room curtains was fun, don’t ask me why. Another hope and possibility thing.

Animals? That’s touchy. Parakeets are fun to watch but they get loose and fly all over the place, plus their pooping is epic. And then there’s the cuttlebones and the birdseed everywhere. It’s weird having birds in a dime store but they sold well, so maybe. Turtles are a definite no, mostly because it’s illegal but also because it’s wacky. My dad sold turtles with a plastic container with a plastic palm tree. They were a big hit but not as big as chameleons which my dad sold with a tiny leash that you could pin to your shirt. Nix to chameleons, too.

For sure, I’d keep the paperback book rack and knickknacks. Every week when I got paid, I’d buy a book and a knickknack – John Steinbeck and little cat figurines were my favorite. I got a third off the price because that was our mark-up. So, if something was a dollar, I’d get it for sixty-six cents.

No to window shades and house keys because both require cutting to individual specifications. “Janice, can you go cut a shade for that lady?” was probably the most hideous phrase my father ever uttered. Keys were worse, so much tension having someone watching while I cut a key. After a while, my dad, from the other side of the store, would suddenly appear, sidle up to me and take over. He never criticized me, he didn’t have to.

The candy counter. Every single kind of candy – jelly beans, circus peanuts, chocolate raisins, chocolate stars – all of it in bins to be scooped out and ladled on to a scale and then put into little bags with the price written on the bag. Yes! to the candy counter. And the nuts. Lordy. Hot nuts. Spinning under a heat lamp. My mother would have a handful in the pocket of her work smock. I’d wear a smock if I had a Ben Franklin store. With my name stitched over the breast pocket.

It would be deluxe.