Sending out an SOS!

On Saturday, I was out doing some grocery shopping when someone caught my eye. Right there, in the frozen foods section, was a guy that I used to hang out with in college and haven't talked to since. We met at the Soudan Store, when I was working summers and weekends there, and he was delivering pain relievers and batteries. Too afraid to even ask his name, I developed an immediate crush and, for several months, Red and I referred to him as HDG (Hot Drug Guy, which now seems absurd).

Time progressed and I learned that he was also a Duluth resident. Ultimately, he gave me his phone number and we went out on a few "dates." Our time together never really progressed beyond that awkward first stage, but I appreciated it nonetheless When I moved to the cities, I neglected to keep in touch. I need to stop doing that.

Anyway, when I saw him in the grocery store on Saturday, my heart started racing and it became more difficult to breathe. I'd thought about trying to get back in touch with him now that I'm living in Duluth again, but wasn't sure how to go about it. Then opportunity knocked. I walked very slowly down the aisle that he was in, pretending to be focused on the pizza-shopping task at hand. When I passed him, he looked up at me. I smiled and was about to say something...and he turned away. There was absolutely no sign of recognition on his face. Yeah, I'm forgettable...and I bought pizza for nothing.

The moral of the story was that the Soudan Store got me a few dates with a nice boy.

When I got home from the grocery store that day, I picked up my mail and found an article about the Soudan Store on the front page. It was accompanied by a big picture of the older-than-the-hills soda fountain stools, completely deserted. The article, unlike earlier versions, offered no hope for the future of the store. Tomorrow, our little store closes its doors one last time.

It's hard for me to express how upset I am by this or to tell you how many tears I've shed over it without feeling like a moron. This store though...it's more than a store. It's history. And it's my home away from home.

When we were younger, a trip to the Soudan Store was the ultimate treat. During visits to Grandma and Grandpa's house in Soudan, mom would often give Red and I each a dollar and let us walk alone (so exciting for two little kids!) to the store...where we would spend every last cent we had on assorted penny candy and dill pickle chips. Sundays mornings meant mass and Sunday school, followed by a trip to the Soudan Store, where Mike, Red, and I would wait patiently, crammed in the back seat, while Mom went inside to pick up the Duluth News Tribune and a package of Tops baseball cards for each of us. I was only in it for the gum.

When I was fifteen years old, I began my first real job at the Soudan Store. I was sweeping floors, scooping ice cream, stocking coolers. I had money in my pocket and a smile on my face. My job continued through high school, and I was later promoted to clerk...which meant only that I was expected to work alone. It came with a little more responsibility, new crappy tasks, probably a ten cent raise, and, most importantly, an increased feeling of self-worth.

I quit my job at the Soudan Store for the first time when I left for college. Over the course of my college career, I was back more times than I care to count. They welcomed me with open arms the first summer or two after high school, and on weekends when they needed someone to fill in or I needed some extra cash. In fact, during my senior year of college, I was working every single Saturday and Sunday at the Soudan Store. The quiet winter days were filled with accounting homework, interrupted occasionally by a snowmobiling tourist or a friendly local who stopped for a gallon of milk and to brag about his or her grandchildren.

Red worked at the Soudan Store for at least as long as I did. The little general store was also my mother's first place of employment, way back when she was in high school. For the last ten years or so, she's been a co-manager.

My years there provided me with so much. I developed a respectable work ethic. I learned that it's okay for a job to be fun. I allowed the locals to draw me out of my shell...and I met so many wonderful people (and a lot of really crazy ones) as a result. I gained valuable experience dealing with all kinds of different folks...and, in some cases, their imaginary friends. I made countless memories that I will carry with me for the rest of my life.

I'm going to miss you, little store...even if you are haunted and your furnace makes loud, scary banging noises.