Lauren Weinstein on Nostr: My favorite spooky shopping experience: Many years ago, I wanted to fix an old black ...
My favorite spooky shopping experience:
Many years ago, I wanted to fix an old black and white TV. Even way back then, SAMS (as is still the case today!) was a source for technical data and schematics for a wide range of otherwise obsolete equipment. Long before the availability of such things online, I mentioned to a friend that I was looking for data on some old equipment (I did NOT tell him what equipment) and he scribbled a local address (on Lincoln Blvd. here in L.A.) on a scrap of paper. "Try him," he muttered.
A few days later I was in the area, and decided to stop by that address. It was a tiny, unmarked storefront, with the windows blocked by taped up opaque brown paper. Hmm.
I opened the door and walked in, and was met with what looked like utter chaos. The place was filled from floor to ceiling with stacks of papers, with just a narrow open path leading to a small desk with a little guy hunched over it.
This was just creepy. He didn't even look up. So I just said, "I'm looking for the SAMS for [whatever the model number of the old TV was]."
He still didn't look up. But he reached over to one of the stacks of paper immediately to his right. He didn't even look at the stack, he kept looking down at his desk. He took the top document off the stack and placed it on the desk facing me. It was the exact old SAMS that I needed. This was bizarre beyond belief. My knees literally felt a bit weak.
"How much?" I asked.
Still not looking up -- I never saw his face -- he scribbled down an amount. I paid it exactly with cash. I took the SAMS and hastily left. Standing outside, I looked back at the storefront. If I wasn't holding the SAMS in my hand, I wouldn't have believed what had just happened.
About a month later I drove by the same location. It now had signage and was something else entirely (beauty supplies or some such).
The little man whose face I never saw and his room full of stacks of paper were gone.
I chose never to discuss this with my friend. Or with anyone else, for many years.
L
Many years ago, I wanted to fix an old black and white TV. Even way back then, SAMS (as is still the case today!) was a source for technical data and schematics for a wide range of otherwise obsolete equipment. Long before the availability of such things online, I mentioned to a friend that I was looking for data on some old equipment (I did NOT tell him what equipment) and he scribbled a local address (on Lincoln Blvd. here in L.A.) on a scrap of paper. "Try him," he muttered.
A few days later I was in the area, and decided to stop by that address. It was a tiny, unmarked storefront, with the windows blocked by taped up opaque brown paper. Hmm.
I opened the door and walked in, and was met with what looked like utter chaos. The place was filled from floor to ceiling with stacks of papers, with just a narrow open path leading to a small desk with a little guy hunched over it.
This was just creepy. He didn't even look up. So I just said, "I'm looking for the SAMS for [whatever the model number of the old TV was]."
He still didn't look up. But he reached over to one of the stacks of paper immediately to his right. He didn't even look at the stack, he kept looking down at his desk. He took the top document off the stack and placed it on the desk facing me. It was the exact old SAMS that I needed. This was bizarre beyond belief. My knees literally felt a bit weak.
"How much?" I asked.
Still not looking up -- I never saw his face -- he scribbled down an amount. I paid it exactly with cash. I took the SAMS and hastily left. Standing outside, I looked back at the storefront. If I wasn't holding the SAMS in my hand, I wouldn't have believed what had just happened.
About a month later I drove by the same location. It now had signage and was something else entirely (beauty supplies or some such).
The little man whose face I never saw and his room full of stacks of paper were gone.
I chose never to discuss this with my friend. Or with anyone else, for many years.
L