Please Come Again

by Thomas Hall

Realtor, Rabble-Rouser

Author website

According to the clock on my dashboard it was 2:43pm – where had my day gone?  – I couldn’t help but wonder.  I had just wrapped up with my client who proudly unveiled the newly renovated rental units at the building he just purchased on Washington Park – the proposed location of the Olympic Stadium if and when Chicago should land the 2016 Summer Games – best described as an “up and coming” part of Chicago’s south side.  He wanted me to see what he had done and wanted my assurance that he could get the units rented at a much higher rent than was usual for the area.  From what I saw – he would have no problem renting the units – for how much?  that was yet to be seen.

I was hungry and I hadn’t had anything to eat – with the exception of the venti Red Eye I’d picked up earlier that morning during my walk with my dogs – breakfast.  I had to be back on the north side of town for a 4:00pm appointment, so I knew I didn’t have time to eat – and there’s scarcely any place to eat nearby the building – or at least that’s what I thought.

Okay forget about lunch – I’ll just pick up a diet Pepsi I figured – I can stop at the Shell station before I pull on to the Dan Ryan to head back north.  As I began my journey, I turned onto one of the wide boulevards lined with overgrown empty lots and neglected buildings.

I wasn’t paying attention to the street names – I was simply heading towards the freeway when I noticed a stand alone convenience store – a building at a nondescript corner at the fringe – on the “other side” of the up and coming neighborhood – not sure where the real boundary lay, but I had the distinct impression it wasn’t “up and coming” any time soon.

I couldn’t help but notice the store – it was the only business operating in several blocks.   I’m sure most could identify with seeing someplace similar in their own town – it wasn’t attractive, but it did have some architectural details reminiscent of a building that may have been art deco with terracotta ribbons along the roof line – 70 years or so ago this may have been a destination.

But today – no windows – just plywood where the glass once was – and a paint job that was 20 years beyond its useful life – a well worn and faded liquor advertisement had peeled away from exterior wall.  A neon Lotto sign shown brightly in the transom and the rape gate was pulled aside indicating that this establishment was open for business.

I was going to continue to the Shell station to grab my diet Pepsi but I didn’t.  I stopped.  There didn’t appear to be any real signs of activity at the store, but the store was open – the front door had been propped open.  I figured they had to sell diet Pepsi.  I hopped out of my car and walked in.

I took a few steps into the shop – my eyes were immediately drawn to the flickering florescent light in the back corner of the store and I stopped quickly.  I scanned the rear walls for refrigerators but didn’t see anything.  I didn’t move forward – I just slowly turned my head, seeking the coolers that usually hold the bottles of Pepsi – the kind that line the walls at Shell.

“You Lost?”  I heard over my shoulder.

I spun around to see the owner sitting behind the counter, clouded somewhat by the haze of his cigarette smoke.

“No – not lost – just looking for a diet Pepsi” I said.

“Don’t got diet Pepsi – just RC.”  he said.

“RC works just fine, thanks.”  Beggars can’t be choosers I thought – plus, I wasn’t about to turn around and simply walk out.

“At the end of the aisle.”  he said, pointing to the rear corner of the store – not surprisingly, under the flickering florescent light.  I walked down the aisle – noticing the half stocked shelves – some items laying on there side.  I turned the corner at the end of the aisle and voila – there in fact was a cooler, not a wall cooler, but a standalone one – it wasn’t tall enough to show itself above the shelves.  As promised, there was RC.

I took my can back up to the counter.  While pressing the buttons on the cash register, the owner continued to look at me.

“You lost?” he asked again.

“No” I said again – admittedly a bit apprehensive and unnerved.  “I’m on my way to the Dan Ryan.  I was just looking at a building and I’m on my way back to my office.”  I said.

“What building?  66 cent.” he said.  Clearly I had sparked his interest.

“My client’s building on Washington Park – he just bought it and is doing some renovations.  I went over to see what he’s done.”  I babbled – giving him a dollar for my drink that would have cost me $1.63 at the Shell less than a mile away.

“Tell your client to buy my building.  It ain’t much but I own it.”  From his tone – not only did I sense his sincerity, but an underlying sense of pride as well.

What once was a nondescript, neglected drive-by without hesitation building to me had now become someone’s lifeblood in a neighborhood full of empty lots and neglected buildings.

“Ummm”  I honestly had no idea how best to respond – I didn’t want to offend him, “my guy is really more into residential buildings, not sure if this is really what he’d be looking for.”  I said.

As he handed me my change, the owner slightly shrugged, “It ain’t much but I own it.  I’d sell it today if I could.” he said.

“I’ll keep it in mind” I responded – hoping he’d hear my sincerity, because for some reason, I cared.

“Alright – you come back then.” he said, drawing on his cigarette.  He didn’t hear any sincerity in my voice.  To him I was just lost.

“See you later” I said while walking out the door.

I heard him chuckle and then cough as I left his store.

In less than a mile to the freeway, I saw several beautiful greystone 3-flats, several incredible examples of Prairie style architecture, 3 restaurants, a hardware store, 1 liquor store, a car wash, a beauty parlor and a laundromat in a community called Washington Park.