Willy Vlautin Saves the Night or, I Thought There Would Be Minions

So the part I left out of my previous post was Friday's unpleasantness. I was busting my hump moving furniture around the store getting ready for the party when a customer standing by the front door was greeted by another customer walking in. They moved quickly through the pleansantries and then got to the meat of conversation which was some of the worst racist talk I have ever heard in real life, all delivered as casually as discussing the weather. I won't get specific except to say this was straight up bile, so caustic it could peel paint.

Now I'm not so naive to think there aren't people who feel that way, I know there are and I fear in this election year we are going to find where all those dark places are, like it or not-places that will make the New Yorker cover look tasteful. But to be saying them in the doorstep of a public place? That shocked me as much as the words themselves.

I wish I could say I spoke up and said just the right cutting thing that shamed these men and made them shut up. But, to my shame, I said nothing. I wish I had, despite the fact I was a company representative who was essentially eavesdropping on paying customers' conversation. Regardless, I should have spoken up. No, because of that I should have spoken up. I should have said "This is MY store, I'm in charge and you will not say such things in here." I would not have had a leg to stand on and would have, I'm sure, gotten no backing but for the most important-knowing I had done right, the way I was raised to do.

Proved lacking in this everyday test, I was thrown into a funk (made worse no doubt by lack of sleep) until Saturday afternoon's mail. In it there was a poster tube which I knew was the Northline poster I had finally gotten around to ordering (I know-what took me so long?) but when I opened it I was shocked to find it crammed full with all manner of Willy Vlautin and Richmond Fontaine goodness. But what truly knocked me back was the enclosed note from the man himself wishing me a happy summer and explaining he had included 2 posters, one signed and one unsigned because he wasn't sure if I wanted his "chicken scratch" or not. A note that said clearly he remembered me and knew exactly who I was.

Now, let me be clear. I just ordered the poster and paid through PayPal like anybody. I didn't say I'm so and so and I did this or anything-just ordered the poster. It never occured to me that Willy would be the one packing the tube. I mean Richmond Fontaine is not the Rolling Stones-I don't think Willy has a footman or anything-but I thought there would be minions. But I thank the universe that was apparently not the case because this small act of kindness and open hearted generousity-which yes, amplify the themes of his book quite nicely thank you very much-made me feel much better about people and got me a little closer to letting myself off the hook.

So thanks Willy. Again.