On November 25, I posted this newsflash:
I saw Mr. E last night! He is my record store guy! LCG and I went into a bar we do not frequent (looking for CEB) and not only did we find CEB, we found him talking to Mr. E! I love Mr. E! He sells me vinyls.
After I wrote the first four sentences I noticed that each one ended in an exclamation point. I thought, gee, I'd better explain why Mr. E merits so much punctuation. So I added the fact that he sells me vinyls and thought that was enough. But then it occurred to me that maybe other people don't have a record store guy and don't understand the hoopla, the hubbub, or the hullabaloo. I can explain all the fuss, but first I will tell you what happened when I saw Mr. E that night.
I had just finished work, and LCG and me went looking for CEB. LCG had already seen Mr. E earlier that day and had hit him up for a copy of the (out-of-print) Iron Maiden video Live After Death. LCG never finds it at Mr. E's store so he asked Mr. E in person. After I greeted Mr. E, LCG turned to me and said, "Mr. E has a copy of Live After Death for me."
Me: Of course he does! He's Mr. E.
Mr. E: Of course I do.
Me: (beaming at my record store guy)
Mr. E: I have two of them, but they are somewhere in my house and I don't know where. You wouldn't believe my house.
Me: Oh, I think I would. One time you had a Murray Wilson record at the store and I really wanted it and you said that it was a spare that you found at home. You have spare Murray Wilson records! But I didn't buy it because it was too expensive. You wanted forty dollars for it.
Mr. E: Oh, I would have let you have it for twenty.
Me: No, you wouldn't! I could only get you talked down to thirty.
Mr. E: Really? Well, you know, that is a really rare album.
LCG: (turning to me in a fit of glee) Look! He's working you right now! He's not even in his store!
Me: It's our dynamic. He is my record store guy. It is his job to try to gouge me with high prices and it is my job to try to talk him down. Sometimes it is my job to pay too much.
Mr. E: (all thoughtful) I bet I got forty dollars for that record.
Me: I'm sure you did, just not from me.
I actually think it was a white label promo, so I am positive he got forty dollars for that record. (If you are wondering, Murray Wilson is the father of Beach Boys members Dennis, Carl, and Brian Wilson. Murray fancied himself a genius composer and made a record.)
The point is, I treasure my record store guy the way other people treasure their hairdresser. He is someone I see on a regular basis, we chat about our lives and our cats, exchange legal tender for goods, and see each other again very soon. Once people find a hairdresser that can cut their hair properly they remain fiercely loyal to the bitter end. Having a record store guy who understands my taste is as important to me as a good hairdresser is to someone else.
Mr. E has been my record store guy for ten years now. He has been through every phase with me, and has never batted an eye. He was there for the Monkees phase, the solo Mike Nesmith phase, the I need a Taj Mahal record because he covered a song made popular by the Monkees and Peter Tork says it is excellent phase. When I was searching for my copy of Fun In Space, he never, ever got mad when I asked him for it every single week. And when I always added that it is a terrible record, he never failed to point out that No Violins is an okay tune.
I used to have Thursdays as my day off, and each Thursday I would show up at his store around noon, and stay for at least an hour or two, shopping and visiting. One Thursday he referred to me as a good customer. All I bought that day was a three dollar copy of King's Record Shop by Roseanne Cash. I was all, "But I'm only spending three dollars!" "Yes," said Mr. E, "but I know that when I unlock those doors on Thursday morning, I am guaranteed your three dollar sale."
Delightful! I always tried to be a good customer because there is another dynamic between record store guys and customers that isn't so pleasant. There is a certain breed of record shopper who wants nothing more than to screw the record store guy out of a valuable item. These guys hope against hope that they will find a record worth one hundred dollars priced at five bucks. One time I was at the store, and these two guys were very excited that they were getting Sonny and Cher 45s that were worth three dollars for fifty cents. Mr. E just rolled his eyes at me.
Of course, when I found a Japanese copy of Dreamboat Annie by Heart at a different store for four dollars, you can be sure I ran right to Mr. E's store to gloat about the find. (Japanese pressings of both LPs and CDs are known for superior quality, and are very expensive because of that.) I usually don't care about that sort of detail, but I like knowing the detail exists. I also like getting a super bargain at a rival store. Mr. E would have priced it for much more.
But that is another aspect of being a vinyl seller. Mark it up as high as you possibly can. You can always mark it down until it sells and odds are good you will still make a profit. When I was a vinyl seller, I used all of the tricks I learned from shopping at Mr. E's store. And when I was selling LPs the more annoying customers would say, "So, I bet you get first crack at all of the records, heh-heh."
Me: Oh, I don't buy my records here.
Customer: What?
Me: I buy my records from Mr. E.
Customer: But...you sell records.
Me: These records? (Holding up a record to illustrate.) These records are work records. These are not shopping for pleasure records.
Customer: Um.
Me: Part of the fun of record shopping is the hunt. It takes all of the fun out of it if a record just walks into my store.
The customers didn't understand, but I shouldn't be surprised. The ones who would have that conversation with me were there to sell their collections, of course they didn't understand the thrill of the LP chase. Even when I was participating in the LP chase at other stores, I still ended up drifting over to Mr. E's store sometime during my shopping trip.
Once I found a copy of Fun In Space (number two) and Strange Frontier (number three, I think) at a shop not owned by Mr. E. They were in good condition but were a little dusty. I bought them and then sped to St. Paul from the western suburbs of Minneapolis so I could have them cleaned at Mr. E's store. He wasn't in when I arrived. I handed my records over to the dude at the counter and he took them in the back for cleaning. A minute later, Mr. E emerged. "I knew these had to be yours." My record store guy understands. (According to Aaaahj, Mr. E understands that I am the only person in town who would actually get my Roger Taylor records cleaned. But I digress.)
Mr. E understands the need for records, and he was very understanding when I needed a turntable. One morning I was listening to records before I went to work, and my turntable died. It died. My turntable was no longer a working turntable. It was a broken turntable.
Aiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
I went to work, vowing to visit Mr. E's store later in the day. I got off work at 7:30 and had to rush to his store before it closed at 8:00. I burst through the door and when I spotted Mr. E hollered, "My turntable broke this morning!" He promptly hauled me over to the spot in the store where he kept his (fabulous used) turntables and helped me pick one out. I rushed home clutching my new (giant, seventies, fake wood grain, very solidly built) turntable.
I put on my favorite Buster Poindexter 45, his version of Hit The Road Jack and turned up the volume. And it gave me static. Lots of static. The next day, I rushed back to Mr. E lugging my new (to me) record player. He examined the needle and determined that it had been damaged by someone who looked at the turntable before I bought it.
Aiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
So what do you suppose Mr. E did? He called the record needle store that closed in five minutes, identified himself, and asked if they would stay open long enough for me to stop over and get a new needle. "She's a really good customer of mine..." They agreed to wait for me! I got from St. Paul to the university campus in record time and when I entered the store I encountered a guy that was so mellow he seemed to be running at half-speed. I barreled in with my turntable and he fetched up a new needle, replaced it, then hooked up my turntable to the store's speakers and asked me what I wanted to hear. David Bowie, please.
We were listening to a David Bowie album when the phone rang. I heard Mr. Mellow's end of the conversation. "Yeah dude. She's standing right here. Oh, yeah, we got the new needle on and are listening to some Bowie. She digs Bowie." (As if Mr. E didn't know!) You see, Mr. E had called to make sure I had gotten the needle! I then went back to his shop with the invoice because he said he would reimburse me for the needle since it was defective when I bought the turntable from him.
So I baked him some cookies. I went right home that night and fired up the turntable and the oven and showed up at his store the next night with a couple of gallon freezer bags loaded with cookies. I also sent a thank-you note. My record store guy went above and beyond his duty, what was I supposed to do? Not bake him cookies? Unthinkable! I also used to bring him Rice Krispie Treats. I tell you what, once you start bringing baked goods to your record store guy, negotiating for a lower price on a record gets much easier.
But then I stopped going to the store as frequently, and I thought that had to change. My New Year's Resolution for 2001 was to spend more money at Mr. E's store. Three weeks later, I had to get a divorce and move back home and was broke for months. That spring I told him what my resolution had been and apologized for not following through. He didn't mind. But since then he has acquired enough employees that he hardly ever works in the store himself, so it's not as fun for me to go.
Of course his employees are fantastic, but I miss the days when Mr. E was the employee. But a little Aaaahj bird told me that Mr. E is back working a couple of days a week, which means I have to get up earlier (like ten in the morning instead of eleven) so I can go see Mr. E before work and spend some money. Because like a good hairdresser, a good record store guy can't be taken for granted.