By Dan Kinem
In our hometown the well seemed never-drying when it came to VHS. I’d say for about five months we just bought and bought. We cleaned out numerous stores and then moved on to another. I knew this day would come, though. I’ve been dreading it since the start; I just hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. This city is literally bone dry and has been for a while now. There’s no good VHS at any of the 15 or so places that carry VHS. Even the places that get stuff in regularly haven’t had anything good or anything shitty enough to get as of late. It’s just your typical 20 Disney movies, three copies of Men in Black, and maybe here and there you’ll see a Nightmare on Elm Street Video Treasures/Media release. Beyond that, though, zilch. I’ve had to start branching out, combing the area each weekend for yard sales and new tiny junk stores. None of which have offered much. I found an Ewoks tape here, Tim found a Ninja Rap tape there. But no mother-load. Not even a second cousin-load.
Then came one fateful day about a month ago. I stumbled upon an indoor flea market not two blocks from Tim’s house. Tim remembers it, but hasn’t gone in there in years. We trek up the block and a half of cold concrete to the front door only to reveal it’s locked and the windows have a weird blurry tint that makes it impossible to see inside. Calling this place shady would be an understatement. Any place that promises “new sports collectibles” is likely trying to rip you off, especially a place with no hours posted. We decide to try again over the weekend. I drive by the “business” at around 1 p.m. on a Saturday and it’s booming! A “we’re open” flag waves proudly in the air and there may have even been upwards of a whole two customers with severe back problems scoping out the latest in rusty lawnmowers. I swing by, grab Tim, and we hop in. You could see the happiness dripping from Tim’s glimmering locks as we swung open the door. We were ready to spend, spend, spend. What we saw made us start to cringe and stutter, though. The place was a fucking trainwreck. Stuff thrown around everywhere with no place at all to walk. Apparently it used to be an old silent movie theater, which makes the place cooler, but that means it’s like a long hallway. We hop over the metal pipes that are threwn about. My VHS-senses began to tingle at this point as I turned to my left and noticed a nice, albeit tiny, stack of them in a glass case. “What are you looking for,” the nice owner blurts. “VHS,” we cry! He reaches beneath the counter and pulls some out. We immediately begin ripping through them just like we tear into the bag of Chinese take-out to see which General Tsos combination platter has more white rice every time we get it.
As we throw the stock movies to the curb, random, less obvious, movies pop up like Psycho 2 that make us hopeful for something interesting. We got a few pretty good finds, but nothing special. However, some of the things there made me feel there must be more. With quite a large portion of these being horror titles I had to wonder. Among the finds were The Hollywood Strangler and Yuzna’s Progency. Nothing spectacular but I began to utter the question: “Do you have more?” He exclaimed with great joy that he does… but not here. He said they’re in his truck at home – a huge bag of them – and he’ll bring them next Saturday. “Over a hundred!” We decided to glance around at the rest of the junk he has and he remembered he does have more VHS, but just some old Star Wars VHS. Tim’s eyes lit up like a nice set of metallic truck balls on a sunny summer morning. Little did either of us know that by “having them” he meant they were buried way in the back with no way to get to. Twenty minutes later the guy moved everything out of the way. Oh joy, what could these be… Oh my Christ, you silly flea marketeer, you. Star Trek is not Star Wars and these are Deep Space Nine tapes so you can bite our ass.
I should note that before leaving I explored the airplane wreckage, I mean flea market, and was digging through some boxes. Mold covered nearly everything I touched. With each step I feared I’d fall through the floor. Everywhere I looked was Mouse Shit City. Each box I looked in I expected to find at the very least a few dead mice, but one box scarred me for life. As I lifted up a stack of 1980s moldy cook books what starred at me could not be believed. I am telling you I was but a foot away from this, starring it in its beady little eyes. It was a fucking 20+ year old fruit cake! I almost threw up. This was an entire loaf of fruit cake that must have been sitting in this box for over two decades and counting. I probably would have been more comfortable seeing a raccoon in there, anything but a fruit cake. I’ve been having nightmares about this for weeks.
Flash-forward a week and I’m on the edge of my seat waiting for this guy’s 100+ VHS bag he promised. I drive up there promptly at 12 p.m., when I suspect he’ll be open, and have no luck. I figure he must not open till 1, like when I came last time. I go back, nothing. I check back again at 3 and then finally at 6, and still nothing. Could he honestly not be open the only day of the week he’s supposed to be open? I guess so. Furious I let it slide for some unknown reason. I figure maybe something happened, sometimes stuff happens… sometimes. I return next week giddy as a schoolgirl to see that flag waving proudly. I stop the car as fast as I can and run in. The only person I see in the entire store has a mustache, however. And the guy I talked to two weeks prior had no facial hair. I tell him I’m here about the VHS and he leaves and goes behind the building. I’m so excited I could shit. I love not knowing what I’m going to see, even if it’s all horse dumpings it’ll still be fun digging through. This shit eater returns with shit eater number two (haha, shit eater number two) and he reveals he doesn’t have the VHS. He is so apologetic though I can’t say or do much. He promises that the next week he will have them for sure. That this week it just slipped his mind. He also says that he got another huge box of VHS, too, somehow, and that he’ll bring those in as well. Hmm…
Another week passes and I arrive yet again, this being yesterday. This time I see him outside so I park and get out. You know what this scum bag does as he sees me walking up from my car? He immediately throws his greasy scummy hand up onto his forehead, like, “gosh darnit!” For a second I almost thought he was going to start sprinting away out of sheer panic and the fact that, after so many times, his bucket of lies must surely have run out. Nope. His bucket is fucking bottomless. “I really can’t remember shit,” he says as I get closer and closer. “I forgot them again.” You know what you piece of shit, you’re lucky I didn’t want to get close enough to smell your filth or else I probably would have shoved that goddamn moldy fruit cake down your throat. If you don’t have the fucking VHS tell me! I won’t care that much, I just am sick of this shit.
You know what the craziest part about this is? I’m probably going to go back next Saturday. The reason I didn’t flip out and yell is because a part of me is still praying he has these goddamn tapes. The way he’s reminded me that he doesn’t know what he has so many times doesn’t make me very hopeful, though. Likely, if he does have any VHS at all, they’re recorded or without boxes or Disney stuff. I’ll keep my fingers crossed that this “bag” he keeps referring to is full of sealed Continental big boxes… I’ll probably open the bag next week only to reveal a bag of moldy fruit cakes. Then I’ll wake up from my fruit cake nightmare to see it’s Saturday at twelve. Time to go check the indoor flea market again!
P.S. Who keeps VHS in a bag, anyway?
P.S.S. Next time I go I’ll try to get pictures or video of inside the place. It’s unbelievable.