Dollah Dollah Bill Y'all

I like the dollar store. I don't love it the way I love Target but the dollar store has great finds like gift bags, certain office supplies, kids stuff and disposable household ware. There was a dollar store by my house that I sometimes shopped because it was nice and respectable. I call it "nice and respectable" because, while it did smell funny, the folks were usually normal and the place was fairly clean.

I forgot it closed when I had told The Man, at a department store, that $4 was too much for a gift bag and we could get one at the dollar store. Well, it's now right before a little girl's bday party so we have to find one. Remembering there was a dollar store on Mission Blvd., we scramble to find it. [Side note: A wise person once told me that roads with "Mission" in the name are certain to be questionable or dangerous. Seriously, think about it.] On our right, we see a 99 cents store next to Bobby's Smoke House. OK, let's give it a whirl.

We pull into the back parking lot and walk up a ramp (that's right, not steps but a ramp.) Hmm. Second clue - The doors are open and on the left, handwritten in paint, is "ENTANCE." No, I didn't make a typing error. Third clue - The place is disheveled, smells funky and, in an instant, I decide it's the ghetto-est Dollar Store I've ever seen. The carpet is dark gray with stains and gum everywhere. Items are in random places like someone threw stuff in the air and hoped it went into the baskets. Now, growing up in the East Bay, I know ghetto when I see it. And this is ghetto.

My fourth clue although you better believe I was done after the second clue - There is a handwritten note in Sharpie, photocopied, and posted all along the store. It reads, "Have some respect and class. Do not open the packaged merchandise or throw things around. Thank you, Fred." Aww, you got to tell people to show some class? Fred, I'd say this is a battle you've already lost.

A little bit scared but not deterred from our quest, I march to the back and find a big gift bag. I show The Man and he says it's fine. I know from our exchanged looks he wants to get the hell-up-outa-there, too. We go to the cash register and wait our turn. My fifth and final clue? The cashier has a lit cigarette resting on the register with the tip making a nice smokey trail to the ceiling. I mean, there IS an ashtray a few feet away on the coffee table by the couch and black & white TV. But hey, it was probably too far away for the guy. OK, so there are quite a few clues of just how ghetto this place is.

We are behind an older woman and her little granddaughter. I want to tell the little girl, "Run baby, run!" as I eye the cashier and the other man near the entrance. (He was also quite suspicious, stringy haired and scratching himself. But I wasn't certain of him so he wasn't officially a clue.) The Man and I are next. We give him a $1.09 for our bag and all but sprint out of the store and back down the ramp.

I love obscure shops as much as the next person. I adore the little stores in Chinatown, with all their mysterious merchandise and questionable pricing techniques. But dammit, this dollar store was NOT one of those cool shops. It was ghetto. G.H.E.T.T.O. Ghetto. Was it worth the $3 savings? No. Even with The Man present to protect me? HEYYYYYYLLLL NO. Mmm-mm. My happy a$$ will wait for a department store to have a sale or just pay full price. It's funny how I take the nice feeling of SAFETY for granted at a store and don't realize how nice it is until it's gone.