About 2 weeks in, I was told that my parking would change: instead of in
the building and leaving it with the valet, I would park one whole
block east, on Vine St. Beyond the dejection, I accepted my new glamorous life: parking, taking a service elevator up, ignoring the
strong garbage smell, walking past stores and leading myself down a
long, narrow hallway, passing a yoga studio, and out into this urban
hellhole. There, filling the sidewalks, they sit littered like animal
carcasses.
Am I talking about scooters? Or sleepers?
Both really. If you'd have told me that there was a concert about to go
on sale for the Palladium, I'd have believed you. But now, they're
just asleep. One after another. Next to them, every kind of scooter
available. The same kind meant for the streets yet run about the
sidewalks at 25 mph, dodging children by the narrowest of margins.
I walked out the door one morning as I stepped onto Vine, and a homeless
woman walked up to me and said "Shut the FUCK up!" Have a nice day, won't you, Trip?
Others in the office told me to laugh it off, but it's tough not being
disturbed...in the same way I was when I saw a man come out from the
fountain in front of Chase bank, fully wet, having...what, bathed? Hard
to say.
It could just be my timing: one night as I walked to the gates of wonky
world with a fellow co-worker (from Minnesota, no less) we saw one wino
throwing a trash can to another on a balcony. A crowd surrounded them
not to help - all had their phones out, recording the scene. After a
few moments, enough of us created a crowd to break through. Once I hit
Burbank, I felt like I fell into Pleasantville.
Despite all of this, I have attempted to be determined. Determined to
find the swank that was there some 15 years ago, maybe longer, when I
lived near here and walked the streets. Back then, nights on the
sidewalks were often alone. Many places boarded up, and the swank sure
surrounded me. Nearly all of that has been torn down...nearly all
except (at least, what I've been able to find) one place.
It has many names on its sign: The Spirit Shoppe. Liquor Deli Mart.
(Advertising Free Delivery - a liquor store perk way before food
delivery became a thing) Back when, this place likely blended right
in. Now, it's a blink-and-you-miss-it place, but on the street level, I
had to investigate it.
I walked up the ramp and immediately saw the deli was long gone...yet a
cooler with pre-made sandwiches (gas station approved) remained. An old
guy behind the counter, flask-sized bottles behind him. Lotto machine
at the ready. Further down, beyond drinks alcoholic and otherwise, were
sundries of the most random definition. In my brief tour I looked to
find older packaging...had I found it, regardless of item, it would be a
sale. The old salt behind the register wouldn't bat an eye.
Back home I mentioned this for future lottery playing. I was asked "Did
it have the sign that it was a lucky retailer?" No, I said, there's
been no good luck in this store. Ever. Well...except 1 piece of good
luck, I guess. It survives somehow. Tom LaBonge, in his reign of
terror, bulldozed the rest, but somehow forgot this one. And thank
goodness for that, because in today's "Entertainment District" the
connection to the past and the present must exist.
