Post by Grandpa George on Nov 21, 2017 14:21:57 GMT -8
At 77 Hollow Wharf Drive there is a small unassuming building with a hand painted sign that says “Grandpa's Attic”, inside George gradually made his way up to the main floor of the store from his workshop in the basement, to find his granddaughter sitting at the counter her face illuminated from the soft glow of her facebook machine “Hey-ya Freya, how was your day?”
“Hey Grandpa! Pretty good, got most of my classwork done for the week, thinking about maybe picking up another class or two next semester.”
The store is small and today it smells like peach cobbler, that was Freya's doing, she loves her smell good candles. At first glance you would think you took a wrong turn and ended up in someones living room and not a store, everything looks like it belongs, not like it's on display. You would never know by looking by there are actually several pieces in the store over 500 years old.
Freya was a freshmen at UNLV and she ran for store during the day leaving George more time to work on his projects.
“You work too hard dear, remember you need to take time off to go fishing every so often, even if it's not really fishing that you are doing. That's got to be true, I read in a book somewhere.” Conversation between the two was always easy, and usually lighthearted. Freya filling him in on what he had missed while he was busy in his workshop all day. 4 customers, 1 almost actually bought something, and 3 complaints about the sign on the door “Credit machine broken, cash or trade only. Thank you.”
The sign was pretty much true, George was fairy certain any of those little plastic thieves was broken in more way than one, that's why he never got one.
That's fine, more inventory at the end of the year means more available for charitable donations and that means more deductions on the taxes.
“Are you going to eat at all today? You know I worry about you.”
“I'll be fine, going to take the station wagon out and look for some more inventory for the store. I'll grab a bite while I'm in Chinatown.”
“You know if you keep getting more stuff without selling anything this place is going to start looking less like an Antique store and more like the lobby of a Cracker Barrel.”
“One can hope, don't spend all day starting at that silly thing, it's bad for your eyes. I've got a good feeling about tonight I think I saw a rowan wood night table, and a oak dresser sitting out on the curb by one of those storage places.”
And after a small hug he made his way out into the night, the door bell chiming a little as he left. Off on a another grand hunt, stalking the night, no hutch was safe, no kitchen chair left unmolested. Fear one thing, and one thing only, a retired woodworker with a workshop and an excuse to collect “inventory”.
“Hey Grandpa! Pretty good, got most of my classwork done for the week, thinking about maybe picking up another class or two next semester.”
The store is small and today it smells like peach cobbler, that was Freya's doing, she loves her smell good candles. At first glance you would think you took a wrong turn and ended up in someones living room and not a store, everything looks like it belongs, not like it's on display. You would never know by looking by there are actually several pieces in the store over 500 years old.
Freya was a freshmen at UNLV and she ran for store during the day leaving George more time to work on his projects.
“You work too hard dear, remember you need to take time off to go fishing every so often, even if it's not really fishing that you are doing. That's got to be true, I read in a book somewhere.” Conversation between the two was always easy, and usually lighthearted. Freya filling him in on what he had missed while he was busy in his workshop all day. 4 customers, 1 almost actually bought something, and 3 complaints about the sign on the door “Credit machine broken, cash or trade only. Thank you.”
The sign was pretty much true, George was fairy certain any of those little plastic thieves was broken in more way than one, that's why he never got one.
That's fine, more inventory at the end of the year means more available for charitable donations and that means more deductions on the taxes.
“Are you going to eat at all today? You know I worry about you.”
“I'll be fine, going to take the station wagon out and look for some more inventory for the store. I'll grab a bite while I'm in Chinatown.”
“You know if you keep getting more stuff without selling anything this place is going to start looking less like an Antique store and more like the lobby of a Cracker Barrel.”
“One can hope, don't spend all day starting at that silly thing, it's bad for your eyes. I've got a good feeling about tonight I think I saw a rowan wood night table, and a oak dresser sitting out on the curb by one of those storage places.”
And after a small hug he made his way out into the night, the door bell chiming a little as he left. Off on a another grand hunt, stalking the night, no hutch was safe, no kitchen chair left unmolested. Fear one thing, and one thing only, a retired woodworker with a workshop and an excuse to collect “inventory”.
."
