How Not to Run a Candy Store


Chloe had been begging me since last weekend to take her to a local candy store that specializes in nostalgic treats of all shapes, sizes and flavors.  She was yearning for old fashioned taffy, a 12-inch long piece of gooey cavity-inducing sugar and artificial flavor that I used to buy whenever I was lucky enough to go to Allaire State Park, an historical village in central New Jersey that had an awesome general store (at least I thought it was awesome when I was 8).

Making good on my promise, we went yesterday afternoon.  This particular candy store is located next to a very popular movie theater in town.  We arrived at around 4 pm on a rainy, Sunday afternoon and the movies were hopping.  One would think that the candy store would be hopping, too.  Except it wasn’t because there was a sign on the door that said “back in five minutes.”  So Chloe and I waited.  And waited.  We counted the number of people who tried to buy goodies at the store but were foiled (including a woman who was looking to buy her son, who has celiac disease, a treat he could enjoy) because five minutes turned into 30 minutes and counting.

About 20 potential customers later, Chloe and I were the only suckers still waiting.  We contemplated leaving a note on the candy store door indicating to the owner how many opportunities were missed.  And then, as I was finally ready to tell an increasingly disappointed daughter that she’d have to wait another week for her sugar fix, the owner nonchalantly appeared with a coffee and reopened the store.  Chloe ran into the shop and smiles were quickly restored.

Yet I can’t help but wonder how much longer this shop will remain in business.

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