Growing up on the family farm, my brothers, dad, and grandpa had various collections of items and supplies they may need, though they all had different interests. The family business on the farm is an electric motor rewinding shop and a store that sells tools, equipment and many other things that you didn’t know you needed, but that you certainly can’t live without. The collections and supplies are spread out throughout a few warehouses and the shop is a place people have come to pick up what they need, talk about the weather, and try to top each other’s wit.
As many of you know, I’ve become a junk hunter and a bit of a junk collector. I know I can’t keep it all so a few friends of mine and I opened a little occasional shop in Fargo to sell some of what we stumble upon. We’re open a handful of days at a time and last week marked our grand opening.
While chatting with my brother Kent at our opening reception I confessed that my husband and I had not been able to park in the garage for a month because of all of the junk and the projects I had in progress.
Kent put his hand on my shoulder and slowly uttered, “Congratulations, you’re a McCurdy.”
While I’ve had a long line of business owners ahead of me, I must admit I was terrified of being in charge of the cash box, calculating the tax, and being able to manage customer service during the sale. I don’t have a lick of retail experience and I am a communications major who has a slight fear of numbers.
But I purchased my ticket for this crazy roller coaster ride so all I could do was hang on tight and keep moving forward. You know what? I loved it. I enjoyed the efficiency of calculating the total, chatting with customers, and making sure they got the correct change. When customers weren’t at the register, I welcomed them at the door, or chatted with them. Many times, I heard my dad’s personality come straight out of my mouth, once as a woman struggled to decide if she was going to buy a chair or not.
“Let me know if you want me to talk you in to buying that,” I said.
Oh dear. It was becoming clearer that I am, indeed a McCurdy.
But there was one more element that needed to appear. And then it happened.
A woman approached the register with a fabulous vintage toolbox that she planned to use for storage in her craft room. I asked if she needed more storage and she was surprised to hear that we had another toolbox – I just happened to be using it as the cash box.
“The cashbox is for sale?” she seemed surprised.
“Everything is for sale,” I said. And then in my brain, I heard a click. I never even knew that during my childhood years watching my dad do business that I had soaked up this philosophy.
I guess it does explain why people are terrified when I’m at their homes and compliment them on one of their pieces. “That’s not for sale, Sarah.”
Yes, all of it makes sense to me now.
Marie says
Ha! I am SO visiting your store soon. My poor hubby will roll his eyes and hand me the credit card. Unless you take checks…
Congratulations to all of you!