Well, since the story had only 3 short episodes, I decided to finish it in my own way... The original with contributions from Bob Sullivan and Derby Chang starts below and the continuation starts at -- Part II.
Tom C. There's an image forming in my mind of Regina, a windswept town on the frozen tundra of Canada, miles from the nearest neighbors. Rising from the plains of 1 story homes and shops is a 2 story retail beacon. It's the Regina Camera shop. In the early evening darkness I can almost see the faces of the customers, bundled against the cold, as they wind thru the streets toward the brightly lit shop. Inside the shop, hard at work is a tall, distinguished, balding gentleman who wears a perpetual smile with a grey mustachio above it. He is known simply as WR by his friends and foes alike. Foes, perish the thought! That is, as the French Canadiens who come from all over to visit would grin and say, "impossible”. He works hard at keeping the shop stocked with every kind and brand of photography gear imaginable. The shop is a virtual treasure chest, a cornucopia of all good things photographic, and WR is a true and cherished friend to all. As I enter the shop, walking through the lattice-windowed door, a bell tinkles. WR is on a stepladder installing a 4 meter high fluorescent sign in the eastern window, with large red letters running vertically, which reads "PENTAX". While the artic gale swirls outside, I browse through the slightly dusty shelves and glass cabinets. One handsome well-worn leather case catches my eye. Inside, a weighty talisman of a long-gone era was nestled. Many brave souls have held this instrument, austere in its design, well-worn in its black leather and titanium. A barely-hidden ring falls naturally into place under my left hand, an aperture control, we used to call it. I laugh at the imitations now. The mirror sticks, but at the last minute, gives way, revealing on the other side of the lens, WR, now unsmiling, brandishing a wee dram. "How much?", I tentatively ask. -- Part II A smile again slowly finds it way down WR’s countenance, furrowed brows relaxing, followed by sparkling eyes, and an upturned mouth. He clamps his hand down solidly on my shoulder shaking me to the core, “What would’ya have to drink man? Anyone with your exquisite taste in the hallowed field of legacy Pentax camera gear is a friend of mine. Now what d’ya have?” I notice the professional looking name badge (“WR – Owner/Proprietor of Regina Camera, LTD”, and underneath it the truism, “IF YOU CAN PICTURE IT, GOOD THINGS WILL DEVELOP”). “Really WR, a drink is not necessary. It would only dull my senses to this mome…”. I was cutoff by the sound of two ice cubes dropping into a short cut-crystal glass from the tongs WR pulled from under the counter. I then watch as a generous dose of the best Scotch Whiskey available in Regina is splashed in on top. “Here you go”, WR says raising his glass, “Good light to ya!”. Resolved, and feeling a little thirsty myself, I raise my glass to WR and smile. “Thanks this is a special moment, eh?”. With that out of the way I ask again, “How much?” WR looks in the glass display case and then picks up the camera, turning it as he searches for some indication of the selling price. His face turns pink and quickly goes to beat red in a New York second. “DAMMIT!” “HENRY!” “DAMMIT”, he shouts, his voice echoing through the entire shop. “Henry, get in here and get in here NOW”. A few moments later Henry shuffles quietly in from the accounting office in the back of the shop. He is wearing rumpled brown tweed pants, a blue & white pinstripe shirt, un-tucked in the back, with elastic armbands above the elbow, and a pocket protector, over top of which is a plain black vest. Henry’s a diminutive figure, short and of slight build with rounded shoulders hunched impotently forward. He wears thick black plastic glasses while his short black hair lies disheveled across his forehead. If there was a “Woody Allen Look Alike Contest”, Henry would take first prize. WR reaches for the neck opening of Henry’s shirt, and grabbing it, hoists Henry upwards, his unpolished penny loafers dangling a foot above the floor. Henry’s eyes are like saucers but they do not meet those of WR, which more resemble red hot daggers. Henry remains in mid-air for several seconds but then finds his feet back on terra firma, and his shirt collar significantly more comfortable. “Henry, please”, WR entreats in a normal tone, “Please make sure that every item in our counter has an accurate price displayed, either directly in front of, or on the item itself. If I’ve told you that once I’ve told you a thousand times, isn’t that right Henry?” “Yes WR” whimpered Henry, still averting his eyes. “Then why for Queen’s sake can’t you do it?” “I don’t know WR”. “Get to it right now, please”. “Yes WR”. Henry pulled the pencil from behind his ear and steno pad from under his arm and began taking a quick inventory of items on display and their prices, or lack thereof. He then retreated to the accounting office to make up price tags. WR turned to me sheepishly, “I just don’t know what’s with that boy. If he could just put himself in the customer’s shoes... Without the customer, Regina Camera Shop is nothing, nothing but inanimate, hunks of metal and glass. It’s the customer that gives a business it’s soul, it’s vitality, it’s raison d'etre. We’re all customers each and every day of our lives, same as we’re pedestrians. When I get behind the wheel of a car, should I stop caring about or looking out for pedestrians, and run them over just because I’m the driver, possessing a powerful engine, with the protection of a steel frame and sheet metal? Even if I have the right of way?” I didn’t answer but certainly understood WR’s point. I would have applauded but one hand was encumbered with the glass. “Come on”, he said, “I’ll show you the rest of the shop, and hopefully Henry will have things priced correctly by the time we make our rounds”. Well, an hour later, I can say I’m glad I wasn’t a wealthy man when I walked in, because I surely would be a poor one now, what with the temptations of what I saw, and the two additional Scotches WR poured for us both. We strolled past the used case again and WR casually observed price tags on all items. He asked his assistant to come help me as he tended to the well, I’m embarrassed to use comparisons like this, beautiful blonde at the custom film processing counter. If Henry looked like Woody Allen, then this gal looked like Grace Kelly, Jane Seymour, Raquel Welch, and Elizabeth Hurley all wrapped into one package. “May I help you?”, WR asked, as he felt himself tumbling weightlessly and helplessly into, through, and beyond, the pupils of her cool, clear, light-blue eyes. “Yes you may”, she said in sweet, silky soft voice. “I have several rolls of 120 format Kodak Tri-X 400. They’re photographs I took of my kitty-cats, Scratch and Sniff”. Partially coming back to his senses WR, agreed he could have the 16x20 glossies ready by noon tomorrow. Still thinking about the kitty-cats, WR met me back at the used counter. The price on the LX with a brand new 31mm LTD lens was $1,000 CAD. ”Should I box it up?”, WR asked, confident of the sale. “Yes”, I said, “and of course don’t forget it’s mate right next to it”. WR looked at me, then at the camera, then turning his head slowly, eyes narrowing, at the display case. Under the glass was a second LX and lens, identical to the one I was holding. In front of it, was a white piece of paper with writing in crisp black letters, “2 PENTAX LX and FA 31/1.8 LTD lens. $1000 CAD - Sold as a PAIR”. I’m glad WR had those two drinks, and the blonde was still in the store. Otherwise, I feared what might have happened to poor Henry. WR stood, dumbfounded and silent, looking up, as if to heaven, with outstretched arms for what seemed like a minute. Then the indefatigable smile once again reappeared. “Sir, I will honor that price in the display case, as I am an honorable gentleman. It’s our mistake and I want to see you back in here”. “Thank you”, I responded. “Having heard of you and the reputation of Regina Camera Shop, I never doubted it”. “Don’t worry”, said WR, “I have a way of correcting this and of making sure it will never happen again”. Curious, I decided to browse the shop and eavesdrop. “Henry, please come here”. “Yes, WR?”, Henry mumbled as he approached the used counter. “Henry do you see that sign you just put in the case? Well that little cock-up just cost this shop $1000. What do you think I should do with you, Henry?” “I wouldn’t know WR”. “Well I do”, WR said, flashing a toothy grin. “The refrigerator in the lunchroom will NO LONGER be stocked with FREE tins of gefilte fish until you’ve paid off that error! Is that understood?” “Yes WR”, said Henry as he started dejectedly back to his office. As I was heading towards the door, I heard WR sigh to himself, “Henry, blondes, kitty-cats, gefilte fish, what a day”. And as I shut the door, I heard the tinkle of two ice cubes, dropping into a short cut-crystal glass. -- PDML Pentax-Discuss Mail List PDML@pdml.net http://pdml.net/mailman/listinfo/pdml_pdml.net to UNSUBSCRIBE from the PDML, please visit the link directly above and follow the directions.
