Please note: This essay first appeared in 2015 on my previous blog site, and was titled Seeing Through a New Lens. I’ve made some light edits to reflect the passage of (even more) time. Plus, my next essay will be a doozie, so this one’s extra short!
I’d been avoiding the gaze of that empty storefront for over two years. The last business on the right in a small shopping center on Shelburne Road was a place I had frequented just about every week for nearly five years. It had been the home of Waterfront Video, my local video rental store, which sadly closed its doors in May 2013. It had been a real blow. I don’t know if I can fully convey the overwhelming sadness I felt when I realized that that part of my life—and the city’s culture—was really, truly over. Every time I’d visit the post office next door I would avert my eyes, not wanting to see the dark interior behind the glass doors, not wanting to see what the body looked like after death. I was still in denial.
But I couldn’t stay away any longer. The store was now my optometrist’s office, and I had an appointment. Obviously, changing eye doctors just to avoid the inevitable would be foolish, right?
Waterfront Video had existed for quite some time before we moved to Vermont in 2008, but in trying to make this new place my home, I’d adopted it as one of the most important spots in my new town. We have an actual video store! And it’s doing great business! Sure, no one really ever goes to the VHS section anymore, but…they have a VHS section! Sometimes it was hard to find the film you wanted because they were arranged in a very specific way, like you’d entered someone’s living room in the late-1990s and were perusing their personal, floor-to-ceiling DVD collection. There was a special section for films by well-known directors, films that had won Oscars, even an “in memoriam” for those actors we had recently lost. When Robin Williams died, I was doubly sad that Waterfront was no longer around to help me grieve through his catalogue that summer.
The best part about the place, though, was the staff. They were our version of Empire Records. Released in 1995, the film starred Liv Tyler, Renee Zellweger, Ethan Embry, and a whole host of other attractive alterna-teens who looked just like me (but were worlds cooler). I modeled my high school persona (and my crushes) after this group of kids who worked at a record store that was about to be bought out by a larger corporation. They did drugs, they listened to great music, they wore awesome clothes, they had sex, they fought for independence, they attempted suicide, and while not all of that applied to my 16-year-old self, the most important lesson they taught me was to fight for each other and stand up for one another, no matter how different you all are. In fact, that’s a good life lesson that should apply to anyone of any age.
Waterfront Video had their own gang of alterna-twentysomethings, including an aspiring playwright/actor/comedian, a shy college kid with mesmerizingly blue eyes, and a pierced girl with short hair and a punk ethic. It was clear how much they loved working there, how much they cared about the art and each other, despite, I’m sure, earning minimum wage. While I was older than almost all of them and, let’s face it, probably not quite as alternative anymore (just the fact that I used the word “alternative” means that indeed, I am not!), I still kind of wanted to be friends with them.
Here’s actual footage of the staff of Waterfront Video—er, Empire Records—getting ready to open the store on a typical day:
But in late 2012, the longtime owner died unexpectedly. Soon after, the whispers of the store closing got louder and louder, until the time came to rent a final movie. We ended up choosing Searching for Sugar Man, which had just won the Oscar for Best Documentary. It’s about art and success and loss and redemption, and was a fitting final film upon the drawing of Waterfront’s curtain.
The day of my appointment had come. I drew in my breath and finally stepped inside. I was immediately struck: it didn’t feel like Waterfront anymore. The walls weren’t a dingy gray, the lights weren’t faded and blinking. The new carpet smell was overwhelming. No DVDs lining the walls; instead, row upon row of gorgeous glasses. No Game of Thrones, or The Office, or Whip It. No chance encounters with Bernie Sanders, like my husband had one time, just renting a movie like us regular folk. No alterna-teens, welcoming customers inside, making you feel at home just for stopping by.
Ultimately, my experience inside of Waterfront’s shell wasn’t scarring. It felt like a completely different place. But it made me sad to think of the many people who would set foot in the eyeglass store and not have a clue about what these walls once held. Stories of love, murder, fascination, intrigue. A bunch of young people living their lives, lovingly and meticulously arranging and rearranging their favorite films for others to enjoy.
I don’t want to sound like an old-timer, rocking back and forth on my porch, reminiscing about the days when album art was valued, and people bought DVDs for the commentaries…but we’re losing all of those things, and more, for the sake of ease. We’re losing the ability to think about these pieces as art, and instead as things to be consumed quickly and painlessly. You can still be moved by a movie you rent through Netflix, or a song worth 99 cents on iTunes, or a book that you’ve downloaded to your Kindle. But when we relegate these sacred objects to a nebulous cloud, it becomes easier to disregard them, and forget that they actually are sacred.
Waterfront doesn’t exist on a physical plane anymore, and not even on a metaphysical, spiritual plane, as of December 31, 2020. But the memory of that familiar place lives on in my misty brain, set to the click-click-click of a film projector, endlessly spinning, after the screen goes black.
Reflection questions:
What are your memories of your local video/music/book store that is no longer around? What made it feel like home to you?
What character from Empire Records are you most like? (me: A mix of AJ and Corey)
Think of three things you can do to keep local stores in business—and go out and do them!
Waterfront Video was located in present day Chittenden County, Vermont, on the land of the Wabanaki and N’dakina (Abenaki) nations.
Image: One of the many racks of categories. Pulled from Google.