Somewhere in the 80s: The Kiosk, Το Ψιλικατζίδικο
My uncle Mimi and his wife Amalia had a kiosk. Kiosks at that time were a cross between a gift shop and a convenience store. Theirs sold newspapers, magazines, tobacco, soft drinks, beer, lighters, ice cream, chocolate, chips, instant coffee, toys and comics. To sum it up, their kiosk was the closest thing to paradise for children and smokers.
During the summer amidst the sweltering heat, buzzing flies and lukewarm breeze from the oscillating fan inside that little store of wonders. I was spellbound by the comic books. Careful not to stain the pages with my oily fingers or leftovers of ice cream, I devoured them one by one. When one finished I hungrily grabbed the next. I could not get enough. I had to finish faster; a customer could come at any minute and buy the magazine I was reading, then I would be tormented for a day or two trying to imagine the end of the story.
Naturally, all my cousins were also intrigued by the store. Some loved the comic books, others craved chocolate and ice cream and we all loved to look at the toys. Usually we were lucky enough to persuade one of numerous passing uncles and aunts to get us a little something. When the grownups weren’t around we perused the “dirty” magazine section. We used to laugh out loud at the funny poses and naked acrobatics that the adults were engaging in. Sometimes we had to rotate a page over and over again to find an angle that made more sense.
Sometimes my aunt would leave me there alone for a quarter of an hour to pick up her daughter from school or ballet lessons. I think the first time that happened I was about six. I felt immense pride being a shopkeeper. I walked right and left, straightening all the cigarette packs. Then I arranged the comic books in a more attractive way before proudly taking my seat behind the cash register, which almost reached my eyebrows.
A customer came in. I greeted him in perfect fashion even though my cheeks were flushed with excitement. He wanted a newspaper and six packs of Winstons. “Can you show me which ones, sir?” I asked “Because I am a child and I know little of cigarette brands.” Reaching for the packs made me feel so important that I added, “However, I think six packs of cigarettes are a bit too much for you. I will give you three.” Now it was his turn to get worked up. “Give me my goddamn cigarettes!”he shouted without a blink. I was shocked. “My dad says smoking is bad for you,” I added nearly in tears.
He looked at me again and sighed. “Look kid, we will make a deal, just give me four packs this time. I will get the rest tomorrow when your aunt comes back.” He left the store in a flash but not before giving me a final look of desolation. I sighed, life was hard for working girls.
