Standing at the entrance, his "Customers First" badge identifying him as store manager, Brian Kanbara is fair game.
"I gotta be somewhere in 10 minutes," an agitated young man complains. Could Kanbara expedite his merchandise return? He could. The young man was in the wrong line.
A senior citizen, clutching her receipt, demands her 10% discount for an item she'd bought Tuesday, the day on which seniors get a discount on everything but tobacco and lottery tickets.
"Where is the Lysol spray?"
"Can you cut me a key like this one?"
"Where do you have sweat pants?"
We're at Woolworth's in Santa Monica, which for 46 years has been luring customers with everything from A (apple juice) to Z (zippers)--and better mousetraps too.
Santa Monica's once-tacky row of storefronts along 3rd Street has been reborn as the 3rd Street Promenade, a lively street scene with upscale shops, movie theaters and cafes.
And Woolworth's, the "dime store," not only endures, but thrives. There's the familiar gold-on-red sign--F.W. WOOLWORTH CO.--right behind a pair of topiary dinosaurs, a favorite spot for the mall's street performers.
Today, acknowledges Kanbara, a genial 44-year-old, "I cannot honestly think of anything that's five or 10 cents." Even the giant gum balls are a quarter.
"Excuse me. Do you have carrot peelers?" He does.
We're standing by a bin that holds magnetic dusters ($5, on special), purple pompon affairs with extensible handles. The dusters, together with almost every item in Kanbara's eclectic inventory, came from Woolworth's central in New York, where buyers decide what's going to be hot and what's not.
Only beverages, some sports team gear and souvenirs are purchased locally. "We get a lot of tourists," Kanbara says, and they go home with coffee mugs, spoon rests, and salt and pepper shakers fancied up with waves and palm trees.
Old man Woolworth--Frank Winfield, who died in 1919--would surely shake his head in disbelief to see the price tag on a mountain bike, the Santa Monica store's top ticket item at $239.99.
And what's this, a mini-grocery in Woolworth's, right up front with other high-volume items--candy, drugs and beauty aids and film? Haagen-Dazs and macaroni and cheese under this roof?
Well, Kanbara explains, after the big quake, his customers--many of whom are elderly and do not drive--asked for soups and other foods, as well as bottled water. Sales have been brisk.
"Hi, Brian. Do you sell aspirin tablets?"
He patiently helps the customer decide between Brand X and Brand Y.
It's Wednesday afternoon and, as always on Wednesdays and Saturdays, when there's an open-air produce market nearby, business is good.
The manager, who's given to working from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m., could seclude himself in his upstairs office, but that is neither Woolworth's policy nor his natural inclination. Besides, he says with a laugh, if he tried to avoid patrons, "They'd come looking for me."
Kanbara is a hands-on kind of guy, chatting up customers, clearing away shopping carts, tidying up displays left askew by looky-loos. He's also a company man who began his career 21 years ago as a management trainee in Fountain Valley. Since, he's worked five Woolworth's, this one since 1992.
"I'm looking for hydrogen peroxide."
Kanbara leads the way, but is unable to assure the customer that it's suitable for soaking his toothbrush.
Stuffed bunnies, Easter eggs and baskets claim the seasonal display area on the north wall, where once a lunch counter stood (that space is now Johnny Rockets next door). Soon, the bunnies will give way to Mother's Day and Father's Day displays, patio furniture promos and, come September, back-to-school merchandise.
Woolworth's offers an eclectic mix--trunks, tablecloths and trash cans, plates and potting soil, sewing machines, step stools and skates, Barbies, basketballs and bedspreads, false eyelashes and floor mats.
Once, girls went to the dime store to buy "Evening in Paris" for their mothers--and maybe to sample a forbidden tube of Pink Lightning lipstick. At today's Woolworth's, they can indulge in shades such as Moonbeam Mauve, Passion Plum and Raspberry Rage and knockoffs of famous fragrances such as Obsession (The Woolworth version: Possession).
The P.A. is serving up a mix of music and handy household hints. One hint: Freeze your pantyhose before wearing them to make them last longer.
"Do you have boxes of matches?"
Kanbara has to say no, but he does have lighters.
A screaming match has erupted between two customers in line. Kanbara's policy: Hands off, and hope for the best. (He still cringes to recall the time a man slung a bag of popcorn at a woman).
The yuppification of 3rd Street has not chased away all of the street people, but Kanbara has learned that looks may deceive. "One lady comes in here, a regular customer, pushing all her possessions in big trash bags in a shopping cart. But she always has rolls of money."
The passing parade continues.
"You used to have little bags of salted peanuts out of the shell . . . "
