This review is the first of many I will dedicate to the memory of my dear friend Brenda, who passed away unexpectedly on Sunday, July 16. RIP, Brendita. You made the world a much brighter, livelier place.
Brenda loved this place. As far as I know, she never bought head-shop gear from here--she may have, who knows?--but she did buy lottery scratchers from here. See, Brenda often took the train to work, and especially on Friday evenings on the way home from work, she liked to take her time sipping wine and doing the crossword-puzzle style of scratchers as she watched the Vacaville or Richmond or Dixon or Davis scenery whiz by. I never got to watch Brenda sipping and scratching, but she talked about it all the time. This was her time alone to relax. She didn't have to deal with work or school or her family or anything else.
Brenda loved to relax. She was a very hard worker, one of the most indefatigable activists and organizers I've ever seen, and a friend who would drop everything to help you out, whether that meant driving really far or spending money she didn't have or some other ridiculous thing she didn't have to do but that she wanted to do because she was your friend and friends stick together. In short, she was a total badass. Maybe because of all this, she really did value her her down time, and she really loved scratchers. I would come with her to this place on Fridays sometimes, and she would ask for my help in choosing which scratchers to get. I had no idea before I met Brenda that scratchers could cost $10 or more. She didn't like the expensive ones, but besides the Filthy Rich ones with the cute cartoon skunk, she didn't really go for the $1 ones either.
Coming to this smoke shop with Brenda was like going to Disneyland with someone who has an annual pass. She liked the place, but she was no nonsense about it. She might browse the bongs or random T-shirts or lighters, but she went straight for the scratchers, and then maybe she picked up a Red Bull to get her through the afternoon.
Until I told her, Brenda hadn't ever heard the term "head shop." She obviously knew what one was, and she and I both grew up in Southern California, but maybe that 10-year gap between us meant a lot in terms of slang. She definitely had a much more varied and interesting life experience than I had.
I normally hate head shops, but I can't hate this place, mainly because it reminds me of Brenda. It is also, by far, the cleanest head shop I have ever seen.
The people who work here are nice, but not high nice, and they remember you and what you like, so how high can they really be? Brenda always got the idea that the cute twentysomething blond guy was semi-hitting on her when he would strike up conversations about imagined shared interests in the Long Beach punk/ska/surf scenes. Brenda was a wily veteran of the various Long Beach music scenes of her teenagehood and an old pro at hitting on people and being hit on, however, so she knew how to keep it light without encouraging the guy or making him feel bad. He was much too young for her anyway, according to her, but she appreciated the flattery.
Other than being clean, it's the most stereotypical head shop you will ever see. They carry everything a stoner could ever want. There are the bongs and pipes and rolling papers and lighters. There are the psychedelic posters and lava lamps. There are the energy drinks and Mountain Dew in all its flavors and lots and lots and lots of snacks for the munchies. (Do potheads really pre-plan?) The place takes it to an entirely different level, though, with its fashion selection. Yes, there are Bob Marley T-shirts, random Eastern-meditation T-shirts, and even a fine selection of Baja jackets--what we used to call ponchos in Southern California in the mid-'80s when they were mainly associated with surf culture, before they became the ubiquitous drug rugs of the neo-hippie counterculture.
I don't know whether I'll ever step foot in here again, and if I do, I don't know how I'll stop from crying, but if I ever need a crossword scratcher, I know where to come, and it's only a block from work. read more