The variety store was a maze. It began before you even entered, the exterior wall covered in a series of murals that were both fascinating and difficult to stare at: Tricks of the eye that could make it appear as if you could walk into the wall or be trapped under the painted glass of a giant woman capturing a bug.

If you made your way, as Tim and his family did, past the strange illusions of its exterior, you pushed through a set of storefront doors whose dingy glass and aluminum looked like they hadn’t been updated since the ’80s. This led to an open space with an unattended cash register on the left with the rest of the room’s walls made of shelves that were stacked with books, DVDs, toys, models, and posters. The items were as odd as the store, books ranging from small, obscure paperbacks to large coffee table volumes that poked out from the case, waiting for someone to run into them. The DVDs and posters were all from movies, none more recent than Pulp Fiction or Star Wars, but the materials seemed to reimagine the classic movies as art deco rather than films. They toys and models ranged from simple block models, to elaborately detailed vintage military and civilian vehicles, to ships with so many cannon and sails they looked ready to shoot their way out of the bottles that contained them.

Tim, surprised and elated at the strangeness, waited at the register for someone to appear, but his three children squealed and ran off into the store ignoring his words of restraint. His wife and their friend were still outside the shop, captivated by the exterior. When neither cashier nor his wife materialized, he headed to the aisle his youngest, Gina, had disappeared down.

Calling it an aisle, though, was a disservice to the straight and honorable aisle’s that occupied grocery and retail establishments alike. Here, the shelves were so tall only the ceiling immediately over them could be seen, and they changed direction at seemingly random intervals, not just left and right, but stairs taking him up and down, usually only a few unnecessary steps, before the aisle flattened again. 

The contents of the shelves he plied through were as eclectic as the ones in the lobby, boardgames and Choose Your Own Adventure books, Russian nesting dolls, bobbleheads of superheroes and one of Dock Ellis in his Pirates uniform placed incongruously with the entire ’96 Mets. As he pressed in further, the aisle became more narrow, the tchotchke of all sides almost impossible not to touch, some of them beeping or playing music as he went past, desperate to be purchased.

Knowing his children would be able to navigate the store with their narrow shoulders and slim bodies, Tim didn’t become worried until he passed a lineup of the Y2K dancers ordained in red lights. From there, the twisting aisle became a passage filled with strange items he couldn’t place, a giant sign hanging high above that read, “Team Newt,” a selection of golden microphones that he would have preferred had Elvises attached to them, but didn’t. American flags sprouted with increasing frequency, often poking him as he tried to squeeze through the increasingly tight passage, posters of newspaper’s front page with the smiling President and the headline of, “He’s Don It Again!” Tim turned a corner from these to be asked, by the text on a coffee mug if he was offended by its common sense. It was then he heard something that surprised him more than anything else: Laughter.

Squeezing past an entire wall adorned with flight jackets, mich helmets, and camo fanny packs, he found the source of laughter. It was a strange combination of recorded and real, almost like canned laughter, but when he turned to find it was a real audience making the merry, but not entirely a live one. His youngest, Gina, sat in front of a TV, joining the long-gone audience as a besuited and stone-faced man presented from the black and white television set.

Tim couldn’t determine if this was another odd collectible that was for sale or an art installation. Unlike everything else in the store, the television sat alone in its own corner, `outlined in neon lights like a show marquee, propped up on a TV dinner tray that put it at the perfect height for his daughter to sit and watch it. With a stiff-backed and dour expression, the MC promised that, “We’ve got a really big shoe for you.” It was his daughter’s giggle that kept him from reprimanding his daughter, Tim’s frustration transforming into relief.

It was the stilted and mispronounced utterances of the television that made Tim recognize the man who had been dead since before he was born: Ed Sullivan. He had only heard tale of the showman from his own father who had regaled Tim with stories of how ridiculous, mundane, and wonderful the variety show could be. His daughter clearly agreed with this estimation as she continued to giggle as Sullivan introduced the first act, a juggler who’s exuberance caused his bowling pins to disappear off screen as he pinwheeled them into the air of the begone TV studio. Tim stood back and laughed himself, content to let his daughter have this free and seemingly endless moment to enjoy the acrobats, ventriloquists, and performing dogs that followed.

Numerous musical acts performed as well, varying in everything from style to size to music genre and background. Given the vintage of the show, Tim was surprised when the three Kim sisters, “all the way from South Korea,” came on to perform pop vocals. From there, a parade of famous and not-so famous groups performed, beginning with Elvis, to Bo Diddley, Sam Cooke, and the Beatles. It was only when The Doors came on did Tim realize just how long the show had run for and how much of American life it had captured.

That was also the time that Tim realized how long they had been in the store. Soothed by the great assortment of music punctuated by the knowingly corny presenter, he was no longer upset with his daughter, but was very concerned that his wife might be worried. To his surprise, when he picked her up, she didn’t fuss but only gestured at the television and said, “But Daddy, they have everything!”

He smiled, thinking she was right. As he moved to leave with his daughter, they both smiled at the television, where the stodgy MC gave them a smile and a wink.

Outside, his wife wasn’t angry, but relieved and confused when Tim stepped out with Gina in his arms. With their other children already gathered between them, she asked, “Where have you two been?”

Tim smiled, looked down at his daughter, then produced the only explanation he had. “I think we just saw America.”

See the author’s published work here.

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