Spitball Army

I’m banging my head against the wall trying to configure my Outlook program. Well, the fact is, I’m not banging my head against the wall, and I’m not even banging it against the monitor or the flat wooden area directly in front of me. Only figuratively am I banging, but quite literally I am getting a headache.

Because I don’t have to move around much to do so, I take a long moment of pause to scroll through the volumes of e-mail messages that are sequestered in a folder labeled “Laser’s Edge.” After I announced the imminent closing of my former business on 1 November 2007, I received a flood of e-mails that I stashed in this folder.  Most of these form a chorus of “Say it ain’t so!” and I have easily become wistful scanning through them.  Then, my eyes fall upon one letter, in particular.

I remember reading this letter when I first received it in my inbox three years ago. Everything in the room went silent then, as if in the thrall of some cinematic effect, and my focus was completely on the text. I don’t know that I had ever received such a heartfelt note. I certainly hadn’t received one written with such grace. Those memories come back in a rush now, as I read it again. My headache is gone, or perhaps I just no longer notice it.

29 November 2007

Fred:

You will not know who I am by reading the name at the end of this message though I suspect you would recognize my entire family if (and when) we step into your store. I just felt I had to write and express my complete dismay at the closing of Laser’s Edge.

I am truly at a loss to know where I will go to get my music “fix.” Perhaps I am partly to blame as I/we are a Napster and iTunes family but those will NEVER replace the rush I feel when I walk through your doors and through some conversation with you or your staff find some really great and usually overlooked gem that turns out to be a must-have.

Even more than the sadness that my husband and I feel, my real concern is for my kids, ages 5 and 11. I have just assumed that Laser’s Edge would be where my 11 year old would get his first part-time job, or at the very least would be the place he would spend much of his allowance and free time once he was old enough to ride his bike to your store. He has been a true music lover since he was very young (as opposed to his ripe old age now) and several times you or one of your staff has taken the time to talk with him about the latest with the Strokes or what in the world Christian Punk is when he went through his Hawk Nelson phase. His music education will be lessened with the closing of Laser’s Edge. He too feels the loss and has been upset to hear the news.

As for my 5 year old, who I must admit tends toward the Kidz Bop side of music at the moment, there is also an impact. The last time we were in the store she had the headphones on and was listening to Bruce Springsteen’s latest. She had those oversized headphones on her little face and was rockin’ out and said “Hey mommy, this guy is good!” Because I too wanted to listen to a sample of his latest I had to force her off the headphones so I could get a listen. The only way I coerced her off of Bruce was convincing her she would enjoy Bettye LaVette’s latest. So there we were, me listening to the Boss, my 5 year old listening to Bettye LaVette while my 11 year old was deep in conversation about John Mayer with the gentleman behind the counter. A true and unique “only in Homewood” experience.

And though I cannot speak for my husband, I know that he will have one less place to go to find me that little gem of a birthday or Christmas gift that I have not heard of and that he probably bought based on your recommendation, and that I always love and appreciate. Last year it was Hem. So I thank you for that!

So this is just the impact on one small family in Homewood and I know there are many more stories such as this that you may or may not have heard since you announced the closing of Laser’s Edge. I will miss your store, your weekly e-mails and mostly your true appreciation and love of music that you have been so willing to share with my family over the past 8 years.

Good Luck to you. You will be missed.

In musical respect,
The [——–] Family

A couple of weeks after I received this e-mail, Mrs. [——–] walked through the door of my shop. Inventory had become noticably thinner, and frames were beginning to come down off the wall. She looked right at me and smiled warmly before the door had even shut behind her. “Did you get my e-mail?” she asked. I immediately knew who she was. Though she accurately said at the start of her note, “You will not know who I am by reading the name at the end of this message though I suspect you would recognize my entire family when we step into your store,” I knew this kind person could only have been referring to one e-mail. No one else could have written it.

And, for the record, I remember having that conversation about John Mayer.