MIMOSAS FOR ONE

 

  As I enter the record shop, I search for the fresh arrivals bin.   Sometimes the owner...I assume...small record shops usually don’t have many employees...anyhow, sometimes they are friendly, often times they’re aloof. Look, I get it. You don’t know me, and I’ve seen people window shop for 30 minutes, leaving empty handed.  I don’t window shop for records. I will take a quick pass. Quickly surveying for familiar artists, coveted titles, interesting covers. Then I will settle in for a second more in depth dig. Every section checked over at least twice. And please tell me you have a listening station.  Once selections have been made, I approach the register, a sense of accomplishment and giddy enthusiasm overtaking me. These precious babies are mine. After an often pleasant exchange, I walk out the door. I shop around because I want to spread the love. I have my favorites, and some of them know me, but variety is the spice of bankruptcy.  What you don’t see: I’m...