In My Neighborhood by Tara Cullen

     In my neighborhood, I know how to get a deal. I know to talk to store owners and get what I need. When I wanted a vacuum, I simply told them how much I wanted to spend. They give you a basic model, cheaper than normal, to accommodate your price. Because they know you’ll spend money there if they give you what you want.

     I don’t buy premium paint. I go to the little store in Boro Park that is closed Friday afternoon and Saturday like half the stores in my neighborhood. The Hassidim may not look directly at you, the may place your credit card on the counter rather than hand it to you, but they help you out. Because they know if they give you what you want, you’ll take the longer walk there again.

     When I needed a fairly large amount of plexi-glass for someone who wasn’t installing a huge bay window, I called around. I shared prices with competitors, told them what I wanted. In the end, I got a 10% discount on the glass and holes drilled in it for practically nothing. I did the same when buying mattresses. I never call Sleepy’s or Home Depot to get the supplies I need. They won’t cut you a deal. They don’t care if you are willing to walk out the door. But the family owned businesses respect your money savvy and they cut you a deal.

     In my neighborhood, accommodating you is something shopkeepers seem to do with pleasure, a smile and a how is your day attitude. I have a permanent discount on cigarettes at the corner store near the subway. When I'm in the mood to buy a bag a pretzels or Doritos, I am never charged full price.

     They sell Coke and Sprite in glass bottles. Both beverages taste so good out of a glass bottle. People look at you as if you’ve stepped out of 1955 when you sit on the subway drinking a glass bottle of Coke. When I’m in the mood for one, they know to open the bottle for me even though I could with the bottle opener attached to my key chain. The older man who works there has a bottle opener stashed somewhere. He opens my bottles with this. The younger guy uses the edge of the counter and his palm. I like the self-congratulatory smile he gives me after he’s opened a bottle this way. He calls me “my girl” and always has something nice to say.

     Due to antiquated blue laws in New York State, you aren’t allowed to buy beer from the hours of 4 am to 12 pm on Sunday. In my neighborhood, the deli owner near the entrance of the subway that is opened late-nights forgets about this rule as needed. We did not get this treatment when we first moved to the neighborhood. It was the law and the law is the law. But now, he tells us we can. He lets us know our business is appreciated.

     In my neighborhood, the Russian ladies at Old McDonald’s Farm vegetable stand are hard to get along with. They seem cold and standoffish. They like to call the next person to the register when you are still putting away your change. I’ve learned if you ask how they are, say thank you or have exact change, you can get them to smile. Sometimes, now, they smile at me when I enter.

     The Asian ladies at the multi-ethnic market/vegetable stand up the street helped load my grocery bags onto my arms, put away my change and made sure I was okay to walk with my goods when I’d burnt my finger and only had use of one hand. The men at the pizzeria like to bring you your food if you are eating in. They like to walk over to you and deposit your paper plate with a slice thrown on top, slide it in front of you as you are watching the news like everyone else in there and say “Enjoy.”

     In my neighborhood, the little Russian, Asian and Hispanic ladies ask me to change the channel in the laundry mat. Because I am just tall enough to reach the buttons. I can’t see what buttons I am touching so they stand back and direct my finger to the channel up or down and then we put on something we all want to watch while we fold our clothing.

     In my neighborhood, children play until it is too dark to see. They congregate on the street corner a block from mine and spread out from there. They ride bikes, scooters, play games with found objects like stick ball using a piece of PVC that the apartment building had put out for the day. They chase each other around and play elaborate games of hide-and-seek. Their older brothers and sisters are seen walking around the neighborhood in packs, settling on someone’s stoop.

     In my neighborhood, people say hello to each other. I even get hellos blocks from home now that I know more people. Mothers and retirees sit on stoops in the afternoon and in the evenings after the family has been fed. In my neighborhood, Arab, Indian, Chinese, Russian, Mexican, Korean, Pakistani, Italian, Black, Hassidim and various others all live next to each other with their children playing in the streets together. And even if they may say hushed things in different languages amongst each other, they all see we live the same way, shop in the same stores and know how to get a deal.