Penny Candy

          The old store was an antique building, with warped, worn wooden floors. To the right of the counter was a long glass display case, where children would stand and choose, "5 Atomic Fireballs, and 5 Mary Janes, and a bag of purple Swedish Fish, and 5 Fortune Bubbles...", clutching the immense wealth of two quarters in their sticky fingers. The loot was deposited into a paper bag, crumpling with the promise of sugar highs, crafty trades, and exasperated mothers.
          Penny candy was a concept heading fast for fond memory when I was little; it wasn't economically feasible for storekeepers to expend all that manpower for pennies. There wasn't much that was a penny, either; the good stuff was a nickel, although twenty-five Swedish Fish was still twenty-five cents, counted out and tied off in a clear plastic sandwich baggie. But the Country Market preserved the sweet tradition.
          Years later, I worked at the old store, making submarine sandwiches at the deli for the lunch crowd and selling candy that was penny in name only. The glass case had been given over to Beanie Babies, but the chewy, sticky Swedish Fish and related confections were still available in their plastic baggies, and still only a quarter. Selections from both made their way home with me, Tuffy the Terrier standing guard over empty calories. I enjoyed my time in the old building, which my boss informed me had been a butcher shop back in the day. The wooden floors creaked, and the store was imbued with the rich, warm aromas of a place where much living had been done. Simple human history sighed gently from those walls.
         But time and history slip into the past. The owners prospered, and tore down the old building, replacing it with a new structure that included a Drunken Donuts [sic]. As is so often the way, the new is not an improvement over the old-not only has a minor landmark been lost, but the new parking lot is more dangerous, which is utterly amazing, as the old parking lot was merely a cul de sac off of the highway. The new store has level floors and bright fluorescent lights, but none of the evocative small town character of the old store.