DuluthCommunityNews

Nine months ago, Karen and her husband Patrick opened Obscuriousities Retro, which specializes in vintage anything–clothing, books, vinyl LPs—as long as it keeps the obscure in Obscurities. There’s a Rodney Dangerfield “No Respect� board game above one of the bookshelves.

She returns to the store in the living room of her home with her purchases—cream soda and some smokes. She burns a cigarette under the balcony before coming back inside. The rain will probably slow the weekend’s business, she says between drags.

But even if business isn’t exactly booming, it’s going better than they had imagined. Patrick sells things on eBay and Amazon, which brings in a little extra cash, but neither he nor Karen has had to get a side job, like both had expected.

Patrick describes the origins of the business as “an accident.� The short version of the story is that he hooked up with the wrong travel companion and found himself alone in the Alaskan Frontier.
He worked his tail off for a month or so at a fishery and came back with $10,000. A few years, investments and mortgages later he bought the house on Fourth Street and opened Obscuriousities.

In fact, they didn’t even start the business to make money really; not that they’d turn some down. They started it because if it worked out the way they hoped, they’d be doing exactly what they’re doing right now. Patrick, a night person, is sleeping, resting up to work the night shift and for a gig after that at Pizza Lucé with his band Hotel Coral Essex.

Karen doesn’t have to work in a cubical, which is something she hates. Obscuriousities is the Nelson’s alternative to corporate America.

“It just bothers me that CEOs are making millions,� she says, “while some people don’t even have health care.�

But even in the world of vintage clothes sales there can be some ugly scenes. Next weekend, for instance, Goodwill is having their yearly blowout of vintage clothing and jewelry, and Karen is getting mentally prepared.

“We’ll open the doors (this Saturday at 7 a.m.) and have a crowd of probably 200 people waiting outside,� Goodwill Manager Sherri Swenson says. "It’s huge.�

Karen says last year’s sale was like a stampede. She remembers watching helplessly as an elderly woman with a walker was shoved around like she was standing between Homer Simpson and the last donut on earth.

This year she’s bringing some family members to back her up.

She goes back inside and brings the stereo to life. Johnny Cash sings as Karen fixes her curly hair in the mirror on the counter; she quickly sets the mirror back down and mutters something about the effect the rain has on her hair. She straightens a couple shelves before returning to her seat behind the counter.

Some days, in the time she has between customers, which can be hours at a time, she does housework–dishes, laundry, that kind of thing–while listening for the doorbell, or reads. Today, she is preparing for one of the busiest times of the year in the vintage clothing business: Halloween. She’s making pumpkin shaped price tags to hang on the racks.

Two women come in and wander through the other room, across the burn marks left over on the hardwood floors from a fire. The younger of them is obviously no stranger to vintage clothing stores, is looking for “one of those ceramic butter holders with the tops.�

Karen disappears to the back of the house and returns a moment later with something that will work, something that even has mushrooms on it, and a sale price is negotiated:

How much for that?

I was gonna put like six-fifty on that.

Hmm. Alright.

On their way out, the older of the two customers, a woman about 50, perhaps the comments on how she used to have all this stuff. The younger replies that it’s too bad she doesn’t still have it because then she could give it to her.

They leave as quickly as they came in. Karen goes back to work on her pumpkins.