A $60,000 GoFundMe for Department store is essentially an attempt to resuscitate a decapitated person.
My name and identity don’t matter, but my message does. I am well known around this city and I saw the implosion of Department Store before it even happened.
See, the thing is I know Louis, the owner. The first night they opened I stumbled in there drunk as shit with about 20 people and we were the only ones in there. Ever since then it was our spot. We called it department store because there was no sign except the chipped paint on the bricks that read the aforementioned.
Louis had a clean ass 750i BMW. A few months in, a fine ass thick ass Cuban started standing by the door. Her tongue ring glistened as the words “hey boo” flicked off her tongue. She was Louis’ “wife.” Very nice and very flirtatious. I knew he was paying for it. That was sign number 1. Then the drinks started flowing way too easily. Sometimes I wouldn’t even order a drink n a double shot of Evan Williams would appear in front of me. It was the cheap stuff, so I didn’t pay much attention to it, but that was sign number 2.
As department store grew in notoriety, the demographic of the crowd changed. The cute hipster chicks and recent college grads started to fade out and the locust-like “scene niggas” started to flood in due to word of mouth. Accurate stories of fine chicks doing coke in the bathroom and everybody leaving Edgewood with some ass that at least ranked a 7 on a 1-10 scale. That’s enough to bring any nigga out. This was sign number 3. The demographic then evolved to literally drug dealers, drug buyers, and first timers who were late to the scene. The crowd grew in size but the ratio of men to women grew to about opposite that of the AUC. Sign 4.
As time progressed, I noticed that now of all the people in this tiny ass, hot ass, dark ass bar were mostly male and all high on something but no one had a drink in their hand. I constantly had to fight through the crowd just to order a drink from the bar. Usually when someone has to do this it means there’s a long line to buy drinks, but not in Department Store. The bartenders were bored and desperate for customers. So much so that if you did find your way to buy a $5 drink, you could get two drinks if you just followed the bartender’s simple directions: “throw me something.” Sign 5.
By this time I had sunk my proverbial fangs into one of the bartenders and would ravish her insides on occasion. I got the inside scoop on how much money they would count in the basement (also used for vip drug use area) every night. A band or so on a slow night. 8 or 9 bands on a good night. Sign 6. Not too much longer did I get word that the same bartender I was laying the pipe to got fired for stealing. Sign 7. Then the manager who fired aforementioned bartender gets fired for reasons unknown (probably stealing). Sign 8. Meanwhile, Louis, the owner, buys a brand new Maserati. The crowd at department store keeps growing in size. So much so that the whole Edgewood avenue has increase foot traffic exponentially and 4 new bars opened to get their piece of the action. Also, I get word that resident DJ and well known coke head (who happens to still owe me $180 for some finely crushed up eggshells 👀) is crashing at Louis’ spare crib. Sign 9.
Now, suddenly signs that read “DRUG FREE ZONE! NO DRUGS” are being PLASTERED on every door and window in department store. Literally, sign 10. All of these were the signs that led up to the eventual demise of department store. You can’t run a BAR (establishment that makes money from alcohol sales) with customers that don’t buy alcohol. They aren’t even customers, just space takers. Eventually whatever funds loaned by the bank to front the start up AND operational costs of department store had to run out. Without turning a profit the only result was clear. Shutdown. But did Louis even try insurance fraud and burn the place down? Nope. He just rode it out til the wheels fell off. Sad story. But hey when your pay for stay “wife” leaves you and your first instinct is to buy a new car, something should tell you that either you got everything handled or you can’t handle anything at all. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that that fine ass thick ass Cuban who I SWEAR woulda let me hit if I said more than hi, brought her mom and aunt one night to survey department store and make sure that everyone paid to get in. A tactic that could only arise from Louis telling her that he ain’t got her shopping money. All in all, the moral of this story is, if it’s too good to be true then that motherfucker is a bold face lie.