jena ardell
behind these windows
my dad used to own this shop. he retired in 2002. he sold it to the electric company that polluted the stream behind the shop. at one point there were gas pumps, but the EPA forced my dad to remove them after they wrongfully concluded the pumps were polluting the stream. "the electric company got away with murder," my mom says. imagine big business getting away with something.
i used to play with the cash register in this small room with the windows. i would take imaginary orders on the carbon copy slips. i sold girl scout cookies to my dad's costumers. my mom put the order form for the cookies in that room. with the windows. next to the coffee. there was always coffee. never any milk, only powdered creamer.
at one point, my cousin started an audio business behind these windows. the logo is still there. you can see it in the photo. next to this are the bays. that was where the action was. friends and regulars would always stop by. drink coffee. shoot the breeze. i don't know how my dad worked on cars with so many people hoovering around him. when a bay was empty, i would play on the lifts that raised the cars. whenever i visited, it was my job to answer the phones and rub kitty litter into the floor to soak up any oil.
on a photo quest, i stopped here the other day and peeked inside one of the large bay windows. the floor along the back wall where large tool boxes once stood was covered with green algae. the slime of time. i wanted to take pictures, but i couldn't. imagine me not feeling in the mood to take a photo! i didn't want "the station" (as everyone referred to it) to be remembered as desolate and dirty. run-down. potentially hazardous. instead, i searched for a section of the building that time hadn't raped. that water hadn't damaged. where glass hadn't been broken. i came to this corner. and that was the only picture i took.
behind these windows
my dad used to own this shop. he retired in 2002. he sold it to the electric company that polluted the stream behind the shop. at one point there were gas pumps, but the EPA forced my dad to remove them after they wrongfully concluded the pumps were polluting the stream. "the electric company got away with murder," my mom says. imagine big business getting away with something.
i used to play with the cash register in this small room with the windows. i would take imaginary orders on the carbon copy slips. i sold girl scout cookies to my dad's costumers. my mom put the order form for the cookies in that room. with the windows. next to the coffee. there was always coffee. never any milk, only powdered creamer.
at one point, my cousin started an audio business behind these windows. the logo is still there. you can see it in the photo. next to this are the bays. that was where the action was. friends and regulars would always stop by. drink coffee. shoot the breeze. i don't know how my dad worked on cars with so many people hoovering around him. when a bay was empty, i would play on the lifts that raised the cars. whenever i visited, it was my job to answer the phones and rub kitty litter into the floor to soak up any oil.
on a photo quest, i stopped here the other day and peeked inside one of the large bay windows. the floor along the back wall where large tool boxes once stood was covered with green algae. the slime of time. i wanted to take pictures, but i couldn't. imagine me not feeling in the mood to take a photo! i didn't want "the station" (as everyone referred to it) to be remembered as desolate and dirty. run-down. potentially hazardous. instead, i searched for a section of the building that time hadn't raped. that water hadn't damaged. where glass hadn't been broken. i came to this corner. and that was the only picture i took.