Is your local druggist troubled by the arrival of Eckerd? Does the independent bookseller cry about Barnes and Noble? Has construction of a new Walmart caused a riot? Perhaps this fairy tale can help…
There was a town called Centerdale that had two shops. One was a small grocery, owned by Mr. Craggly, that had been there for years. It was called The General Store. The other was a giant, tremendous shopping complex, managed by Mr. Smooth, that had only been in business for a few months. It was called Meglamart.
Now, no one really liked Mr. Craggly, because he was unfriendly and was mean to dogs and little children. Nonetheless, everyone shopped at The General Store and almost no one went to Meglamart. They were used to The General Store, and they were not the kind of people who easily changed their ways.
A very old woman, named Mrs. Wrinkled, also lived in Centerdale. Her husband was long dead, and she survived off of his pension and her social security check. The one joy in her life and the one thing that she took pride in was her knitting.
One day she knit a beautiful pair of green gloves. They were so nice, and so comfortable, that she decided to take them to Mr. Craggly, to see if he would sell them in The General Store. They were so pretty, and so warm, that she was sure that someone would buy them right away and she felt she could use the extra money.
And so, on Monday, she walked into The General Store, presented them to Mr. Craggly, and said “Won’t you please sell these green gloves, so warm and pretty?”
Mr. Craggly put down the bundle of bananas that he was inspecting and glanced at them briefly. Then he said:
“Grocers sell groceries,
Everyone knows,
Shoemakers shoes,
And Clothiers clothes.
My fruits and my vegetables,
Everyone loves.
There’s no room on my shelves,
For pairs of green gloves.”Then he went back to his work.
Mrs. Wrinkled packed her gloves back in to her bag, and returned home. That night she stayed up late and knitted a new pair. This one, though still green, had little white buttons sewed on each finger.
The next day was Tuesday, and she went back to The General Store, and showed the new pair to Mr. Craggly and said “Won’t you please sell these green gloves, so warm and pretty?”
Mr. Craggly put down the box of chocolate bars he was unpacking, glanced at them briefly, and said:
“Grocers sell groceries,
Everyone knows,
Shoemakers shoes,
And Clothiers clothes.
My chocolates and sweets,
Everyone loves.
There’s no room on my shelves,
For pairs of green gloves.”Then he went back to his work.
Mrs. Craggly was not one to give up. That night, when she got home, she stayed up till midnight, and knitted an even nicer pair. This one, still green, had fancy lace-work sewn all along both the sides.
The next day was Wednesday. She showed the new pair to Mr. Craggly and said “Won’t you please sell these green gloves, so warm and pretty?”
Mr. Craggly put down the can of lima beans he was examining, glanced at them briefly, and said:
“Grocers sell groceries,
Everyone knows,
Shoemakers shoes,
And Clothiers clothes.
My cans and my bottles,
Everyone loves.
There’s no room on my shelves,
For pairs of green gloves.”Then he went back to his work.
Poor Mrs. Wrinkled was discouraged. But, nonetheless, she stayed up till the early hours of the morning and knitted the most beautiful, glorious pair of green gloves the world had ever known. It had intricate patterns that wove in and out of one another, dozens of shiny beads, and a soft, gentle texture that felt marvelous to the touch.
The next day was Thursday. She started to walk to The General Store, when an idea occurred to her. Why not bring them to that new place, The Meglamart?
She walked over to the vast center and it seemed empty. There was barely a car in the parking lot and when she walked inside she saw dozens of bored salespeople leaning against their counters, looking very lonely. She did notice piles and piles of merchandise of every imaginable kind. Every imaginable kind, that is, except green gloves.
She took the elevator to the very top floor, and walked over to the manager’s office. When she was let in she said to Mr. Smooth, who was sitting with a sad look on his face behind a giant desk, “Won’t you please sell these green gloves, so warm and pretty?”
Mr. Smooth put down the pencil he was doodling with, and looked over the gloves. He seemed quite impressed, and finally said:
“We have food, we have furniture
Bicycles, drums.
All they could want, and yet,
Nobody comes.
We have lampshades, and cameras,
And pink plastic doves.
Perhaps what we need are,
Some pairs of green gloves.”
And so, Mr. Smooth and Mrs. Wrinkled made an agreement and shook hands on it.
Mrs. Wrinkled went home and worked all night long. She knitted faster and more furiously than ever before in her life. By the time the first rays of dawn peeked over the horizon she had managed to fill a whole box with green gloves of every shape and size.
The next day was Friday, and, first thing in the morning, she brought the box over to Mr. Smooth, who happily displayed the nicest pair in the window of Meglamart.
That afternoon, Mr. Craggly put down the newspaper he was reading, and looked around The General Store. It was empty. It had been empty all day. What could be wrong?
He peeked out the door and noticed a big crowd down the street, by Meglamart. He put up his “Out to Lunch” sign, buttoned up his jacket, and then walked over to see what all the commotion was about.
When he got there, he noticed the new display in the window. He also noticed several of his oldest and most loyal customers walking out of the sliding front doors, trying on their new pairs of green gloves.
He walked back to the empty General Store, picked up his newspaper, sighed, and said:
“Grocers sell groceries,
So I’ve been told,
But everything changes,
And I’m growing old.All of my merchandise,
Everyone loves.
But business is awful,
For want of green gloves.”
