It's a Front

Doing my part to create hideously untrue rumors about hard working decent people.

Or

Minnesota... A hot-bed of criminal activity


My friend got out of rehab today. I can only assume he was there for one or a combination of a couple things, notably booze and cocaine. I'm actually low enough on the "call in case of" list that I didn't learn he was IN rehab until he actually got OUT of rehab. Yep, that low. We're distant friends. Acquaintances. Former coworkers. I'm of course thrilled to hear that he's making these crucial and healthy life changes. I'm sure I've got all sorts of recovery lingo (12step-ese? 12step-ish? 12 steppery?) coming my way when we have lunch next week, but that's actually not the point. His stint with the slogan-spouters got me to thinking about a little problem that I have. I'm talking, of course, about my obsessive tendency to call businesses of questionable solvency "fronts". I find myself doing this more frequently each passing year. It's not as though I'm paranoid or concerned about them per se. Call it a sick fascination. Or more endearingly... call it a quirk, a borderline OCD quirk. I know that there can't possibly be as many out there as my twisted mind would like to think there are but, let's face it, these things DO exist. Haven't you ever watched the show "Weeds"?

How about that one neighborhood Chinese Take Out restaurant that never seems to be open or doing any business? Yeah, nearly every urban neighborhood has one. Front. And don't even get me started on the GIGANTIC spice store that inhabits the absurdly large space. It's bigger than a Baby Gap. Now as near as I can fathom, their product, spice, well folks it just doesn't GET much smaller. It's powder. Smaller than powder is what? What comes before powder? Electrons? Why would anyone EVER need that much space for cumin? Come ON! It's a front! But here's the twist... It's not a drug front. No way. Much too obvious. It's a prostitution front.


Ok. Here's a question. If you wanted to run a brothel out of a legitimate business, why in the name of all that is holy, would you call it a Massage Parlor? You really just might as well call it a god damned brothel and bank on the fact that the cops have better things to do with their time than to arrest you. Not to mention you take the fun out of them catching on to your scheme right out of the equation. If they can't "bust" you, it's no fun for them.

Ding a ling...

Brothel employee: "Hello officer! How can we be of service to you today?"

Cop: "Yes ma'am, We have reason to believe that there is illegal activity happening on the premises. (gotta love copspeak) This officer suspects..."

Brothel employee: "You mean you. You mean ’I suspect.’”

Cop: Yes. This officer suspects that place of business is operating as a place of prostitution."

Brothel employee: "No shit, brainiac. What clued you in? The sign outside that says "Martha's Whores - Pay for sex here" or the lit fast food style menu behind my head.

[I should note here that I was very tempted to do a quick sketch of how something like that might look, but my mother reads this... Hi Mom... and I'm worried that might cross a line, or worse... she might have suggestions.]

Perhaps first we should break down all the signs that should lead one to believe that something of ill repute is happening behind the scenes at an otherwise by all appearances... legitimate establishment.

1. Supply/Demand of the product being offered: Does the neighborhood really need ANOTHER tanning salon on top of the five in a two block radius? Can that many people really be in the market for 18th century French faucet knobs?

2. Real Estate - How big is the business relative to the space they are using? In other words, if the property is very large and the product/service being sold there doesn't fit the size of the space... Well, the bigger the space, the higher the rent right? Why would you want to pay for a space that you're only using a small portion of?

3. Employee appearance - An abnormal amount of employees in varying states of disarray, eg. missing teeth, unkempt facial hair, etc. Or on the opposite end of the spectrum, all women, dressed in various synthetics of skin-tight quality, mysteriously graced with considerable "real estate" in a particular area. And they all look at you like you're an ice cream cone.

4. Patrons - High activity/No activity. The person entering the business doesn't match the product the business professes to sell. For example guys with unkempt facial hair and dirty parkas hanging around outside the Baby Gap or SUPER skinny hipsters in American Apparel hanging around the craft and silk flower store. Wait... That actually kind of fits. But, you get my drift.

The pharmacy/gift shop on the corner rings alarms on all four of these points. It’s enormous and I do mean ENORMOUS! Just when you think you’ve reached the margins of the establishment an entirely new room appears. It offers the standard pharmacy fare in addition to really kitschy (and not in the good way) gift-y things. Picture just about any airport “boutique” and you’re about up to speed. Not to mention it’s directly across the street from one of those super high end, trendy gift stores that much better suits the neighborhood it inhabits.

Roughly 35 percent of the shelves are empty. I’ve never seen more than one or two people in there at the same time, a girl purchasing pizza rolls (I think that was legit.) and a guy who left the store promptly when I walked in and waited outside until I left. (Ok yes. I’ve been in there a few times but that’s namely to buy a pack of gum or water on my way to the bus. I sincerely doubt my patronage is keeping them afloat.) The clerks are either a tooth deficient greyish-tinged man or an amply endowed eastern European girl. Go figure.

All together now... Let’s sing it in high C this time... “Front!”


Oh. And don't even get me started on the Stone Masons... cannibals. They have an enormous temple across the street from my apartment and every now and then I see a disarmingly scantly chaperoned line of children filing into the building and I say to myself, "Oh. The Masons are having children for dinner tonight".