Every August my dad would take us to Progress Mens Wear in Lethbridge--even when we no longer lived there--so that we could have fresh duds for the start of the school year.
The store was owned by a man named Cyril who used to greet people coming into his shop with "What can I sell you today?". In later years, Cyril sat behind the cash desk, only the top of his head visible. But in the summer, there was always a bowl of peaches on the counter, so you knew you were welcome.
In front of Progress, there were a couple of diagonal parking spots--in later years equipped with the double Martian cyclops type meters.
Around the back, the Progress looked its true 1930s self.
But nowadays there is no sidewalk in front. Still, left over from the past, is a sign advertising that everything is "on sale at low low price".
It's not that there were actual sale price tags on everything, or signage showing the original price crossed out with an oblique stroke by a black grease marker--the kind that used to recharge with ink in a can that held a fatter and a thinner marker, and that you were supposed to use like a pain brush, rather than gripping it like a pen, although sometimes there were signs.
No, the regular prices at Progress were always low. But the whole point of going to Progress was to haggle with Cyril, who would give you a deal if you bought in quantity. What constituted a big purchase depended on the customer--particularly the size of their family and how often they came to the shop. If you had a really large family, and were buying a lot by anybody's standards, you always got an incredible discount.
Cyril was from the old world "pay what you can" school. But more modest savings were available for purchases of almost every size. Cyril always seemed averse to requests for a deal, but that was a bargaining stance, and once you got past that, things loosened up.
A deal at Progress wasn't necessarily concluded based on what you brought to the cash desk. Sometimes Cyril would say "I'll give you those for $4.99 each, but you have to buy 5 pairs" (when you only had 3 on the counter. Or he would tell you you could have the price you wanted if you selected from a different rack.
Some locals believed Cyril bought his stock at a fire sale, and begrudged him even his "low low price". The shoe boxes never smelled of smoke, and he usually styles that were only sightly out of date, so that would rule out a questionable inventory.
If you could get over having stuff that was ever so slightly retro, you could outfit yourself for 10 bucks, in 1970s dollars.
We always got Basket Masters--sneakers that came in low tops and high tops, black or white.
My older brother, rationalizing the choice--it was the only choice in sneakers at Progress--said "You take the kind you get, kid, the kind with the soft toes".
You never left Progress without anything smaller than a wholesale shirt box--and a handwritten sales slip, which Cyril signed, and gave you with something in between a grin and a grimace. But you could get beyond that, too.
The store was owned by a man named Cyril who used to greet people coming into his shop with "What can I sell you today?". In later years, Cyril sat behind the cash desk, only the top of his head visible. But in the summer, there was always a bowl of peaches on the counter, so you knew you were welcome.
In front of Progress, there were a couple of diagonal parking spots--in later years equipped with the double Martian cyclops type meters.
But nowadays there is no sidewalk in front. Still, left over from the past, is a sign advertising that everything is "on sale at low low price".
It's not that there were actual sale price tags on everything, or signage showing the original price crossed out with an oblique stroke by a black grease marker--the kind that used to recharge with ink in a can that held a fatter and a thinner marker, and that you were supposed to use like a pain brush, rather than gripping it like a pen, although sometimes there were signs.
No, the regular prices at Progress were always low. But the whole point of going to Progress was to haggle with Cyril, who would give you a deal if you bought in quantity. What constituted a big purchase depended on the customer--particularly the size of their family and how often they came to the shop. If you had a really large family, and were buying a lot by anybody's standards, you always got an incredible discount.
Cyril was from the old world "pay what you can" school. But more modest savings were available for purchases of almost every size. Cyril always seemed averse to requests for a deal, but that was a bargaining stance, and once you got past that, things loosened up.
A deal at Progress wasn't necessarily concluded based on what you brought to the cash desk. Sometimes Cyril would say "I'll give you those for $4.99 each, but you have to buy 5 pairs" (when you only had 3 on the counter. Or he would tell you you could have the price you wanted if you selected from a different rack.
Some locals believed Cyril bought his stock at a fire sale, and begrudged him even his "low low price". The shoe boxes never smelled of smoke, and he usually styles that were only sightly out of date, so that would rule out a questionable inventory.
If you could get over having stuff that was ever so slightly retro, you could outfit yourself for 10 bucks, in 1970s dollars.
We always got Basket Masters--sneakers that came in low tops and high tops, black or white.
You never left Progress without anything smaller than a wholesale shirt box--and a handwritten sales slip, which Cyril signed, and gave you with something in between a grin and a grimace. But you could get beyond that, too.
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