Disappearing Convenience

[7-Eleven in Taipei, 9/28/24]

In Los Angeles, “bicycle crews” of up to 50 “youths” have ransacked more than a dozen Los Angeles 7-Elevens in the last ten weeks. Police, “Although there are no reported physical injuries, several witnesses continue to fear for their safety after such aggressive and callous criminal behavior.” CBS News on 9/24/24, “Footage shows the moments that several members of the group climb onto counters, push shelves to the floor and throw items around the store.” Fatherless kids are just having fun.

In Philadelphia on 9/14/24, a 7-Eleven employee was stabbed under his armpit during a robbery at Broad and Race. Just two blocks away was City Hall, with William Penn on top. If Bill wasn’t bolted to the concrete, he would have jumped decades ago. It’s torture to see what his city has become.

On the same block is the Academy of Fine Arts. Founded in 1805 as America’s first art school, it will close for good in 2025. Though hardly anyone goes in there, the gorgeous museum will stay open. Its architect, Frank Furness, should have a street named after him. Americans, though, couldn’t care less about art. Even “educated” ones can’t name any living American painter, sculptor or architect. That’s why they believe a 52-story building can just collapse in seconds.

In 2023, 7-Eleven closed 184 American stores. This year, the final tally will be 272. Though Japanese owned since 1991, 7-Eleven is an American icon. Founded in 1927, its name is nearly synonymous with “convenience store.” Growing up in Saigon in the 60’s and 70’s, I never saw any. There’s also a wartime curfew from midnight to 6AM, so no 24-hour businesses of any kind.

In South Jersey, Wawa is so beloved, one woman told me she couldn’t imagine moving to any state without Wawas. Many New Jerseyites prefer Wawa’s hoagies to those from mom and pops. Open all night with just one or two clerks, Wawas are just as youth friendly as 7-Elevens. The Philadelphia Inquirer on 9/22/22, “Philly kids ransacking Wawa was ‘a scene from the apocalypse.’” A hundred joyfully participated.

After that last sentence, I ran out to get some breakfast, but this isn’t tropical Vietnam where eateries and cafes open before sunrise. There’s Fuhong Beef Noodles, but that’s nearly half a mile from here. Tried it the other day. Pretty good. An interesting touch was the free supply of pickled mustard greens, left in a plastic tub on the table. Vietnamese beef soup would have come with more leaves than a colony of koalas can swallow.

Finding no noodle joint within three blocks, I settled for a salad with egg and potato, a bar of Always 85% Dark Chocolate, a Viva bag of almond slivers with dried anchovies and a large cappuccino, all available at, you guess it, 7-Eleven. Bruce Jenner or Serena Williams wouldn’t eat such a breakfast. I bypassed a Family Mart and a Hi-Life. Convenience stores have spread across Asia. There are about 2,600 7-Elevens in China. Most are open 24 hours. In Vung Tau, I go to the South Korean GS25 to get my kimchi.

In my ideal world, there would only be mom and pops, but it’s hard to avoid chains. In Taipei, there are all these Mos Burgers. If I didn’t have to stay away from bread and French fries, I’d just bounce back and forth between Tomorrow’s dancing girl and Mos. In a Taipei museum, there’s a rice grain, I hear, with the Sistine Chapel’s ceiling reproduced, but nothing beats a Mos beef burger with bacon and cheese for $3.17.

Taipei is surprisingly affordable. You can get an excellent lunch or dinner for around $4. In an alley, I enjoyed a satisfying vegetarian meal for just $3.01, but the place smelled a bit. Paying $2.85 at an eatery behind clear plastic curtain, I had bean threads with grilled chicken and three vegetables. Only queers say “veggies.” Water was au gratis. Only homophobes would point out I just sounded like an au courant faggot. Let’s go outside, sissy. I’ll even keep my glasses on.

With large boxes of Styrofoam trays and garbage cans as decor, it wasn’t quite Michelin rated. At my table, the napkin holder kept discarded chopstick wrappers from being scattered by the wall-mounted fan. Chinese ingenuity never ceases. A quick learner, I tucked mine in. Feeling, again, that surge of pride, I should have slapped myself hard. On the too loud TV was another mother of deluges. Sure as shit, the end is near. Right in front me was an angular dude who must have survived Mao’s Long March or even the Bataan Death Stroll. On the floor in the corner were two fire extinguishers. Air raid shelters are also everywhere.

Yesterday morning, I wandered around Zhongshan, once dubbed Combat Zone. Fresh from Vietnam War butchery, American grunts converged here to raise hell for five days. Though some Western bars are still around, it’s a rather bland district. I noticed bachelors at a laundromat and inspected a tiny unmanned store selling masturbators. Despite their lurid packaging, it’s far from clear how anything worked. What the hell is a “spinner”? What does it spin?

Again finding nowhere to eat, I ducked into a 7-Eleven. Many in Asia have mini cafes where guests can inhale sushi, salads or microwaved meals. At the next table was a delivery driver in a blue T-shirt, “ECSTASY MAKES YOU CRAZY AND FUN!”

Since it’s already 10AM, I must rush outside. You can’t live and write at the same time. People who have seen and experienced the most have written nothing. Too many writers only know their laptop.

Fuck you, man, if you think this is a love letter to 7-Eleven! Consider, though, this 2014 passage from Pico Iyer, “The last thing I wanted to look at was a Japanese 7-Eleven. Yet as soon as I got to know the country, I came to realise I had moved to Japan in part in order to see that a 7-Eleven could be just as Japanese—as foreign—as any meditation hall, and no less full of wonder (or even kindness and attention). Sanctity lies not in any object but in the spirit you bring to it.”

Everything is worth contemplating. Here’s one prose poem from Joe Wenderoth’s Letters to Wendy’s:

JULY 4, 1996 (INDEPENDENCE DAY)

I wonder what “beauty” really is. I know that the little girl, Wendy, who is pictured on your cups and bags, is beautiful, and so is the green green descent into the valley. Within this descent, I can feel the overpowering order within which I am but a temporary eccentricity. This overpowering, anticipated but absent, is beauty. I’d like to spank Wendy’s white ass and fuck her hard.

Into the Taipei Metro I will now descend. There’s more than enough beauty everywhere to drive you mad, so, you too, get out now! Run, fly, swim or drown, but get out!

[Taipei, 9/28/24]

[Taipei, 9/28/24]

[Taipei, 9/27/24]

[Family Mart in Taipei, 9/27/24]