There is a type of store that has almost ceased to exist in America. It could be called an “owner-unoccupied” store or an “on-your-honor market.” These stores are very rare, if not totally extinct, in the urban centers of our country. However, a precious few remain in the hinterlands, and luckily enough, there are a few examples holding on right here in Northeast Georgia.
In an owner-un-occupied store, the merchant places his or her product in an open stand by the side of a road and then actually trusts his or her customers to pay for the merchandise without being watched over by anyone. I know this seems almost unbelievable to us modern, cynical folks. We all just know that something would get stolen.
Jesus might have said to “Love Thy Neighbor,” but he didn’t say anything about trusting them, did he?
And yet, right here in our county, at least three or four honor stands are open to a fair degree of success. They contain honey and other farm produce, and there is nothing much there to greet the customers except a locked and bolted-down box for the cash, although rumor has it that some miniature cameras are strategically placed. Also, one honey seller admits she loses an occasional jar but figures the thief probably needed the food more than she needed the revenue, so she hasn’t punished everyone for the failures of a few.
Thinking back on this matter of trust, I remember my grandfather’s general store down in Metter, Georgia. Back in the 1920s, it was the practice of small town stores to keep a tab for the bulk of their customers. That way, a small child could come in, announce whatever his or her mother needed, and Mr. Carl would put it on the tab. At the end of the month, he could trust that the family would settle up their bill, and the townsfolk would trust that my grandfather would be honest with the accounting. Everything was built on trust. And that worked fine until 1929 when, all of a sudden, nobody had any money, and as my grandfather said, “that account book wasn’t worth the paper it was written on.”
My grandfather had to close his little store and become a car salesman, which, in the long run, suited him pretty well. He loved cars and he loved people, and the combination pleased him.
Part of the pain of the Great Depression was the end of trust in the small-town business world. Of course, it didn’t happen all at once, and some places were worse than others, but never had so many been struck by financial ruin. Tough times can make some people more compassionate, but they can also harden hearts and pocketbooks.
Of course, not every food is sold this way, but you could manage a pretty fair diet consisting of honey and vegetables. I wonder how an unmanned cookie stand would do? Ice cream cones? Only time will tell. For now, it is simply nice to see the era of trust creep gradually back into our lives, one small road stand at a time.
