bo·de·ga (bōˈdāɡə) noun. A small grocery store, especially in a Spanish-speaking neighborhood.
Bodegas are 7-Elevens with character. They were once an essential part of New York life but their numbers are dwindling. British artist Lucy Sparrow not only has a charming name, she also has recreated an old fashioned bodega except that it’s stocked with goods and produce made of felt. Her medium is felt. Here is Ms. Sparrow in her Fauxdega in a pic I cribbed from the New York Times.
The individual pieces are for sale. All are painstakingly assembled by hand.
The idea was to open the exhibit until June 30th but the pieces are selling so quickly that they estimate the store will be stripped bare by next week. They occasionally have to close the store to restock the shelves.
They carry a nice selection of personal hygiene products.
There’s a variety of soft drinks and liquor.
If you buy a Corona, you get a lime with it.
And speaking of lime…there’s a fruit and vegetable section.
In the back is a room with larger pieces mounted in Plexiglas cases for sale.
Edition of 10
Bottom: Cereal Killer
Edition of 20
I Want Candy
Edition of 20
Under the checkout counter is a selection of gum and candy.
Lucy Sparrow is the checkout girl. Is that part of the exhibit?
I left my wallet in Starbucks. Have you ever lost your wallet? Your whole world is upended. Among the usual horrors, it was June 1st—only one day into my $400/month commuting pass. I raced back from my office, down 40th Street, overwhelmed with hopelessness and self-loathing.
A customer—a girl—turned it in. A Starbucks employee went to the back room, brought it out and handed it to me. Nothing was missing. I couldn’t believe it. I still can’t.
I mentioned this episode to a few friends and more than one said I’m lucky Starbucks attracts an honest, worldly clientele. Is that true? Would I have been less likely to recover my wallet if I’d dropped it in a White Castle or a Burger King? This opens up uncomfortable questions about economic class. Perhaps the customers at McDonald’s are just as honest, but in more dire circumstances? Or perhaps my well-meaning friends were reducing them all to a stereotype?
I’ve returned to the same Starbucks several times hoping the girl who returned my wallet could be identified but to date, she has not been. I’m haunted by this. Someone did an incredible kindness for me and I never thanked her.