Parma Hardware

Guy inside is always helpful but a tad on the ZERO personality side. Throughout the years I have bought a zillion things here. Stock is limited and a tad more expensive that the big-​box stores. Lately though, he has been out of the few things I have went up there for. I had to fight the Ridgepark Square traffic and go to Lowes. booo…

Two words: grandpa’s garage.
A few more:
Classic mom-​and-​pop (or rather, grandpop-​and-​pop) hardware store that probably hasn’t seen an update in stock or space layout since the 70s but somehow gives Home Depot up the street a run for its money. Ok, not exactly a run, more like a lazy shamble, but it’s clearly worked out a symbiotic relationship with HD despite all its gentrifying force; in fact, HD staff recommended Parma Hardware when we couldn’t find what we needed.
Is Parma Hardware cluttered, dusty, dimly lit and hard to navigate? Yes, undeniably. Do the staff resemble a club of absent-​minded grandpas who have as much luck as you do looking for items? Sure. But does it carry a certain charm that delights seven-​year-​olds and the adventuresome, treasure-​hunting, seven-​year-​old in me? Absolutely.
Despite the crumbling appearance of the interior and some of their stock, Parma Hardware seems to know how to maintain exactly the right amount of an eclectic collection of tools, parts, and hardware accessories to stay in business and complement Home Depot’s superstore supply. We went in looking for a few odd-​sized stainless steel washers and a nut and were able to find exactly what we needed, even after the Depot – in all its franchised, superstore glory – failed.
But what will keep us coming back was not our successful search – though that helped – but rather the whimsical exploring and accidental discoveries we made in our ramble through Parma Hardware. Inexplicable hand-​drawn faces on random objects, walls, and corners throughout the store? Check. Hand-​written labels and painstakingly etched illustrations of tools taped to tiny drawers reminiscent of old-​school library catalog drawers? Check. Cheesy cartoons and items with packaging featuring models in 50s attire? Check.
To truly enjoy Parma Hardware, prepare for a moment – several moments – of childlike wonder. There’s never been a store more ripe for scavenger hunts. Bring your inner kid – hell, bring your real (responsible) kids, nephews, neices. Keep them out of the rusty nails and sharp blades, and you’ll be guaranteed an entire afternoon of recession-​friendly, free entertainment.

«Mornin’. Got a 14 millimeter Frimple spanner? That’s all I need, and everything will work.»
«Uh, yeah. Let’s see… here’s a ⁹⁄₁₆^th! That should do the trick.»
Unconvinced, I continue to paw through a few hundred years’ worth of old, dusty parts. Things I haven’t seen for years, things that haven’t been manufactured since the Big War, things that lost meaning, and purpose, and utility during the Second Harrison Administration.
Second guy comes over to, you know. «Help.» He starts pawing around, right next to me. Three grown men, spending their day sifting through the past, remembering a simpler time, a time of hoop skirts, and ice cream socials, and employment.
«And right here, look at THIS! An original Bimbleman short-​shaft elbow dinker! Only seven bucks!»
I feel the blood draining from my head. The room begins to swirl. A disembodied voice from high above chants: «You’re shopping local… you’re shopping local…» I fall to one knee. Must. Stay. Awake.
«Thanks, guys, but I think I’ll…»
«You can’t make it work.» I swear on a stack of Popular Mechanics that’s the last thing he said, as I crawled to the door, and headed a half mile north, to Home Despot. I tried, guys. I tried to pay you twice the going rate for a simple item stocked in every big box store.
(Parma Hardware is out of business. They just don’t know it, yet.)