Crusted on Turkey to the Freezer at Bob's Store

In the antiquated era before the supermarket behemoths staked their claim, quaint neighborhoods were dotted with charming mom-and-pop shops. These were the meccas of daily sustenance: bread, milk, beer, candy, greeting cards, cigarettes - they had it all. But as the supermarket titans rose to power in the 1960s, these humble grocers crumbled like stale bread under their iron heel. All except for one - Astor Court Grocery in Astoria, Oregon, or simply “Bob’s”. 

First opened in 1921 likely by a Mr. R. Simonsen, this little David somehow managed to hold its ground against the Goliath of supermarkets. The man behind this miracle? Bob Overby - a curmudgeonly sexagenarian with a pronounced underbite, military-style crew cut and glasses that could double as magnifying glasses.

Bob's place was more than just a grocery store; it was an institution. A place where I started walking to on my own during my Easter egg hunting years; to high school binges on Doritos and Pepsi. With our family's charge account at Bob's, I felt like a king walking out with my loot. 

Bob's store was a marvel of space efficiency; every inch of its 300 square feet was crammed with everything you could possibly need or want (and some things you didn't). My mom fondly remembered her own days raiding Bob’s candy stash while pigging-out watching fresh episodes of I Love Lucy.

Bob's also served as the backdrop for several milestone moments in my life: my first act of rebellion (stealing a pack of Camel’s), my first bout of food poisoning (a hamburger that looked suspiciously lunar), and my first purchase of a birthday card so old it could've been an archaeological find. When I presented my mom her birthday card, she recalled purchasing the same one for a friend, some thirty years earlier.

But alas! Even mighty empires fall. The selection dwindled, opening hours shrank, and "Be Back Soon" signs became permanent fixtures on the front door. Bob's desperate attempt to rent out VHS tapes was as successful as a vegan at a barbecue.

Bob shut his doors in the early 2000s, and he passed away a few years later. As of the time of this writing, the store is currently in operation and specializes in Mexican goods and groceries.

But despite its quirky flaws and questionable food safety standards under Bob, we Astorians remember it fondly. Even that rotten burger couldn't sour my memories of Bob's – a testament to the power of nostalgia over common sense.

Astor Court Grocery 1921 vs. 2021

So, without further ado, I present you with this tale:

"Crusted on Turkey to the Freezer at Bob's Store."

A story inspired by all those questionable food items at Bob’s – because who wouldn’t want to read about an expired Thanksgiving turkey?

Written by Vincent Lee Roman 2:09 PM, 9^th period, Mrs. Olson’s English class, 1994.

I was sitting in a freezer at Bob's Store, and I was ready to be bought by a family for Thanksgiving. Nobody came into the store for about 3 years until this one day a family of 10 kids came into the store looking for a Turkey.

All of the family were dirty. They wanted to buy me and when they went to take me off the shelf, I was frozen-on and they had to get me off with a spatula. And they had to drag me across the floor with a chain because I was too big to carry. I weighed 296,969 pounds.

Mrs. Cheapo was the ugly hag who bargained me away from the store that day and she shoved me in the back seat with her smelly, dirty, shriveled kids. Then she drove off toward her house in a hurry to get me cooked. Their house was an old shed that had no oven or no bathroom. So, 7 1/2 of her kids went out back and started a fire to thaw me out. I was sitting there for 26 days trying to thaw out by the fire.

One day I woke up and I was almost all thawed out. But now it was past Christmas, and they still haven't cooked me yet. So finally on Valentine's Eve the poor, dirty children cut off my gobblers and cooked them in a microwave and they shoved my body in the fire, and I started to cook. After I was all roasty and toasty, they cut me up and ate me for dinner that night. Then they took my leftovers and flushed them down the toilet at City Hall.