Bruthaman

I was lucky, I thought, having procured a videotape copy of Jurassic Park while it was still in the theaters, guaranteeing me the pleasure of watching the biggest movie in America in the privacy of my own home. It didn’t matter that the case was a little blurry, and when I opened it the videotape inside looked suspiciously like the tapes I myself would record on at home, the label on it also blurry. And I got it for only 10 bucks, so it was a steal. You’re probably wondering where I got it from, Sam Goody? Or maybe Circuit City? Nah, I got it from a very reputable gentleman we in the neighborhood liked to call “Bruthaman.”

Not to be confused with Batman, Bruthaman was the epitome of a discount store, without the privacy of four walls to close him in. He plied his wares from the convenience of a cart or a table, and sometimes both. His car would usually be parked right next to his table or cart, making it easy for him to set up and break down (if sometimes he had to do it in a hurry). And Bruthman had EVERYTHING, from scarves, hats and gloves in winter, to watches in spring, to swimming trunks in summer, to music tapes and videotapes year ’round. Bruthman was even known to sell fancy Swatch watches, bracelets, fur hats, and electronic equipment on occasion too.

The best part was that you could often get whatever you wanted from him for no more than 20 bucks an item, even the ladies’ handbags that were in season, down to the latest Disney movies (that were also still in theaters). One year I stocked up on Christmas gifts for my whole family for less than 50 bucks altogether. Bruthaman’s cart was almost like a magical place, a DisneyLand of its own. I would see it from a block away, using my lovely sunglasses purchased from him for 5 bucks the week before, and I would smile.

But things weren’t always rosy when it came to our resident super hero, as I found out the day I bought the cheap copy of Jurassic Park for myself. You see, I had always bought videos and tapes for others, but never for myself, and I guess no one felt comfortable enough explaining a few things to me. Notably, that Bruthaman’s “amazing deals” were all rip-offs because he had guys going into movie theaters with hand-held cameras recording movies. In no way were his films “legit,” and they looked absolutely horrible when you tried to view them at home, shaky as all get out. I was dumbfounded. I felt like I had been punched in the gut by a baboon, taken for a ride.

Bruthaman wasn’t a godsend after all. He wasn’t a convenience store that kept giving and never took back. He was nothing more than a scoundrel preying on the poorness of the people in the community and our need to have stuff we could never afford. He made it affordable by stealing stuff and then reselling it to us at “discount.” He made us happy by copying legitimate audiotapes onto blanks and selling multiple copies of the copies to fools who didn’t know any better. Bruthaman was a fraud, and it was almost as bad as finding out that Santa Claus was just some made up bauble to entertain kids and give meaning to a holiday that already should have had so much.

And I saw his cart after that. I often still passed by his table, set up next to his car outside of a Thriftway, or a Pathmark, or a Checkers, and I skirted it, saddened by the death of hope, the idea that something could truly come cheaply but not be cheap, that everyone was inherently good inside and didn’t take advantage of others. I would see people stopped at his table, checking out the latest movies and tapes, and I would just shake my head, walking on. They would have to discover for themselves, I figured. But as for me and my house, we would shop elsewhere.

Oh, and Jurassic Park. That tape ended up in the trash where it belonged.

Sam