That Blue Light Special Magic: A Love Letter to Kmart's Heyday

As a kid, the simple act of "going to the store" was a genuine adventure. Sure, I probably would have preferred the bright lights of a mall, but even our regular trips to local staples like TG&Y, Delchamps and the small-town Kelly’s IGA in Milton, Florida, hold a cozy spot in my memory. Maybe it’s the inherent compulsive window shopper in me, but those trips were always fun. Yet, one store, in particular, captured my imagination for life, especially as the Christmas season approached: Kmart.

Growing up in small Southern towns during the 1970s and 80s, our retail landscape wasn't exactly overflowing with options. This was long before the retail behemoth Walmart rolled into our area. We had a brief flirtation with Zayre before it became Ames and then vanished, but Kmart was the destination. As the formerly robust TG&Y began to thin out—its once-great shelves becoming barer and its product selection shrinking closer to a dollar store's—Kmart became my family’s reliable anchor. And trust me, I still have immense fondness for TG&Y, the place my dad bought a lawnmower that ran for nearly two decades and where I spent hours in the electronic, record, toy and pet sections wishing I would be able to pick something out and mama or daddy would buy it for me to take home. But Kmart? That was where the real magic was. The Heyday of Everything-Under-One-Roof

It’s funny how the small, everyday components of our childhood—like the ubiquitous department store—are now just a collection of vivid memories. In our town, Kmart felt like the slightly classier, more upscale alternative—the Target to the era's Walmart, which would have been TG&Y. Kmart had nicer items and some great brand names, even if we as kids dreaded being caught in anything that obviously screamed "Blue Light Special."

And speaking of those Blue Light Specials—who could forget that siren call? You'd hear "Attention K-Mart Shoppers," and then, like a synchronized retail ballet, a rumble of shopping carts would converge from every direction, leading to the flashing blue light that was eerily reminiscent of a police car. Witnessing my mom and old ladies make a frantic dash for deeply discounted staples like Fruit of the Loom panties, Cannon Washcloths or Mead Filler Paper was horrifying at the time. Looking back, though, it was pure, small-scale excitement—a mini, everyday version of Black Friday.

Kmart truly was a one-stop shop for almost everything except groceries initially (a venture they attempted later in the 1990s). If you told someone today that Kmart had a full-scale paint department in its large hardware section or a huge sporting goods section where you could browse a vast selection of roller skates, tennis balls and even bowling balls and bags, they'd look at you with utter disbelief—unless they lived through the Kmart heyday.


My absolute favorite time to shop at Kmart was during Christmas. As a kid, it seemed to carry the best decor—my mom’s Christmas cards from Kmart were always stunning. Later, when I moved to Atlanta, my partner Terry and I, frequented the two-story Kmart across from the Lindbergh MARTA station. It even had an escalator that led down to a basement level where the hardware, sporting goods, and, most importantly during the holidays, the massive Christmas section resided.

Kmart’s holiday offerings were surprisingly high-quality. Their glass ornaments were top-notch and usually priced better than other stores. I still have a few strands of Christmas lights I bought there in the early 2000s and aside from the slight fading of the blue bulbs, they work perfectly!

The brand selection was impressive, too. You’d find their Trim A Home® signature holiday brand with a wide array of lights, tree skirts and themed ornaments. They also carried items from Gemmy Industries (known for those fantastic outdoor decorations like Santas and snowmen) and other private label collections like Christmas Tidings. Whether you needed shatterproof globes, lawn figures, themed bath mats or even those novelty gingerbread houses, Kmart was stocked and ready for the season.

The toy section, especially for a pre-teen in the 80s, was spectacular. I liked things that were slightly off the cutting edge of the latest fad and Kmart had a perfect mix of older stock and newer releases. Many of my original Masters of the Universe action figures came from Kmart, as they often seemed to get the new waves before TG&Y.

My mama, a devoted crocheter, loved making everything from scarves to massive afghans. While TG&Y had a huge selection of colors, Kmart’s slightly smaller yarn section often carried a selection with a softer, less scratchy feel. I vividly remember her creating a huge, cozy afghan out of skeins of blue and creamy white yarn from Kmart—it reminded me of a perfect winter sky.

And we can’t talk about Kmart without praising their layaway program. In an era before credit cards were ubiquitous and easy to use, layaway was a lifeline. It allowed people, like my mom, to reserve items they needed for a future date, such as Christmas gifts (Hey Santa I’m thinking about you!) and pay for them in manageable installments until the purchase was complete. It was a true act of community and financial assistance that is sorely missed today.

After Walmart finally arrived, my mom gravitated toward their lower prices, but my dad remained loyal to Kmart, particularly for their garden center. After the Milton, Florida store moved to a newer, larger location a mile or so west of the original store on Highway 90, the vibe was never quite the same.

Yet, even in its final years, Kmart tried to step up its game. Who would have thought the store of our childhood would host clothing lines from names like Martha Stewart, Jaclyn Smith, Sandra Lee and even Adam Levine? In the end, the very last Kmart I frequented, the Peachtree City location, had an Adam Levine collection that genuinely impressed me. I guess it was an effort to reinvent themselves and keep up with the changing retail landscape but as with so many greats, it was a little too late to recapture some of that old department store glory.

Today, Kmart lives on as a nostalgic memory, a symbol of a time when the "department store" was the centerpiece of small-town retail life. That iconic blue light may have gone dark, but the memory of those Christmas trips and the excitement of the layaway counter remains brightly lit.-----Thank you for joining me on this walk down memory lane. I truly enjoy sharing these little pieces of my history with you. Did you have a favorite department store growing up? Perhaps a treasured Blue Light Special score? I'd love to hear your memories in the comments below! If you enjoy these nostalgic stories about the things that shape us, consider sharing this post with a friend or perhaps you could even contribute a little something toward my next writing adventure—every comment and contribution helps keep these memories alive!

Last Night’s Dream: My Unexpected Pet, The Color Yellow, Spikes and Feathers

Have you ever had a dream so vivid, so utterly personal, that you wake up feeling like you’ve been on a full-blown adventure? That's what happened to me last night. It’s the kind of dream that sticks to your subconscious like glitter, forcing you to wonder about its meaning and frankly, its cinematic potential. It involves a very special boy I named Valo.

I have odd dreams, sometimes the beginning is just me sleeping and eventually seeing everyday stuff or even visiting friends or family that have passed on. Sometimes I feel like I am either time travelling or astral projecting to another realm or just somewhere else than where my body is. I don’t really have nightmares, I used to but they haven’t happened in a long time, not really since I was a kid. So this one began just sort of started with me being at home, not the one I currently live at but something different and it switched over to something that felt like a moment of pure, unadulterated joy. I was simply walking in my yard, near a tree, when I found him: a bright, sunshine-yellow hedgehog. Bear in mind, I am colorblind and yellow is one of the colors on the spectrum that I can’t see but I can only imagine what it is. Anyway, I scooped him up and in that instant, he looked in my eyes and it looked like he was smiling. He snuggled against my hand and he was mine. I named him Valo, because he truly was a little ray of light. He was the happiest boy I have ever met, his little snout twitching.

What made Valo truly unique wasn't just his shocking color, but his unexpected talents. He was an absolute menace on the ground, but he somehow, impossibly, became an aerial acrobat. Valo could climb trees with the agility of a squirrel and he quickly befriended all the birds in the trees. It was a bizarre, beautiful little community we had that he had convinced to come out of hiding high up in the branches and visit with me, not just birds but squirrels and chipmunks. There was only one enemy in our peaceful, arboreal existence: the dark shadows of hawks, who would circle above, their eyes sharp with predatory hunger. I became Valo’s fierce protector, always keeping one eye on the sky. There was also an old owl that kept watch also, he was the only bird who didn’t partake in a physical friendship but it felt like he was with us no matter what.

One cool, quiet night, I took Valo to hang out and look up at the stars because he seemed to love them. He scampered ahead, heading straight for the tallest, gnarliest oak tree in the yard. I watched him climb, a tiny, golden beacon against the dark wood and then he simply disappeared into the canopy. I waited, but he didn't return.

That's where the scene shattered and reformed. Suddenly, I wasn't waiting under the oak tree. I was traveling, deep into what I can only assume was my book signing tour, a reality I hope will happen one day soon. Yet, I wasn't focused on the crowds or the signings. My eyes were glued to the ground and trees, following a curious, almost magical trail of bright yellow feathers. It was like a golden breadcrumb path. I instinctively knew: Valo hadn't just vanished. He had shifted. My hedgehog, my happiest boy, had transformed into a bird, a creature of the sky he seemed to be so close to in the trees. The trail of feathers always seemed to be wherever I found myself, from Pensacola to Los Angeles, from one book event to the next.

The tension in the dream started building and became excruciating because I felt like I was so close to finding him, to reuniting with either the hedgehog or the bird, when my body’s cruel alarm clock (my bladder) woke me up telling me it was time to pee. I was left with the profound, unsettling feeling of an adventure cut short and there was more to Valo than just a hedgehog that transformed into a bird. So the unresolved ending of that dream has been the most frustrating part of my day because I couldn’t figure out the dream’s purpose and wondered what the ending would be so I decided to write about it and use my imagination for possibilities. Here are a few ways my journey with Valo might have ended:

As I reach the final stop of my last book event, someone hands me a yellow feather from a bird the exact same color as Valo as a hedgehog and later the bird and asks me to sign his copy of my book to Valo. My bright, happy hedgehog had fully shifted to something else. He is now a casual, engaging human being, a handsome man who looks like a real life version of my favorite doll from Barbie, a real like version of an Alan doll, with an electric, almost golden energy and a slightly mischievous glint in his eye. He’s standing right behind me and he simply says, "Finally caught up, Adrian. Thank you for taking care of me as a baby and never giving up on finding me. Now that I found you, are you ready for that date?" Valo became my boyfriend, a totally unique and wonderful person and the adventure had just begun.

I find the bird, not realizing he's not Valo, but another bird I named Tails, a nod to that other famous yellow hedgehog's flying friend. Valo, as the yellow bird, has flown on, having served his purpose to show me that I too, can achieve a new level of personal freedom and overcome my "hawks" (my personal fears and anxieties). He didn't need to be caught; he needed to be free.

The trail of feathers leads me not to a creature, but to a pristine, yellow quill pen sitting on a velvet pillow. Valo wasn't meant to be kept, but to be a catalyst. The entire book signing tour was the real-world manifestation of the dream's core message: The adventure is the writing, and Valo, in his final form, has become my enduring muse, a permanent companion in my creative process.

Now I'm left with the lingering memory of a yellow hedgehog who could climb trees and a trail of feathers that led me across an imagined world. The dream felt like a gift, a story from my subconscious. What do you think happened to Valo? Did he become a person, a muse or is he still flying, a little yellow bird just out of sight?

I'd love to hear your thoughts and interpretations in the comments below. Every perspective helps me understand this surreal little journey!

And if you enjoyed this glimpse into my dream world and would like to support more of these stories (or maybe help fund a trip to the nearest pet store to look for a real, slightly-less-magical Valo), you can always show your appreciation. Your readership is the greatest gift, but any small contribution toward my next creative project is incredibly kind and always welcome. Thank you for reading!

A Nostalgic Goodbye to Fingerhut: Remembering the 'Buy Now, Pay Later' Catalog

Not a real Fingerhut catalog but this captures the essence of a real one

Oh, the catalogs. I swear, growing up, our mailbox could have been less of a mail receptacle and more of a gateway to a museum of mailorder business. We had the heavy-hitters, Sears, Spiegel, Montgomery Ward, JC Penny but the one that always seemed to show up, year-round, was the Fingerhut catalog. It was just there, no matter if my mom was ordering or not.

Honestly, I didn't pay much mind to Fingerhut until I hit my teens. That's when my high school sweetheart, Richie, became a customer. I'll never forget the saga of the comforter. It was the early 90s in Pace, Florida and Richie was proud of the decorative comforter he’d ordered. His mom, Rose, on the other hand, made fun of him because he got it from Fingerhut. Looking back, Rose was kind of a cantankerous person who instilled enough passive aggressiveness in her parenting that one couldn’t tell if she was just being mean or just didn't get the magic. The comforter was cozy, not feminine, not basic and frankly, it was cute. It also served the vital purpose, Richie would share it with me while we sat next to each other on the couch and it hid the fact that we were holding hands while we watched TV with his sisters and Rose. I wasn’t in the closet but Richie was so keeping our attraction a secret was important, and yes, the pun is intended: that blanket kept us undercover. Hats off to Richie for being savvy enough to fill out that order form for a comforter that cost just $3.99 a month. I have no idea how many payments he had to make, but trust me, it was worth every single cent.

AI version of a Fingerhut-esque page

When he showed me the catalog, I was struck dumb. It wasn't just bedding; they had everything! And the most incredible part was their business model. It was all sold on the promise of credit with no credit check. You just sent in your first month’s payment, and 6 to 8 weeks later, your purchase arrived, usually just after your first bill.

Everyone talks about the music clubs—BMG, Columbia House—but no one really talks about Fingerhut's amazing business model of trust. I actually bought a few things myself and it felt like such a sophisticated adult thing to do! The only things I can vividly remember ordering was a glorious Lava Lamp and a Panasonic portable cassette player—or as we all generically called them back then, a Walkman. While not exactly as fun as getting instant gratification from buying at a store and taking home upon payment, they were delivered right to my door and I paid for them later. I only started to understand Rose’s "smack talk" years later when I realized I was probably paying double what I would have if I’d gone straight to a store and paid cash. The cassette player most likely wasn’t the newest model but it worked like a charm and it was mine.

As I got older, I realized the weird stigma attached to Fingerhut. It was the original "buy now, pay later"—kind of like reverse layaway. If you think about it historically, though, it was kinda cool; old general stores did similar things, offering accounts that people could pay off over time. But then stores like Big Lots expanded and it became clear that a lot of the items in the Fingerhut catalog were similar closeout items. Still, they had their definite place in the world of mail-order, just as Big Lots had its place in the retail world.

In my adult life, I always loved getting the Fingerhut catalog. It felt old-fashioned, comforting and a total throwback to a simpler time. I could easily jump online and buy the same things with a few clicks using a credit card or even go to the Fingerhut website and use a Fingerhut credit card, but nothing beat flipping through those glossy pages.

So, it's been a while since I received one and curiosity finally got the best of me. I went to the website and discovered the gut-punch news: they have recently gone out of business. How incredibly sad is that? To me, this company seemed like one that would last forever. It’s been around as long as I can remember.

Now that they’re gone, will you miss them? If you loved the old-school Fingerhut business, you can still check out a similar online store called Ginny’s, which is owned by Colony Brands—the company many of you might remember as Swiss Colony, who also own the current incarnation of Montgomery Ward. Were you a Fingerhut customer? What products did you buy? Share your favorite memory in the comments below.

If you enjoyed this little trip down memory lane and would like to support my writing and future nostalgic deep dives, you can buy me a coffee through my profile link. Your support helps me keep the lights on and the memories flowing. Thanks for reading!

The Bible, a Nasty Hotel and the Customer Who Spat at Me: A Wild Front Desk Story

First off, a quick note on my book: I'm in the final stretch of revisions! Out of 35 chapters, I've powered through 31. It’s been a serious, sometimes exhausting, learning process and honestly, if you’ve self-published your first book, you have my complete admiration. Now it’s just a matter of those last few chapters and then one final, meticulous read-through to make sure the timeline is perfect before it heads off to the editor and then publisher. I'm so excited to get this first book in my series out to you soon!

Funny enough, today’s topic was inspired by a sick day. I woke up this morning not feeling well and had to call out, even though I really can’t afford the time off right now. As I was laying in bed—totally bored, as you can imagine—my mind started wandering back to some of the wildest times in my life and one particular incident from my hotel days flashed into my mind. I worked at a Ramada Plaza in College Park, and let me tell you, that place was a whole world of its own. It's no secret the hotel was, well, not a nice hotel. The super cheap rates meant we attracted a lot of less-than-exemplary people: addicts, transients, hookers and others. We staff—especially at the front desk—had to deal with some seriously weird situations, and while we tried to keep calm, sometimes you just had to refuse service and cut your losses. The owner would claim our safety was a priority, but the reality was that, apart from housekeeping during the day and security arriving at 8 PM, the front desk person was often completely on their own, especially at night.

It’s been years, but I’ll never forget the day a man came in, dropped his Bible on the counter with a loud thud, and became the central character in a story I still can’t quite believe happened.

It was a Friday afternoon, and the moment I made eye contact with this Nigerian man, I just knew he was going to be a problem. When you’ve worked a front desk as long as I did, you can spot trouble before it even hits the automatic door.

He had a very thick accent and simply announced, “I am a man of god and I need to get a room.”

I gave him the standard room rates and his immediate reply was just a repeat: “I am a man of god.” Then he started quoting scripture, seemingly about giving away accommodations for free. I explained that while I could maybe offer a system discount (like an AA discount or something similar), I absolutely couldn’t just give a room away.

That’s when he started to get irate. Things really escalated when I mentioned the mandatory $150 security deposit in addition to the room rate, anyone who has ever checked into a hotel would know this as a hold for incidentals. He literally grabbed his chest, acted like he was having an attack and spat at me across the counter. That was it. I told him he had to leave, walked to the back, and just let him scream and call me every name under the sun until he finally left, realizing I wasn't going to engage further.

The next day, I was back on the same shift. I could have sworn I saw him leaving at the front door, but in a place like the Ramada, everyone looked like everyone else from behind. The next day, however, I was on the morning shift, tasked with getting all the departing guests out by check-out time. I had one person left who wasn't answering the phone, so I sent housekeeping to knock.

Not only did he refuse to leave, but he started screaming at the poor housekeeper for "invading his privacy." When he called down to the front desk to yell at me, I instantly recognized the voice.

Turns out, someone had checked him in—but they hadn't charged him but a quarter of the lowest Priceline rate and there was no security deposit on file. He was simply going to check out when he "felt like it." That’s when I knew I had to call the police to have him removed.

Before the police arrived, he came downstairs, bible in one hand, grabbing his chest with the other and started yelling at me again. He put on a full performance, claiming to be having a heart attack and suddenly starting to cry when he saw the police coming through the front door, insisting I was causing him "distress." When the police arrived and called the paramedics, his theatrics went into overdrive. Still clutching the bible, he kept telling the paramedics that I was the devil and was causing all his problems.

The police, thankfully, got the full story about the refusal-to-check-in the day before last, the weirdly low room rate and his refusal to leave. When the paramedics checked his vitals, they confirmed he was fine, asking if he wanted to go to the hospital. He said, "No, I want to go back to my room," which is when the police informed him he hadn’t paid for his room. He then claimed he was just waiting for "that lady to come back to extend the room."

I had to call the owner, who told me to call "Dulce," the manager. Dulce had no idea what was going on, so she told me to have the police remove him and leave the check-in info on her desk.

I was off for the next two days, but I watched our group chat explode with messages from Dulce which included a corporate complaint screenshot from Wyndham about me, the state of the hotel and a photo of his ID, which came with a strict note: never to rent a room to him again. Oh, and the final, disgusting detail? Feces was also found under a towel in the bathroom.

I had been telling the owner and manager for ages that things weren't adding up—people were getting rooms for weird rates, deposits were being skipped—but they always brushed it off until this incident blew up. Even then, they acted like I could have "handled things better." I still think the better solution would have been to hold the person who checked him in accountable for breaking protocol and, frankly, running a hotel that wasn't a complete dump catering to sketchy people. I have so many more stories from that place, including people who ended up being arrested and on YouTube videos in other locations!

Anyway, I am so glad I’m not working there anymore and am in a much better place years later. 

What's the wildest, most unbelievable customer service story you've ever experienced or heard? Drop your comments below—I need to know I'm not the only one with these kinds of tales!