By Ross D. Willard
Local Business Beat
Local Business Prospers
In South Samstan Street, several steps past the caterpillars smoke shack, and a few steps shy of the Silver Seahorse Saloon, you can see Sally Simon’s Seashell Shack.
Sometime ago, Sally Simon was a squatter on the corner of Sham and Shaker, surviving on day old sausages and soup from a sympathetic chef. But now? Now Sally sells seashells on the seashore. How? According to the sharp tounged Sally: “It sure as s--- wasn’t easy!”
Sally says she started selling seashells on accident.
“Well, I was sitting on the side of the street, sorting through a sack of sand that someone had set next to a street sign. I scooped up a section of the sand and let it sift through my fingers. Suddenly I found a small, but sweet looking seashell, just sitting there. I sit and I stare for some time, until a stoner I know, Sid Sodersabber, comes up, staring at the shiny thing and says, ‘hey, Sally, that’s a shiny seashell. My sister, Cindy Sodersabber, she’d so love a shiny seashell.’ And I say, ‘S---, Sid, I’ll sell you this seashell.’ And sure as s---, he shells out some cash.”
Some might say that Sally’s sailor-like, swearword filled vernacular still leave something to be sought after, but for all her steamy language, at her heart, Sally Simon is a sweet girl, and I, for one, sure support her selling seashells by the seashore. Sell those seashells, Sally, sell those seashells.
