I was born. I suffered.
I suffered some more, and hopefully,
I won't die a painful death.
This is my life.

I'll take debauchery and a tan for 100, Alex.

In this, the second part of my musings on The Old Man's entrepreneurial ventures and rental properties, I would like to share the story of the Tanning Cabana. Once upon a time there was a luxurious tanning/hair/possible brothel business owned by The Old Man. This was located in a stately T-111 sided building which was slathered with a lovely dark green color. Positioned smack dab on the main drag of the town, it was the perfect spot for, well, just about any business you can imagine.

The Old Man had owned a couple of W***** tanning beds, made in Germany, you know the Germans always make good stuff, since the 1980s and everyone in town loved them. You could burn your back-side and get a nice orange glow on the rest of your body. There's nothing sexier, especially in a small town in the dead of winter. You now could truly play out all of your Miami Vice fantasies, even if there was eight feet of snow all around you and instead of a Ferrari you were driving an '84 Plymouth Gran Fury. At any rate, the tanning beds were located in various hair salons at different points in time all over the city. Suffice it to say, members of the family were able to tan for free. Yeehaw!

At some point, maybe in 1990, the stately building came up for sale and The Old Man pounced. Now, I don't recall the excruciating specifics of what amount of work it took to clean, gut, paint, and redo the building, but I'm sure it was hellish. Soon after, my sister, let's call her Jennifer, was hired along with her friend's sister, let's call her Theresa, to run the place. The Tanning Cabana was born! Times were good. There were four tanning beds in total.

Of course, with great power comes great responsibility, and Jennifer became drunk with the power. She handed out free tanning passes to all of her morally questionable bar fly friends. Now, I have no actual proof that any money changed hands or anything of the kind took place, and I did hand out my share of the free Tanning, Cabana passes to witless college chicks, but let's just say things happened on the couch in the reception area that would qualify the place as a den of ill-repute.

After awhile the whole tanning business was played out and The Old Man converted the building to apartments. It housed the usual forty ounce beer drinkin', five packs a day smokin', toothless riffraff, but hey, it's rent money right?

Recently, The Old Man sold the building and tears were shared by the whole family. I can assume from this Google Street View picture:









the building is now barber shop, hence the barber poles on the outside. Interestingly enough, I have received word that the new owners were cleaning out the basement and discovered a hidden room laden with what can only be described as a "pirate's booty", pictured here:


The room was filled with gold doubloons and gems of all types; the new owners are now multimillionaires.

                                (Tanning Cabana pirate room, artist's rendition)


So, that is the sordid but illustrious story of the Tanning Cabana.