At the intersection of Los Gatos Blvd. and Blossom Hill Road a strange dome shaped building juts out of the earth like a mysterious corporate monolith. The inscription etched along the front once read Hollywood Video, but in recent years has regrettably been changed to Chipotle. Regardless of what is written across its face, this ominous dome represents The Blossom Hill Pavilion and the various shops that line its painfully narrow parking lot. Myself and countless others have roamed these premises for decades, slinking in and out of shops like lost souls in an cemetery. The Pavilion is a warped microcosm of Los Gatos, both self-sustaining and self-destructive. Having worked in The Pavilion for over eight years I can speak with proper authority on each business that resides here and its respective employees.
Forgive me for being slightly biased, but Starbucks is the glue that holds The Blossom Hill Pavilion together. Maybe it is because we supply a potent drug that keeps the surrounding businesses, mothers, fathers, the self-employed, tired students, and violently hungover alert and functioning. I also like to think that most of us working here are the type of person the average Joe wouldn't mind sitting down and having a beer with. Come out to the The Blvd Tavern after 11:30 and find out.
My relationship with the AT&T Store has tapered off a bit since switching over to T-Mobile a couple years ago. And yes I assure you, when your cellphone turnover rate is as high as mine, having a relationship with a cell phone store is very much a real thing. The employees at the AT&T Store possess a quirky dry sense of humor that is a blend of tech industry and customer service. I have also witnessed a few of them getting loose at the bars in Los Gatos, which wins them bonus points in my book. I dig this establishment and respect anyone who puts up with people like me, who ask to have a replacement phone activated every other month.
I have a profoundly strange love for the surly chain smoking vixens who work at Pier 1 Imports, and who begrudgingly lug boxes of merchandise in and out of its mysterious blue back door. Later on in the night you can find a handful of them on the patio at The Blvd Tavern, drinking beer, smoking deeply of their beloved nicotine wands, and complaining about the customers they had to deal with earlier that day. These dark brooding beauties peddle generic furniture and nicknacks to the mindless hordes of Los Gatos housewives and loathe every moment. It would behoove them to seek employment elsewhere and live more content and fruitful lives. But then that black raincloud of despondency floating above their heads would vanish, along with part of their allure. The women of Pier 1 not only recognize their plight but embrace it. This acceptance is a direct reflection of the human condition and I am forever intrigued by it.
Once upon a time, a young lad would eagerly ride his bicycle down to Hollywood Video, and peruse the seemingly endless shelves of DVDs there in hopes of finding the right film that would entertain him and his family for the night. This was a careful process much like picking out a Christmas tree, which is probably why he was fond of it so. Netflix would eventually collide with the entertainment world however, completely wiping out the video rental chains from the earth, much like a giant meteor did in the dinosaurs. The space at the end of The Pavilion remained vacant for many years, until finally a repulsive excuse for a Mexican fast food restaurant named Chipotle moved in. The boy wept, then cursed, and finally drank a corona to ease his sorrows. Because at this point he had become a bitter old man.
That boy waits by this no longer functioning payphone at The Pavilion to this day, awaiting a phone call from some higher power assuring him that Chipotle will eventually be replaced by a pizzeria.
