Dion Gilbertson spends the bulk of his day in the parking lot of his store, his arms folded, staring at the brand new convenience store across the street.
The stream of people who go into the 7-Eleven, which opened a little more than a week ago, used to be his customers for the most part.
He watches them and thinks of his future. Will he have one?
How will he and his little store that he outfitted from the remains of an old gas station in south Denver ever compete with the shiny, glass-walled store across West Warren Avenue, so new the concrete there might still be wet?
His woes are reflective of the state of modern-day America where corporations seemingly overnight bulldoze and build their way into cities and towns, mindlessly shoving small-shop owners like Gilbertson aside and sending their businesses into oblivion.
Gilbertson opened his Break Time Mini Mart nine years ago. Right after high school, he worked in data entry for a legal firm but grew tired of sitting in a cubicle in his coat and tie.
He wanted to be his own boss, set his own rules. So he and a co-worker bought what was left of an old Diamond Shamrock station on South Sheridan Boulevard and remodeled it.
It has been years since he bought out the co-worker, who was going through a divorce. On his own, he built a nice little store.
The first hint of the 7-Eleven came in December. The auto mechanic who ran a shop where the 7-Eleven now stands told Gilbertson that his landlord wanted him out, though he had a year left on his lease.
In early April, the landlord finally bought out the mechanic’s lease, and the bulldozers soon arrived.
“It was a shame,” Gilbertson said. “He was a good local businessman.”
Sales at the Break Time have plunged by half since the 7-Eleven opened, Gilbertson said. Ron, the one part-timer he was able to employ, was laid off last Monday.
“The teenagers who were little kids when I opened, kids who would come in and buy ice cream or candy, they go over there now,” he said.
He hopes they will come back, that once the shine of his new competitor wears off, his business will pick up once again.
He looked away after he said it. I don’t think he was too convinced of it, himself.
On a late afternoon a few days ago, there was a steady stream of customers at the Break Time.
Most were longtime patrons, people who said they could never bring themselves to go across the street. It is principle, they said, and loyalty to a man who has treated them fairly.
This is it for him, Gilbertson said. There is no Plan B.
His wife, Jackie, is permanently disabled with pulmonary hypertension. She depends on him.
“It’s corporate greed, man,” he said before stopping himself. He is angry with 7-Eleven, no question. But he wondered: Can he really fault the corporation?
“I’m angry, yes, but I don’t know where to direct it,” he said. “I am angry because I spent nine years building this, and it may take only nine days to get me out.”
He has canceled future grocery purchases. At least, he said, until he sees how long it takes to sell what he has. And he has lowered prices on every item possible in the store.
His friends in the convenience-store business tell him to wait two or three weeks before he hits the panic button. Too late, he said. He has been stomping on it since last weekend.
“All of this is a little hard to take,” he said, “because it’s never happened to me before. Ultimately, it’s going to be up to the people to decide where they are going to shop.”
When I leave the little store, I look across the street and remember what Dion Gilbertson told me about how he spends his day now.
“I stand out there a good part of the day,” he said. “I pretend it’s not there.”
My truck is the only vehicle in his parking lot.
Across the street, people are waiting for a parking spot to open.
Bill Johnson writes Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Reach him at 303-954-2763 or wjohnson@denverpost.com.
