There's Paint and Things. And then there's Plywood and Things. And Jeans and Tings. Tings is actually how it's pronounced here, but only the jeans purveyor spelled it that way on the sign.
It's so upfront. It says right there, “We sell paint (or plywood or jeans) but we reserve the right to sell any other thing if we can make a buck doing it.” The owners clearly don't want to be limited in their commercial endeavor.
I have been waiting patiently for someone to open a store just named “Things.” Or even better, “Tings.”
It's a little like the old five and dime stores, or the mom and pop corner stores, whose signs on the front door advertised that they sold groceries, cosmetics, pharmaceuticals and “sundries,” or sometimes notions.” How did they decide which to sell? I can see Mom and Pop arguing about it. “I think we should sell sundries. We could make a fortune on sundries!” “No Eb! What would the neighbors say? Notions have been good to us, let's leave it at that.”
And if they sold both? Would you want to be the employee responsible for deciding whether something was a sundry or a notion? They couldn't pay you enough for that kind of pressure. “Sundry or notion? Sundry or notion?” How could you ever decide?
I can almost see someone standing out front, stroking his chin and saying, “Hmmmm. I have a notion to buy some sundries.”
That's what I like about the Crucian way. Tings. (Or things.) Nice and vague. All encompassing. Those are three merchants who just won't get pinned down.
Other stores names of note: It's tough to beat this one Mr. Cheap Neighborhood. Just your basic neighborhood convenience store. Or Mr. Dollar, which non-intuitively, is not a dollar store. That would be Nigel's 1-2-3.
But you've gotta love the slogan for Mr. Dollar. "If we don't have it, you don't need it." That's pretty direct, pretty in your face. "Just be quiet and buy some tings."