Every birthday or Christmas, or after every chore completion, my kids request quarters. Why? The same reason every kid wants money: candy and fun junk.
I lived for biking to Brook’s market, a convenience store on the edge of our subdivision, blowing my allowance on Cherry Nibs and Dr. Pepper.
I worry kids don’t get enough of that kind of freedom, one of many reasons I’m grateful for Odd Mart at 2520 Lyndale Avenue South and its wall of vintage gumball machines.
My six- and eight-year-olds beg to walk there, where they’ll crank away quarters for tiny fish-shaped hard candies, globs of Tootsie Rolls covered in colorful shells, and classic gumballs that turn tongues green and taste great for about six seconds. One machine even dispenses dry lentils, a 25-cent mistake they made only once.
The brainchild of artist Brad McGinty, Odd Mart’s offerings — tees, stickers, mugs, pins — marry his love of vintage comics, bright colors and irreverent humor.
There’s a hefty helping of classic monster imagery, some funny and others more campy guts and gore, as well as nostalgic nods to 80s and 90s pop culture icons like Bart Simpson and Garfield.
When I asked where he finds inspiration, McGinty shrugged. “I just like making stuff I know most stores would never sell.” I nodded thoughtfully, examining a tee featuring a happy, anthropomorphic corn cob strolling through a pink intestine, emblazoned with the words: Just Passin’ Thru!
McGinty grew up outside Atlanta, a kid who doodled in his notebook in lieu of paying attention in algebra.
After barely graduating high school, he skipped college and landed at “Sideshow,” a now-defunct Atlanta free weekly paper. Businesses enlisted him to draw ads for anything from vintage shops to wrestling schools.
Later, he took a job at a tech company, animating projects for clients like Adult Swim. He drew everything by hand, including lettering, a method he still favors nearly two decades later.
In 2009, McGinty moved to Minneapolis, focusing on freelance illustration work. To market his business, he launched Glorp Gum, a website selling his quirky tees with an even quirkier offer: Buyers received a free tee shirt with every gumball purchase. (The cost per gumball? $28.)
A few early designs went viral, leaving McGinty and his partner Cate to turn their Minneapolis apartment into a makeshift warehouse and shipping company. Though they eventually moved into a larger home, the business continued to eat up square footage.
McGinty knew it was time for Glorp Gum to move.
Northeast, with its robust arts community, seemed like the answer until he realized that even a crummy basement studio came at a huge premium.
And now, as a father of two, he didn’t like the short but not insignificant commute from his Wedge home. When the Lyndale space popped up in 2023, it just felt right. He can walk the kids to school before heading to work.
McGinty’s artistic output is prolific, with his unique fingerprints on every last detail, from the shop’s hang tags to original artwork on all 34 gumball machines.
Gotta go while shopping? Commemorate the experience with an “I Peed at Odd Mart” pin, dispensed from the bathroom’s vending machine.
The shop also showcases offbeat works from local artists. Six-inch plastic carrots fashioned into earrings; a skeleton reading a newspaper on the toilet which happens to also be a nightlight; a can koozie with a squishy realistic tongue dangling off the side.
Throw in a selection of ‘zines, independent comic books, mid-century vintage items, and you’re bound to find something you love. If you can’t, sorry, you’re probably not very fun.
Every Saturday morning, Odd Mart hosts Cartoon Cabaret in the shop’s backroom. Anyone can show up and draw while watching vintage cartoons.
It’s free, though they sell coffee and scones with profits going to MIRAC, Minnesota Immigrant Rights Action Committee. For a small materials fee, you can partake in the weekly craft, like a DIY deconstructed My Little Pony sculpture.
On Sundays, you’ll find a market featuring nine local vendors selling anything from screen printed bandanas and greeting cards to handmade jewelry. Once, I perused a selection of magnets made of tiny animal bones procured from literal roadkill.
Odd Mart reminds me of why I fell for South Minneapolis decades ago, spending afternoons browsing Saint Sabrina’s and Sister Fun.
It fostered my love of small businesses with a vision, often pushing boundaries and celebrating weird.
They say you can find anything on Amazon, but Jeff Bezos can’t replicate this. I’m happy to save my quarters, encouraging my kids to seek out meaningful experiences, one gumball at a time.
