Ray’s Market

If I could give zero stars I would. I am appalled at how I was just treated by the man working the counter. Not sure if he is the owner or related to the owner. I went in to buy a Sunday paper and was told I had to pay cash, I didn’t have any cash= just my debit card. He said «no I want cash, I have to pay 10c to run your card» I was so mad I walked out. I have lived in Gladstone for 6 years and like to support local businesses. I will never buy anything at Ray’s Market again. I encourage others to not support a business that rejects locals who don’t have cash in their pocket. It’s really sad because my kids liked walking there in the summer to get treats. NEVER AGAIN

I’m a little bit amazed that I am not the first to write a review of Ray’s. Also amazed that someone else loves Ray’s. Chacun a son gout!
No one in Gladstone knows who the original Ray was, but he was not the present Korean owners, who have transformed the spot into RAY“S GROCERY OF CHAOS.
I have come in here occasionally over several years, always noting the following: MIlk, something like $ 5 a gallon. Many items, like the Clairol blush, seem to have been priced sometime back in the 80s or early 90s, and lain undisturbed and dust-​coated ever since. The clerk usually in is not the owner, and when I inquired after a Korean tote bag lying chaotically near the grooming items, I was told, «Come back later! She not here now.»
I thought the clerk and I were on good terms, thanks to some mutual nodding and vapid smiling, until one dark and windy night I purchased a bag of Doritos and ate one in the store; then suddenly this man, the quasi-​Ray, started screaming, NO EAT IN STORE. I EAT! I EAT! and motioning to his noodles. I’m not sure why he couldn’t eat his noodles and mind the store at the same time, but he seemed on the verge of criminal complaint about my half eaten chip, so I left posthaste. He didn’t close up shop. Apparently he just needed absolutely no customers in the store in order to eat his ramen.
I wondered heartbrokenly in a disoriented manner for hours on that chill and bleak fall night like a pilgrim on Hardy’s forsaken heath, until I found a pupusa, warm and welcoming, next door at Los Volcanes.
PS. It must be fairly noted that there are two regular clerks here– one with grayish hair, the other not. The grayish haired guy seems to have an emotional life on the skids, which makes him occasionally scream uncontrollably while his gray overcomb flaps over his ramen noodles, making people feel like momentary prisoners of Kim Jong Un. The other fellow is generally friendly and smiley.
Both occasionally wear green scotch golf pants and practice their swing in the store. And only in the store. (I’ve asked.)