Just connect

One morning recently, I was determined to do my laundry before heading to work. Sounds simple, right? Well, New York City is not as convenient when it comes to self-done laundry as it is in the rest of America. In Manhattan particularly, where 99 percent of people don't have their own washers and dryers and maybe, at most, only 40 percent have tenant-only facilities in the buildings they live in, you have two choices: wash-and-fold at the dry cleaners (for a princely mark-up), which is what most people above a certain economic status do, or go to the good old-fashioned coin Laundromat, which is what I do.

So, in order to get this laundry done and still get to work on time, I needed to be at the Laundromat when it opened at 7 a.m. Just as I was ready to go I realized I had no detergent. So, off to the nearest open drug store I went. As I walked in the lone cashier said, loudly, “Good morning! Welcome to Duane Reade!” I jumped—partially from the volume, more so from her enthusiasm.

Besides finding a coin-operated laundry, one of the other “joys” of Manhattan life is interacting with the employees of stores that sell everyday goods—supermarkets, pharmacies, etc. To put it mildly, employees at these places tend to be a little bit personality challenged. I imagine it's mostly a defense against the often bizarre, demanding, or otherwise diva-esque personalities of the Manhattanites they serve. And while I'll be the first to extol the superiority of small retailers because of their friendliness compared to chain stores, on this particular morning, I just wasn't interested in customer service. And as I later watched my laundry spin, it started me thinking about my own attitude towards the retail experience and how it impacts independent retailers.

In the last month I've gotten a depressing string of phone calls from reporters working on stories about toy stores in that are in the process of going out of business. Generally, they'll call us here at Playthings for some perspective on the “why” of the story. They'll ask, “Is it price competition from Wal-Mart?” “Is it because of kids' greater interest in video games and cell phones than fashion dolls and teddy bears?”

It depends on the situation, I'll say, but yes, those are two of the bigger culprits. What I often don't think to say, until moments like this particular morning, is that beyond the convenience factor of one-stop shopping at the local big box, there's also something about the anonymity of shopping there, too.

I typically don't look at shopping as a life experience. I want it over and done with as little small talk as possible. And while in the moment, that seems like a good thing—maximize my free time for actual “living” by minimizing a “chore” like shopping—in the long run, I'm sure I'm missing out on moments of person-to-person interaction that turn the commerce part of shopping into an opportunity for some sort of connection much closer to the living I profess to rather be doing.

Successful specialty retailers create and foster those connections—where all transactions are personal, and because of it, memorable—and those specialty retailers that fail at business, I like to imagine, saw making those connections a goal of their business, too. For me, that's why it's always sad to see a store fade away. And while on a day-to-day basis I sometimes lose sight of that, it's why I look forward to visiting specialty retailers, even if it's just to ask “How's business today?” In the end, it's not Target or Wal-Mart that drives so many specialty stores out of business, it's my decision to bypass what they offer for something faster, easier, and ultimately less human.