TheIn today’s hyper-connected world, where I can have anything from an electric kettlebell to some chocolate pudding delivered to my door the same day, stores have it tough. They can’t compete on choice, price, or (usually) convenience, and so their only selling point is the little bit of social interaction that allows a work-from-home person like me to feel like a functioning human for 30 seconds from my day. .
In this challenging retail environment, my local bookstore has hit upon a remarkable strategy: simply being nice to everyone who walks in. A cheery greeting and smile set the scene, followed by a question if I’m looking for anything in particular that’s warmer than my interactions with some of my real friends. Then – assuming I’m not just being persuasive – there’s something like a scavenger hunt, a search for a good book that can round up more staff members, usually culminating in the purchase of something I’ve never heard of. never before. My book budget has gone through the roof, the to-read pile under my desk now poses a hazard to small children and pets. I couldn’t be happier.
It’s a little strange, then, that more stores don’t behave this way. Before you call me an overprivileged little prince, I don’t cut the red carpet wherever I shop – in the past, I’ve spent 10 minutes looking for a pot of cherry glace instead of bothering anyone and the owners of my local corner . at the store treat my cookie-buying habit with the silent judgment it so clearly deserves. But bookstores, in particular, often seem to actively resent me trying to buy everything – Requesting meetings for help with painful expressions, and quiet conversation with vague hostility. I worked in a bookstore (literally for about two weeks) in my youth, so I can understand some of this. Many customers are angry or snobbish or oblivious to other demands on staff time – and perhaps I am unknowingly one of them. But come on guys, I’m trying my best – and you’re competing against me by clicking a few buttons without ever changing out of my pants. Maybe just help me find a nice book about the Battle of the Atlantic?
Increasingly, it feels like you sit in the sweet spot of a Venn diagram where the overlap of “providing the goods and services you advertise” and “not being overtly obnoxious” is what separates the gangster businesses from the struggling ones. to stand up. In my area, there seems to be exactly one construction service that is pretty much guaranteed to answer an email the same day they receive it; they also get most of the work because no one else seems that interested in it. On the (rare) occasion that a young journalist asks me for advice, I tell them to ignore all the old stuff about being good/fast/cheap, and instead focus on being communicative and easy to work with, because no one in the modern world. can handle a Hunter S Thompson weaving gears. And by the way, I apply this to myself a lot – I can be terrible at deadlines, but I try my best to keep my relationships with the people I work with positive and frictionless. I don’t have the relentless energy of the generations that come after me, but I (mostly) answer my phone.
I don’t really like the way algorithms are driving our social interactions and spending habits—I doubt anyone does—but friendship, for now, is all we need in the war against the machines. Yes, ChatGPT and Claude can pretend to like my company or suggest a reading list, but they can’t offer me a chocolate finger or make me feel like it’s just the two of us trying to find something fun to do. read. So I guess what I’m saying is: please, let’s all be a little nicer to each other, at least until we reach the singularity, when finding a good Japanese mystery thriller becomes the least of anyone’s worries. We may not be the big dogs at chess or medical diagnosis anymore, but at least we can laugh at each other’s jokes.