Retail community

Playing shops for real

Nothing much to say that’s new here today. So, I’ll say what I said to a correspondent recently about where I work.

I work part time at a local high class grocery. We import goods from the UK and Ireland into Belgium for the (well-heeled) expat community here. On quiet days, we don’t just sit at the cash register, but busy ourselves with putting out stock. When a customer wants to check out, they ring a quaint little bell and we come as fast as we can.

“Sorry to keep you waiting! How are you today? Oh, I see we have a young gentleman not yet at school whose helping us with the shopping today, isn’t that nice?” If, of course some young 4-year-old is there with his mummy and daddy. “Don’t worry, we’ve only just arrived at the cash desk, no problem,” they almost invariably assure me. I had a lovely conversation with a lady wearing one of those ventral papooses, who thanked me for my delight at seeing this new born baby. “Yes, we’re going to be having our very first Christmas together.” I thought it was so wonderful.

I have a colleague who is American, and we had a run-in with each other on my first day when I was just filling in a year ago. He is staunchly pro-Trump and we tolerate the “podcasts” he plays all day in his corner of the unloading bay, where he deals with online orders. I tread on eggs when I’m in his vicinity, but a few weeks ago you could have knocked me over with a feather, when he said to me, “You really are very good with the customers. You chat away in such a genuine manner. No one else here does that. I guess they just can’t.” I thanked him, of course.

I chat away with customers because I seek human contact with them. I want them to remember their visit to our store for all the best reasons. “We hope to see you again some time soon,” I often say. “You certainly will,” they smile back as they head out the door.

It’s good for business, but more than that, it’s good for me, and I think it’s good for them. When I was a boy, my mother would take me to the local traders: Mr Meek the greengrocer, Mr Fearnley the butcher, Mr Coakley the barber, Mr Hardaker the baker, Mr & Mrs Burland at the sub-post office, Mr Naif at the fish and chip shop, Mr Bloom the chemist. All their stores were identified with these people’s names painted above the door. You knew who you were dealing with when you crossed their threshold. And because you did, you went again, and again, until they knew you. And that builds community.

A customer was in during a rushed Saturday before Christmas and his bill came to 107 euros something. Our cash registers and payment terminals are not interlocked, so I have to enter the amount due separately into the credit card machine. By error, I entered 1,007 something. “Oh,” I immediately said, “Don’t put your card in, I’m aborting, we’ll start again.” “I should think so, what kind of a trick is that?” he said. I was shocked: “I saw the mistake, I made a mistake, I’m correcting the mistake now, sir.” “Do you think I came shopping in some Aston Martin?” he persisted. “I am entering the correct figure now, you were not charged 1,007 euros. You can insert your card now into the machine.” He left in a huff and left behind him a cloud of anguish and shame for nothing.

He will never be happy unless he has his thumb on someone’s neck. The gentleman has no idea what community is or how to inculcate it. I felt very sad for him as he left.

When I worked in tourism, I would always tell my travellers, “Buy something. Leave a little of your money here, to say thank you for the lovely things you’ve seen here.” You should always try to leave something nice behind, everywhere you go. Even if it’s just a smile and a thank you.