No books, no shoes, no service

I have only ever worshipped at one temple, and that is Powell's Bookstore in Portland, OR, where I grew up.  (That's not a poorly worded sentence, I actually grew up in the bookstore.)

I once sat in a dirt-floor cantina in the Amazon Jungle and bonded with strangers over our mutual love of this bookstore, and when my novel was published when I was 26, seeing my name on the marquee at Powell’s was every bit as meaningful to me as seeing it on a dust jacket. Powell’s has always been the greatest bookstore in the world, in my opinion, and still is, although today it annoyed the hell out of me with an act of utterly absurd managerial snivelry.

I had just spent an hour browsing the shelves, picking up a book of short stories by Barry Lopez, a recent poetry collection by Jorie Graham, some assorted business books, and a copy of Giovanni's Room by James Baldwin.  I made my way to the coffee shop and was greeted by this rude sign:

Now, a bit of history: Powells was one of the first bookstores anywhere to have a coffee shop.  There were never any restrictions on bringing books to the tables--we Powell's shoppers treated the bookstore like a semi-private club, and the Powell family trusted us.  We’d also earned the privilege by being such avid, loyal customers that the store grew to occupy two floors of an entire city block, with several satellites.  It's bigger than a Costco!

So what's the deal with this bitchy, bitchy sign? 

Were there really so many immoderate customers that making the entire clientele feel unwelcome was warranted?

One of the books I took into the coffee shop at Powell's was Why We Buy by Paco Underhill, an anthropologist who studies the behavioral patterns of shoppers.  Underhill has actually quantified the sales lost in stores where printer cartridges are kept under lock and key to prevent theft; the losses incurred by allowing frustrated customers to leave without buying anything are far greater.  (He is also withering on the subject of makeup packaged so you can’t try it, and dressing rooms that make you look fat.)  Will Powell’s lose sales from this new snarkiness?  Maybe I should have voted with my pocketbook, but I did buy four of the six books I took into the coffee shop.

The irony is that I know exactly who is going to follow these rules to the letter:  the nice middle-class woman who is trying to find a novel to recommend to her book club. Here’s how it will unfold:

Mavis is going to stop, read the sign, and then quickly count the books she has in her arms.  “One, two, three....seven!  Oh no!”  And she's going to panic, wringing her hands and thinking, "But I only need to buy one!”  After much consternation, she will turn on her heel, sadly return the stack of books to the shelves, and go pick up the kids from soccer.  Then she’ll go onto Amazon from home, where she’ll get a hearty “Welcome, Mavis!” and a list of recommendations. 

Meanwhile, the book-abusing scofflaw who is the intended target of the new sign will read it, snort derisively, and walk right on in.

Dammit, I expect to be treated like chattel at Circuit City or Ross Dress For Less.  But Powell’s!  It saddens me to think that the mecca of my childhood is now just another adversarial retail environment. Maybe they should read some of the books in their excellent business section.

Comments

[Jackie Danicki]

Hillary, I just sent Paco Underhill an email. Sounds like his work is very relevant to an event on measurement of marketing activities that I want to do here in London. So thanks for letting me know about him!

Also, I hope Powell's reads your post. What a sad, unnecessary state of affairs.

[Amy Alkon]

Hillary, that's such a fantastic book. I particularly liked that part about store aisles, and how they need to be wide in the cosmetics dept, especially, because women hate to be butt-bumped and will stop shopping if they are. I certainly skeedaddle if I start getting jostled. My pet peeve is people who bump me, then touch me to say they're sorry. No...touching me the first time was bad enough! (This only applies to strangers. Friends of mine are welcome to grab my ass and such if necessary.)