Veddatorial

PROOF OF CONCEPT

By Dan Vedda

I recently had a conversation with a family from our local school district. Mom, dad and the kids came in because the older of the two daughters was about to start in band. (Note that this would have happened in August or September last year, so cheers for signs of band programs returning!) We did all the usual stuff: We covered the details of the rental program, talked through the care and feeding of a trumpet, and shared the excitement about playing music that had captivated not just the student, but the whole family. There was sibling debate about the best color for a music stand (because colors are important), pertinent questions about the best way to oil valves (my diplomatic answer, after showing the student, is “Whatever way your teacher suggests.”), and gratifyingly, questions from the parents about how we as a store were doing through all the trials of COVID-19.

That led to a short discussion that touched on the difficulties but celebrated the saving presence of adult hobbyists who turned to music when faced with home quarantine or simply the extra time afforded by a day without two hours spent commuting. When I talked about the much-needed boost these new or resuming players gave us, the father beamed. “That’s what happened to me. I finally took up the guitar!” So we added strings to the accessories they were purchasing for the trumpet.

Then they overheard a trumpet lesson going on in one of our studios. “Oh, you’re giving lessons again?” the mother asked. (To be clear, we never stopped, but went virtual through the two months the governor closed us down, and now we see about 60 percent of our students in person.) I explained the mask wearing, distancing and cleaning protocols we had in place, and they talked about their dissatisfaction with online learning. So, they also took home our lesson brochure and said they’d call about trumpet and guitar lessons in a couple of days. It helped that they could see the store was open without crowding, and that anyone they saw while they were in the store was masked and distanced.

But to me, the most promising part of this visit was the parting topic. “You know,” the mom said, “I really think that in a few months, people will really enjoy going to a store for things. This has been so much fun!”

And there it is, folks. Consumers are ready — no, eager — to come back to inperson retail for the interaction; for the physical, tactile presence of desirable goods; and for the simple, efficient path to product knowledge and need fulfillment. In a nutshell, it’s fun to shop if you do it right. And while the pandemic has pushed a lot of people online out of necessity, many of them miss physical shopping, or have had enough order glitches and problems with online shopping that the honeymoon is over.

Even for those less enthralled by the act of shopping, there’s a grudging agreement that dropping by a small local store and having your needs met and the product in your hand in 15 minutes has appeal. And no one will steal the package off your porch, lose it in shipping, or pummel you with online ads for the product you just bought — or, for that matter, email you for a product review of the most mundane items. (“Yes, Home Depot, I loved the duct tape. It was life-changingly sticky.”)

But there’s one caveat in this somewhat rosy outlook for the future: We must provide an enjoyable shopping experience. Longtime readers of this column may remember that I cut my teeth in retail at Sears (when it was “America’s Largest Retailer,” not the poster child for failed department stores.) I saw firsthand how corporate retail began polluting the shopping experience decades ago, cutting the sales force, foregoing training to put minimum-wage newbies on the front lines in crucial knowledge departments like hardware and cosmetics, and promoting incompetents who could game the system and cook their books to look good.

Across all of retail, the shopping experience suffered as chains, then malls and finally “superstores” decimated the small, local, knowledgeable stores. The big boxes of the 1990s would still be a major force, I think, had they made their stores consistent “destination” shopping experiences, marrying huge product selection to superb displays and a stellar customer experience. But no, the draconian cheapening began, and we ended up with diminished selection, shabbier store environments or surly salespeople — or all of the above. It’s no wonder that online shopping had appeal to the shop-in-your-jammies-andbuy-it-now consumer. Across (continued on page 45)