One Boot in the Grave.
What is the point of the high street? Wet, cold, packed with, happily, shrinking numbers of multiple stores all selling the same tat you can buy on the internet for less and without the hassle.
Take Boots. Customer service based on the ‘ you’re lucky we can be bothered to take your money – school of customer care. Or the ‘thank you for queueing to use our automated checkout’ personal shopper experience.
Or the Urban Outfitters ‘ Ok I’ll wrap it but I can’t be bothered to take the price label off for you, do it yourself, can’t you see there’s almost a queue’ school of charm.
Or the curiously lipsticked three headed Hermes harpie standing bastion between Selfridges’ tills and customers
Or the …
Thank God we have the option of sitting at home, surrounded by the loving laughter and banter of our families, our favorite music playing, as we command our obliging tablet or laptop to deliver the same highstreet crap without having to persuade someone too good for the job to let us pay for it.
So what is the high street for?
OMG its SOOO obvious.
It’s for service. Real service.
Lets leg it to St James’ and go for the ultimate antidote. Time to buy the annual Christmas cigar for the boys. Yep – you can get one pretty much anywhere – especially those affordable by ordinary mortals. But if you walk in to JJ Fox, you’re met by arome of cigar from the private lounge and a cheerful gent who’ll treat you like you’re his favorite customer even though you’ve never crossed his threshold before and can only afford the cheapest of the cheap. ‘Oh. and I’ve put in a box of cigar matches for you too’.
Yep – it costs a bit more, but its fun, even enjoyable. Sure, you can get ‘em on the interweb for less. But this analogue service is actually more fulfilling. There’s new things to learn and see, worth learning and seeing. Hell. I might even take up smoking.