Posted on October 15, 2013 under Storytelling with 2 comments

The way we conduct business transactions today leaves me speechless by times.  We truly live in a cashless society.  When was the last time that you made a purchase of any significance and hauled out a wad of bills?  Even cheques are becoming obsolete.  Touch screens and barcodes and chips are all the rage and it seems that, almost every day, a new way to pay finds its way into the market place.

I have become acutely aware of this as I recently purchased “square technology.”  This is a system that uses a small device that attaches to your cell phone or iPad, enabling people to buy things from you, wherever you are, using their credit cards.  Look around the Farmer’s Market this weekend and you’ll see what I mean.  The software generates an electronic receipt that arrives in the customer’s inbox within moments of the transaction.  I have been told that this device will work anywhere, even deep in the forest.  I am not so certain that a bear would be all that interested in purchasing one of my books.

But it wasn’t always this way.

It is not all that long ago that the only way to pay for goods and services was cash or barter.  And this marketplace still survives, although sometimes out of sight of the taxman.

If the shape of business is now square, there was an iconic store in Antigonish in years gone by that utilized cylindrical technology.  The old Goodman store on the Main had an elaborate system of handling transactions.  The office was located on the second floor of the building and most of the merchandise was located on the first floor.  When a purchase was made and money tendered, the salesclerk would put an invoice and the cash in a cylindrical tube and place it inside another tubular structure.  Then physics would take over as the device was sucked up by a giant vacuum system and just like magic, the tube would arrive in the office upstairs.  Moments later, any change owing, along with a receipt, would make its way back through the labyrinth of pipes and reach its destination, landing in a receptacle containing a bag of sand to dull the sound.

When the store held its annual “White Elephant Sale” there was a lot of activity within the pipes.

And speaking of shapes, many a teenage girl bought her first bra at Goodman’s.  In most cases she would be escorted by her mother and taken to a discrete section of the store, the “foundation department”, where several experienced saleswomen would assist with the fitting.  This was done out in the open as the bra was fastened over the young girl’s outer clothing.  It is very likely that this traumatic experience spawned the birth of Victoria’s Secret.

The son of one of the employees had a part time job at the store in his teenage years.  Known as a prankster of sorts, he would occasionally buy rubber worms from the local five and dime and put them in the cylinders and beam them upstairs.  The shrieks could be heard resonating throughout the store when the contents emerged in the office above.

And one Friday evening, when the streets were bustling with shoppers, he and a friend went to the third floor, grabbed a mannequin, dressed it, opened a window and tossed it out as blood curdling yells emanated from a recording device.  Terrified pedestrians watched in horror as the life-like figure hurled to the ground and shattered into a thousand pieces.

Nowadays, you can do most of your shopping from the comfort of your own home – a different kind of vacuum.

Wherever you are, take a stroll down Main Street and experience some old-fashioned customer service.  Great stores and great staff … priceless.

Posted on October 11, 2013 under Storytelling with one comment

I am an avid walker.  I used to be an avid runner but the ravages of time and the constant pounding on the joints, have put me on the sidelines.  I walk back and forth to work every day, a roundtrip of five kilometers and some days will do the route twice.  Quite honestly, if we had public transportation my wife and I might just forego a vehicle altogether.  But sometimes you just have to have a car, especially when company is coming and you are scurrying around with last minute details.

I recently celebrated the 40^th anniversary of my graduation from university and attended some of the Homecoming 2013 activities.  It was great to see old friends and, thankfully, we all wore name tags as some of us (!) have changed our looks over four decades. There are a few extra pounds here and there and the guys’ hair, when still visible, waffles between grey and white.

We had agreed once again to host a gathering at our house after the class dinner, an opportunity to chat and sing a few old tunes.  Most of us no longer go to the Welcome Home pub on Saturday night for a variety of reasons but the ear-splitting volume of the music is chief among them.  We used to thrive on this but these days it’s just too loud … and they aren’t writing songs like they did in the 70s anyway.

Upon our arrival at the dinner, we parked our car at the cathedral which is the nearest parking lot to where the dinner was being held.  We mixed, we mingled, we dined and we drank.  Some drank more than they mixed and mingled and the resulting din caused a few to turn their hearing aids down.  After all of the speeches and dessert, it was time for the class photo.

Herding cats would have been easier as the photographer, a good natured soul, tried to get the assemblage to take their positions.  Sensing that this may take more than a few minutes, my wife announced her departure so that she could go home and have everything set to go, as company would be arriving shortly.

After what seemed like an eternity, the photo session ended. I decided against asking for a ride as it was a beautiful evening, so I headed out on foot for home.  I sidestepped, like landmines, bands of roving intoxicated students and walked briskly, in an attempt to get home before the first guests appeared.

Our car was not in the driveway when I reached the house. I figured that my wife was out getting the three bags of ice we needed to fill up the beer cooler.  I opened the back door, and stepped into the kitchen to find my wife putting snacks on the kitchen table.

I will spare you the discussion that ensued.  Use your imagination.  She had taken a cab home so that I could make a speedy departure in our car, ahead of our visitors.

There is a famous line from the iconic film, “Cool Hand Luke”.  The warden turns to the prisoner (Paul Newman) and says, “What we got here is a failure to communicate.”

Before we could sort out the mix up, the first wave of classmates was on the doorstep.  It was rather embarrassing handing one of them a $20 bill and asking him to go pick up ice.

The following morning, I walked back to retrieve my car from the church parking lot.  There was a Mass going on.  Our car was completely boxed in by church goers.  I sat in silence waiting for Mass to end and thought about those days in school when miscreants had to go to the blackboard and write lamentations a hundred times.

I could see myself standing there, writing in bold letters, over and over, “I must listen more carefully to my wife.”

 

 

Posted on October 10, 2013 under Storytelling with no comments yet

                                                 ( Note: A serious story on a serious topic )

The sun was shining brightly and I was feeling ambitious, so I decided to walk to Georgetown, P.E.I.  Lest you think that I have supernatural powers, I did not walk across the waters of the Northumberland Strait.   No, I walked seven kilometers from the Brudenell River Resort to Georgetown, right around the time the first golfers of the day were teeing off.

I was attending the Georgetown Conference and wanted some quiet time to ponder the dizzying array of ideas coming out of this unique gathering of doers and dreamers from all over Atlantic Canada.

In case you haven’t noticed, the economy in this region of the country needs rejuvenation.  Where better to look than among the clever and creative citizens of Atlantic Canada?  At Georgetown, a diverse group of people assembled to speak, to listen and to share ideas.

I was offered a ride by many drivers along the way and I fear that some people thought I had taken a wrong turn.  Or worse, that the conference had gotten the better of me and I was meandering home.  Interestingly, instead of the usual road kill of raccoons or porcupines, the shoulder of the road was littered with lobster shells.   I didn’t think that they could make it that far from the ocean.

Back at Georgetown there was a lot of firepower in the room and everyone, it seemed, had checked their egos at the front door as they entered the King’s Playhouse.  It was obvious that people had not come for personal gain but for the betterment of the communities that they were representing.

There is no question that rural Canada is in crisis, and something needs to happen soon before many small communities roll up their sidewalks and close shop.

The economic landscape has changed here.  There is little mining to speak of, and steel making is gone forever.  The fishing, forestry, pulp and paper and farming industries are all grappling with significant concerns.  Our American visitors are fewer in number as we, and they, come to terms with the new economy.

What are we to do?

As the Mayor of Yarmouth said so succinctly, “Quit whining and get your work boots on.”

The Georgetown Conference was a call to action.  We can no longer expect governments to solve everything, or anything.   These days, most administrations have crushing, long-term debt and are operating with a deficit.  More importantly, how well do they understand the unique challenges faced by our stalwart communities?

If not the government, then who?

Us.  You and me.  And our children.  It must start with a significant shift in attitude.  We must dispense immediately with our territorialism and parochialism.  We can’t stop and take a breather.  We can’t be complacent.  We can’t pass the buck on this one.  We must act.  Now.

We must listen to our young people.  It is not enough to try and convince them to stay.  They won’t.  They need to get out and see the world.   It’s a necessary component of their education.  But we need to create a climate of understanding and respect so that they will come back when their wandering days end.

We must listen to our senior citizens because, by and large, they have time, the most precious of commodities.  And many of them have resources, both intellectual and material.  Wisdom can only be attained through time and experience.  Let’s mine this resource fully.

We must educate people.  For small communities to survive, people must seek out locally-derived products and services.  Many of us could make do with fewer possessions.  Less is more.  Let’s buy them here and pay fairly for the time and resources that went into making them.  People can’t keep up the practice of always shopping online or driving two hours to giant, heartless big box stores.  Who will provide good jobs here at home?  Who will support our arts and cultural activities?  Who will champion the sports teams and charities that so need and deserve our backing if we don’t do business in our towns and villages?

We must educate every level of government to allocate our tax dollars to provide affordable food and housing.   The vicious cycle of poverty needs to be arrested and the first thing we need to do is make available secure accommodation and food security.  Everyone needs and deserves a roof overhead and food in their bellies.  As a community we are only as strong as the weakest among us.

We must not adopt the mantra of learning from other communities’ mistakes.  We must learn from their successes.  And when local businesses triumph in the face of adversity let us not sit in the coffee shops and criticize and chastise these achievements.  We need businesses to be successful.  Replace jealousy with admiration.  Be positive – be proud.

And above everything else, do something in your community.  Do not leave it in the hands of others.    The Georgetown Conference has left us with a clear and compelling call to action.  We can all be part of the revitalization of Atlantic Canada.   What are you going to do about it?