I don’t think I’ll find a replacement for the Northern Hardware in my heart, but Windsor Plywood comes close.
It’s not just because the friendly staff there know my name, or that they tell me they read these columns in the lunch room.
It’s not just that someone always answers the phone.
And it’s certainly not because of the lumber selection or that they stock aspen.
All of that is pretty nice, alright. But I’ll be honest. I’m also lazy and I want to enjoy myself.
Every time I go to the Home Depot, it turns into a death march. I probably put on a half a click to get a box of screws, a light switch, and roll of tape. That can turn into a kilometre if you have to backtrack. A desolate, lonely trek, with no ribbing from anyone at the checkout line, either. It’s all business.
When I run errands, I want to relax a bit. I’m on my feet all day behind a table saw. I want to joke around. I want to hear stories about some deck-builds, even if I heard them already. That’s not what happens at the big box stores.
It’s a feature of modern consumerism it seems, to make it less about community, and more about buying.
There’s a rationale to it: trap us in a lonesome warehouse where the emptiness and absence of human connection and endless aisles of products triggers some kind of survivalist, materialistic panic. You start buying stuff you don’t need.
But what never fails is the way the big box model has offloaded the actual physical and mental work onto the consumer and taxpayer. Not just the sheer amount of walking, navigating and searching, to the point if you see a friend you are too mentally distracted to talk. But also the driving, parking, and sprawling municipal infrastructure to support it all.
The Superstore is another example. Another trek. It’s like you walk three city blocks to get a block of cheese and some bread, if you can find it. Sure, you save a bunch of money, but what about your time?
If I want to go on a hike, I’ll hit the Greenway. If I want to get lost, I would rather I do it in the bush under the moonlight, not the glow of fluorescent lights.
And that’s why you will find me at the Foothills Foods, spending a bit more money on groceries.
The old-school shops and hardware stores are my thing. They don’t just sell you goods like you’re a number, and they don’t pull Tom Sawyers on you tricking you into doing a bunch of the work, like this self-checkout business.
They sell you a service, they sell you connection, they are convenient, and they help create community.
None of that comes cheap.
James Steidle is a Prince George writer.
