There’s a lot of talk these days about how retailers need to provide a differentiated customer experience. To remain competitive in the age of Amazon, traditional stores must transform from being places that sell things to hubs that offer services. Ask a retail expert what that means and they will likely tell you that Macy’s should open a bar in the shoe department. That way, even if they don’t sell you a pair of boots, you might at least buy a drink while you browse. And maybe, if they remind you often enough, you’ll bring them a pair of pants to hem.
I guess that’s a start. But I don’t think a drink cart or in-house tailor is going to save the retail industry. Other businesses have been specializing in that line of work since the beginning of time and I trust their expertise in cocktails and inseams much more than Bloomingdale’s.
Instead, I would suggest that retailers come up with new ideas. Like, for example, third-party purchase evaluation. This when a sales clerk at the gift wrap counter could refuse service to people who have purchased objectively bad gifts, like vacuum cleaners or filing cabinets. I’m serious! If Nordstrom had any sense at all, they would escort those shoppers back to the sales floor and offer a master class in gift giving. The person could still buy the vacuum, of course, but he or she should be encouraged to add a little something special on top—and I don’t mean a bow. If that fails, there should be an opt-in alert system, wherein the intended recipient of said gift receives a text message that just says, “Prepare yourself.”
Had I got that message last week, I would have been left scratching my head. Because Johann and I had discussed our Valentine’s Day plans and I thought we had a pretty clear path ahead of us. Usually we skip presents and just go out on a nice date. But this year, since I have somehow managed to start a lucrative one-woman consulting shop post layoff (story for another day!) I decided to splurge and purchase Johann a jacket that he was eying at a Swedish lifestyle store called, and this is true, BJÖRKQVIST.
“I’m getting you a gift,” I said. “But you don’t have to get one.”
I know that sounds like a trap, but it wasn’t. And Johann knows me well enough to realize as much.
“I’ll get you a gift,” he replied. “I was thinking of something, actually.”
I found this highly unlikely for many reasons, not the least of which being that Johann does very little advance thinking. He leaves everything to the last minute and, in this particular case, I was doubtful that he even knew when that would be. He more or less proved my point when, an hour later, he showed me a picture of a stainless steel SodaStream on his phone.
“Do you like this?” he asked. “I can order it.”
“For Valentine’s Day?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “But I don’t know that it will arrive in time.”
“Yeah, I doubt it,” I agreed. “Because Valentine’s Day is Friday and today is Wed—”
“I know what day it is,” Johann snapped.
“I’m not sure you do,” I replied. “Anyway, you don’t have to get me a gift,” I reminded him.
Then because we were sitting in front of a bouquet of flowers that a friend had brought when she came over for dinner the weekend before, I changed my mind. There is nothing more cheerful than fresh-cut flowers. I will never say no to those. And since I was currently housing mine in a water carafe, I decided that I would also like a vase.
“Actually, you can get me flowers,” I said. “And a vase.”
“OK,” Johann agreed. “I’ll get you flowers.”
“And a vase,” I added, motioning to the water carafe. “It’s ridiculous that we’ve been dating for three years and I don’t own a vase because you’ve never once bought me flowers. Your friends have bought me more than you have!”
This, by the way, is not an exaggeration. Johann’s friends bring flowers whenever they come to dinner and/or when I turn 32 every July.
“OK,” he said, cutting me off again. “I got it.”
But he did not get it. He did not get it at all. Literally.
Actually, that’s only half true. On Friday afternoon, Johann came home with a bouquet of seven – yes, seven (???) – red roses.
“Beauuuuuuutifulllllll!” gushed, sticking my face in the package. “Smell,” I urged, smacking him in the head with the bouquet.
I walked across the kitchen to get a pair of scissors to cut the paper. “Did you bring a vase?” I asked.
“No,” he answered.
I turned around just in time to see him slide a medium-sized wrapped box on the table.
“Haha,” I replied, wrestling with several miles of recycled paper. “Is that the vase? Just bring it over here.”
“It’s not a vase,” he replied.
“Really?!” I asked.
“Really,” he replied.
“Why not?” I asked.
“I forgot,” he said.
I looked at the flowers. “But what am I supposed to put these in?” I asked.
“The water carafe?” he suggested.
I shook my head. There were already flowers in the carafe, as gifted to me by a Finnish woman who is so naturally beautiful she never wears makeup. It is not often that I have two different bouquets in the house and I’ll be damned if I had cram them both into a household item that isn’t even meant for flowers.
Like most women who are mildly disappointed, I will admit that I got petty, which is to say I did not help find a solution for housing the bundle of roses that were now lying on the counter like a $25 napkin. I watched Johann as he attempted to stuff the bouquet in various household items that were not vases: a water glass; a flower pot; the bio waste bin. By the time he reached the coat closet and seemed to be considering a rain boot, I snatched them out of his hands.
I wasn’t exactly mad that he didn’t buy a vase, so much as he didn’t listen to what I considered a clear, simple and reasonable request. As far as gifts go, I couldn’t have made it any easier. And yet here we were trying to balance seven long-stem roses in a single drinking glass.
“Well we can use the wine decanter,” Johann suggested. “But! We use that for wine.”
“Yes,” I agreed, with a sigh. “If only there was some sort of receptacle that was made specifically for flowers. That would solve this problem.”
Johann stared at me.
“Billion dollar idea,” I said, walking out of the room. “I’m going to look into it.”
Now is about the part of the story where you expect me to get owned. Because there was a mysterious wrapped package still on our kitchen table and the contents could be anything—even a vase. I would not be the first woman to get sulky and snippy only to find out that I had received the thing I had asked for all along… or that my partner had surprised me with something even better. In fact, I couldn’t quite believe that Johann would botch something so simple. Even I expected the night to turn around.
About an hour later, as I opened the gift and felt something obviously cylindrical inside a sheet of packing paper, I smiled.
“You got me the vase,” I laughed.
“It’s not a vase,” he answered.
I winked at him, certain he was still pulling my leg. What other vase-shaped item could he have bought, especially when I had told him that I wanted a vase and only a vase?
The package contained two extra-large travel coffee mugs.
Yes two.
I’m a huge believer in “It’s the thought that counts,” and even though I didn’t see a huge amount of thoughtfulness in this gift, I still tried to be gracious about it. Did I ask for travel mugs? No. But I like coffee and I love to travel and ipso facto: travel mugs. It’s a bit of a meatball sundae, but I get it. Thank youuuuu.
If I was disappointed at the time, I was amused by morning. I had been seeing memes all week about what Valentine’s Day is like for married couples vs. those who dating and it was just an endless parade of pictures of car wash coupons and cell phone cases juxtaposed with fancy jewelry and small animals. I couldn’t help but feel like I was in on a joke exclusive to people in long-term relationships. You think it takes ten years to reach a level of familiarity wherein you are no longer gifted hand-wash garments or semi-precious stones? Well put the water on because I reached that point in three years of dating.
I texted a few friends a picture of my new cups with the caption, “Happy Valentine’s Day.” Here is a collection of their responses:
I can’t.
Did you ask for that?
Two. hahahahaha
One for water one for wine?
My dad sent me a card from my cat that’s been dead for 10 years
Poor Johann, we roasted him all morning via text and I don’t think we’re going to stop anytime soon. He will never live down the travel mugs, not even if next year he buys me an entire truckload of vases.
It was during one of these exchanges that I realized Johann did, in fact, get me the greatest gift of all—one that proves he knows me perfectly and loves me in spite of all my flaws. He got me a story. And I’m going to be telling this one for the rest of my life.
Update: The day after Valentine’s Day, Johann returned home with not one, but two packages. Your girl is now the proud owner of two vases. Now accepting any and all bouquets.
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awww. ‘e’s a keeper, ‘e is. You only have to cuff him a few times, and he gets it.
haha, yes he is! but also: BUY ME A VASE THE FIRST TIME. :)
The rainboot!! You should have let him try that!
To this day, I don’t own a vase. Whenever I get flowers (obviously not from my husband) I use German beer glasses. I hope you’ll do better! 😊
Ha! The story had gone far enough. I don’t need a mess.
I’m sorry that you don’t own a vase. I understand not everyone loves flowers but I do. I don’t think there’s an easier way to get a week’s worth of gushing out of me for less than $10. It’s remarkable that Johann has not figured that out yet. Oh well. Now that i have vases, I’m going to buy my own flowers. Be the change you want to see and all that.
….WHY TWO?
Two vases? Because he wanted to get the water carafe AND the wine decanter back to regular use.
Two coffee cups? Because it is a couples day??? :D
Wait. So, now you have 2 vases but no stainless steel SodaStream?!?! Did he just give up on that all together?
Second, umm, you brought up an amazing idea about having a bar in the shoe department at Macy’s. I don’t know what it’s like for women, but in the men’s section there is rarely ever any workers available to help customers looking for footies/socks or to get shoes in their sizes. Maybe if there was a bar, there would always be help available. “Hey, get me a Long Island and these Oxfords in a size 12.” Maybe that will work. Hmmm.
exactly. i have two vases and two coffee cups. zero soda streams. our anniversary is coming up. you never know.
i like the idea of a bar in the shoe dept. i also have been known to tipsy shop. i see it as a win win for everyone except the staff, honestly.