“Do you know if you have the new Eagles CD?”
“This store’s got no pet department.”
“No, it’s a new double CD by the Eagles… a group… from California… they have an exclusive deal with this store… it’s the only place you can buy it… it’s the reason I came here today.”
“What? You looking for music? We got the new 50 Cent.”
“Well, I was specifically looking for this new Eagles CD. Not just music in general.”
“How do you spell it?”
“The normal way: E-A-G-L-…”
“Did you look at the ‘Es’?”
“Yes, but it’s not there.”
“Maybe you want what’s there?”
“No. I’m just looking for a very specific new album.”
“We don’t sell albums here. Only CDs. Ask them in customer service. Maybe they have something you want.”
I know. I know. I should have stopped as soon as he told me they don’t sell eagles as pets there. Yet I keep telling myself that sometime around its bi-centennial birthday America decided to give up most forms of manufacturing and embrace “service” as the new bounty.
I want to believe that. In fact, I see it demonstrated on precious instances when I can take a break from buying in big-box stores and head for (dwindling) mom-and-pops shops. (Shopping in small hobby shops to feed my son’s passion for Lionel trains has been so amazinglg
service AND product satisfying.)
Hmmm. Mom-and-pop shops. Independent eyecare professionals and retailers. Polished, professional and personalized service pushed to the extreme. Could webe eyeing the ultimate fair advantage?
Can the lessons and legacy for enriching the battered concept of America as a service-oriented entity be spiritually etched right on the doormat of YOUR eyecare establishment? Could the way YOU face that challenge become an ultimate formula for success? Now if we could only convince the Eagles that independent eyewear retailers might be the perfect environment for that new Eagles CD.
Then again, on its first release week the new Eagles CD went straight to number one in record sales with over 700,000 sold. But… I haven’t heard of any strong sales for bald eagles in big-box pet departments. Go figure.
James J. Spina